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pursuitseternal · 2 months

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“Rescue Me:” Risk, nsfw Romance, and sub!Ascended Astarion update for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.2K rescue and nsfw reward

Summary: just a harmless hunt turns dangerous, an old threat from your Tadpole days resurfaces. Once your love has you rescued, you reward him handsomely for the effort.

CW: Canon-typical violence, bloodshed, Vampire Bride powers homebrew, protective Astarion, soft sub/dom dynamics, Sub!AA, outdoor sex, praise kink

My bloody Valentine for @marimosalad , @myfavouritelunatic , and @brabblesblog

Ao3 Link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The world is a wash of colors, a bouquet of scents, now that you step into it with all your vampiric powers. The forests around the city are colored as the trees begin to turn, reds like his eyes and golds like the treasure you’ve amassed as sovereigns. And your limbs are alive as you bolt under those trees. Reithwith is far behind you, the forests and wilds ahead. The only thing faster in the world rushes at your side

Astarion. Hair whipping wildly in the wind, eyes narrowed as he runs. Mouth grinning like a fool so wide, his pointy fangs peek from his lip.

You feel the same too. Alive. Powerful. The rush of speed and thrum of your vampiric vigor, it intoxicates you. Powerful. Like nothing can touch you.

“Bet I find and kill a bigger animal than you, my love…” you taunt right into his mind.

“Oh my dear, I’d like to see you try…” he pants with open mouth as he purrs back into your thoughts. “Nothing so delicious out here in these woods than me, my pet.”

“True…” you flash him an image of your razor-like fangs biting him all over… his neck, his thigh… that sweet, filled m-out swell of his own ass cheek, your hand fondling his balls from behind…

He nearly stumbles over the roots of some great oak at that. Regaining his sure footing just in time. “Tempting… but I’ll enjoy my spoils so much more by winning this little hunt you suggested, darling.” He slows a bit until you’ve caught up, until your shoulders bump as you keep in stride through the forest undergrowth. Even as it’s dying.

You toss your head, hair streaming from your face as you flash him your own fanged smile. “To the winner goes the spoils, then….” You give a giddy laugh before darting into the forest away from him and out of his sight….

It’s only after you’ve fallen a stag, feasting on its warm blood, that you realize someone stands behind you. Before plain lances throught the back of your head.

Before the world goes dark.

The forest has grown dark by the time you open your eyes, your head swims. Whatever they smacked you with, it left no lingering damage, not with your vampiric powers. Not when you have his blood in your veins. Slowly the world comes into focus, and you know you’re not alone. Three large male Drows stand guard over you, their armor thick and their eyes intense.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

That voice. A female crosses towards you, her own armor dark like night, her red eyes shining as she scans you, bound with your legs together under you, your arms behind your back. The chains around your wrists and ankles sting, but it’s her gaze that makes you disgusted and slightly nervous. Those eyes flash between your mouth and your neck.

She wants your bite. And your blood.

“Araj…” you growl.

“I’m glad I made such an impression on you and your lord that I haven’t been forgotten.” She looks down at you, closing in on where you’re bound. Every urge in your body hums to life, you strain at your bonds, but they burn your skin the more you struggle.

“You know, he will kill you when he finds you,” you hiss, “Lord Astarion wouldn’t deign to drink from you, but he will enjoy spilling your every last drop.”

Araj laughs as she crouches next to you, “I should hope he tries, little consort. I cannot wait to study your blood. You little spawn, how does it feel when he compels you?” She runs a finger up the side of your neck, you pant as she touches you, you flinch. She is repulsive, her finger on your skin an insult to Astarion’s greatest creation. She strokes where your own two bite mark scars dip your flesh. “Does he drink from you nightly? Make you do all sorts of exotic and rigorous things, that Vampire Ascendant?”

Fangs bared, you hiss in her face. “You dare to touch what is his…” your mind spins, suddenly flooded with a surge of power. A warmth races down your spine and into your limbs. It makes you bold. It makes you laugh. “He is coming, you vermin. And he does not like having his things taken….”

Araj gives a nod to her soldiers, they draw their blades and fan out into the dark. She laughs, cackles more like. “Oh, imagine if I captured the Ascendant and his consort… if I had their blood to play with… their teeth to satisfy my dreams and curiosity…. You should have killed me when you had the chance instead of leaving me unconscious.”

Your voice shifts in your throat, you can feel him whisper in your mind. “Your hero is coming. I’ll be there soon, my lady….” You take a sigh of relief, feeling his haste, drinking in the wave of his rage as if it can nourish you.

And then, you speak, his voice in your mouth, his silken tones on your tongue. “I’m rather glad I did leave you… it will be far more satisfying to end you slowly now for what you have done… darling….”

Araj freezes at the sound of his voice. Eyes wide and frightened as she watches his power possess you. His power caresses your body, giving you a lasting sense of comfort. And you give the Drow a wicked smile. “We are going to love punishing you.”

The dark glade you’re in is suddenly filled with the sounds of bones crunching and blood spattering on the ground. One body… two… three bodies hit the dirt with a crunch. And Araj draws a little dagger. You laugh, your own sweet tones on your tongue again. “Oh yes, little prey, pull out your claws. Won’t stop you….”

“…from being devoured….” That low, velvety male voice caresses up your spine, his footsteps landing behind you.

Your hero, your lovey villain. Your master and mate. He touches the top of your head briefly, assuring you of his protection and presence.

Astarion’s hands pull your bonds apart. That roguish dexterity never leaving his beautiful fingers, the silver chains coming apart like butter in his grip. And even as you hear the little hiss of its power burning his skin, he gives no hint of pain.

Flinging the chains aside, he lifts you to your feet, steadying you, as if you weigh nothing to him.

The Drow’s eyes are wide, the red of her irises shaking up and down in her fear. Astarion growls, his twin daggers pulled from behind his back swiftly. You have seen it countless times. A chilling laugh comes from his mouth. “You really should have brought an army if you planned to touch what is mine… if you planned to take what is precious to me.”

“How else was I…” she tries to back away, stepping with a sickening crunch on the bones of one of her guards.

“What… darling? Fulfill your twisted little fantasy? Or find a way to sate your death wish?” he chuckles, his daggers twirling so beautifully, so gracefully in his long and bloodied fingers. “It took me all but a moment to rip all three to shreds… and you,” he points his dagger at her quivering form, head held high and shoulders squared, bloodied mouth ginning wide in the moonlight. “You’ll I’ll take my time with, darling. For what you tried to rob me of, my Consort, my Bride, there is no punishment fit enough for your crime, if I am any judge.” Another roll of dark laughter. “Which I was once, but now…” he closes in on Araj, feline and fast, “I’m your executioner.”

You watch, your stomach turning sour at the smell of her fetid blood. He’s so graceful, the way his body moves as he fights, not really a fight. It’s a dance, his movements fatal and swift, his little noises of effort punctuating the silent forest.

You draw closer, until he drops his blades into the mat of leaves on the forest floor. She’s still twitching on the ground, Araj, lover of all things sanguine, laying in a pool of her own life’s blood.

It’s more than enough vengeance for now. His arms sweep you up, taking you from the carnage.

Taking you to safety.

A clearing bathed in the moonlight… not unlike your first time. If only you knew the road ahead of you that night and all the pleasures and love that awaited.

You still smell fetid blood in your nose, you still feel the burn of silver round your wrist and ankles.

He sets you gingerly on the ground, his eyes looking everywhere but your face. His heart pounds so heavily, you can hear it as if it is your own. His touch pulses with it in his fingers, his hands turning over the burn marks on your pale skin. Hetugs where your sleeves and trousers have been torn to expose you, to make room for the silver chains to corrode into your flesh. “That bitch… I hope she does slowly, I hope she’s still in agony for what she did to you,” he spits, words hissing between his clenched teeth.

“Never,” he proclaims so loudly it hurts your ears. Suddenly both palms press into your face, making you turn to meet his glowing crimson eyes. He’s livid, silver brows furrowed deep, thick lips somewhere between a frown and a snarl. “Never again, I’m never letting you out of my sight again, darling. Where you go, I go. I will always be watching you everywhere you go. And never again will you stray from my side, do you hear me? Don’t you dare….” The ferocious snarl, the fearsome timbre of his voice, snaps in an instant.

His face presses against you, nose to nose, his forehead hot and damp with sweat where it crams against yours, his cheeks beginning to stain with wet. “Don’t… I can’t… I can’t lose you again.” He sobs, his tongue licking his lips from the salty strains of tears. “I’m not strong enough for that.”

His arms wrap around your head, pulling you into his blood spattered and embroidered jacket. His favorite one, with the golden stitched peacocks on a sea of cream silk. But it wasn’t cream any longer. You hiss as your hands and wrists brush his body. Instantly he recoils, concern etched across his handsome features. That mask of indifference he wears so often as Ascendant has vanished. And all you see staring at you in the dark woods, huddled on the ground, is the man who loves you, who stops at nothing to rescue you.

He pretends his cheeks aren’t wet, pretends that aquiline nose of his isn’t almost running. He brings your wrists to his mouth, kissing over the burn marks as if his lips could heal you.

As if his love could heal you alone.

You shiver in pain. The wounds are still fresh and raw with blisters. He instantly starts to work the buttons of that jacket, his pale skin exposed to the night as he wraps it around your shaking shoulders.

His heat saturates the fabric, his eyes and hands busy as he snugs it tightly around your frame. But behind his eyes, inside his thoughts he only hears that beat of how he needs to save you.

Just as you have always saved him.

Fangs pierce his own naked wrist, his blood, warm and tingling, drips with a hiss on your burned skin, blisters fading and raw skin knitting back together the second it connects with his powerful essence. Quickly, he moves to your ankles, making sure every little bit of your injuries is bathed in his blood.

Feeling returns to your extremities. You wriggle them, and Astarion leans closer, bringing his wrist to your lips, letting it whet your hunger.

Your stomach turns at the taste, instantly needing more in your belly, instantly losing all sense of pain. Or fear. Or loneliness. Not now that his power flows from his veins to yours. And you release your lips after a few swallows. Just enough to steady your head.

He’s shushing you softly, muttering to himself, “Never agains, never…”

“Astarion,” you breathe, “you are strong.”

“No,” he shakes his head, bringing you against his warm chest, “I can’t be if it comes to losing you….” His breath is ragged in his lungs, heart racing still from his rescue.

And fear.

“Then we are strong enough together, my love,” you force his face in your hand, turning it, making him, compelling him, to meet your gaze. “I knew you’d come,” you whisper, feeling him lean a little harder into your touch. “You fearsome Vampire Ascendant, if I need to be confident enough for both of us, then let me do that for you.”

He gives a wet laugh, “My consort, my queen, my right hand….”

“The hand that helps pull you up even when I’m the cause of your fall,” you give a tender smile in return.

He gives you a smile that resembles more of his rakish smirk, if still a bit tragic and a bit forced. “Maybe there’s something that hand of yours could pull… if you’re offering.”

Your hand strays down the soft skin of his chest… his stomach. “I wouldn’t want to spoil you, but you do so love when your acts of heroism are compensated, I recall….”

“Rewarded, my little love,” he tries to chuckle. Still weak, his body showing more of the despair that still blisters inside him that his words will allow to describe. “Why don’t you reward me,” he looks down on you with those big, wet crimson eyes, “haven’t I been so good to you?”

“Of course,” you whisper, pressing your hand in the valley of his chest, making him flatten out on the forest floor.

Not unlike days of old.

“You’re always so good to me, won’t you let me be good to you in return?” you slink your way over his body, spreading your thighs so straddle those hips of his.

“I have earned it, haven’t I?” He preens beneath you, just a small spark of that arrogance and seduction coming back. His hands haven’t left your body, pawing at your hips, running up your back.

As if he will never let you go, never let himself lose you again.

You shrug the weight of his jacket from your shoulders and pull the edges of your long tunic over your head, torn and dirty as it is, you breathe a sigh of relief. The dark of his pupils consume that ring of red around them, eyes dilating to see your breasts, a sight just for him. Instantly his hands reach for them, one in each palm, cradled in his touch, so soft and so perfectly. You long to taste him, to get the sour tang of fear and bile that still lingers in your mind, despite even the taste of his ascendant blood on your tongue.

His lips shake as they meet your own, almost unwilling to believe he gets to do this again. Disbelieving he’s managed to save you, to decimate your enemies with you so deep in their clutches.

He basks in the way your body clings to him, like he does every chance he has to sit curled in the sun. A little smile on his lips, even as they dance and devour yours. His touch reverently ghosts up your belly, tantalizingly light on your skin, tucking into the waistband of your trousers to try to slink them down.

But you smile into his kiss, brushing his hands away like gnats. “My love…” you rasp, “did you ask to try to remove those?”

“No,” he growls in reply, hands instantly slinking back up your body, brushing against your swaying breasts to cradle the back of your neck.

“Mmmm, that’s better,” you moan slightly into his mouth. Hands splayed on his chest, you raise yourself back up, feeling the heat and pressure of his growing erection beneath your body. A slight wriggle of your hips makes his mouth hang slack. “Let me just ride you, my love. Let me make you feel that I’m here with you.”

He groans at that. Hands planting firmly back on your hips, you slowly grind on that length, feeling it hardening under you. But you tutt your tongue, sliding down his thighs. “Can’t have you hard down your leg, can we?”

He shakes his head, “By the hells no,” he hisses as you reach in to adjust him. He groans as you take his shaft in your grip, a few gentle pumps aren’t enough for him over that steely hard erection. You sweep your thumb over that weeping slit, just enough to make the bead of precum slick your fingers before you let go, keeping his cock inside the waistband of his breeches.

Tongue running over one fang, he watches as you lick your fingers clean, as you slide your body back over to grind on his aching hardness. “Aren’t I worthy of a little more reward for my heroics?” He tries to sound demanding, but with each buck of your hips that rubs the heat and fabric where you join, he only grows more desperate.

“Good things come to Ascendant Lords who wait, my love,” you purr, slowing the way your hips gyrate over his just to prove your point. Fingernails claw into your hip bones, scoring and tearing your skin. His head digs back into the ground, the rustle of leaves beneath him a staccato to the way his breath pours out in a long pant. “Tch,” you lean down to capture that mouth that twists in agony. “Easy my love,” you whisper as his lips try to consume your own cold breath. His hands press on your shoulders, the back of your neck, holding you steady as he thrusts up into that warming crease between your thighs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damned right, you’re not,” he growls, a tenacity in his tone and ferocity in the way his fingers cling into your mussy hair. “And you’re mine…”

You shake free of his hold, sliding to slip off your trousers, the night air making every hair on your body prickle. Your nipples firm up harder than pebbles, even as your nerves burn to take his heat within you, for him to thrust his pulsing cock inside, to fill you with the friction you crave more to survive than blood.

But instead you settle back, your folds wet and pressing into the suede of his breeches. “Your reward is rather cruel, little love,” he hisses, nearly whining, even as his voice rumbles in his chest. “May I touch my spoils?” he whispers.

A wicked, gaping smirk on your lips and your head throw back as you demonstrate. “Like this, my lord?” You still on his prodding cock, lifting your hips just enough for his darkened eyes to watch your fingers slip loudly into your drenched folds. Your stroke, you circle and curl, whatever movements make the most sounds. Astarion’s hands slowly creep from your hips lower… lower… daring silently as he encroaches closer where you now ride your own touch.

You smile, closing your eyes, giving him a little nod, a little gift of your permission as his thumb slips inside where your fingers already play. His cock presses into you as his fingers slide over your clit. That bulge throbs through the now soaked spanse of suede, a satisfied smirk on his face as his touch catches you just right.

As your thighs grip him hard, as your own hand goes still inside your entrance, leaving you with just that merciful stroke of his thumb on your clit as he steals your breath. As the warmth of pleasure blooms from your belly. As you buck and writhe all the harder, all the more erratic until your vision swims.

Boneless, shivering, you’re pulled down to his mouth, fingers gently throttling you as you stil gasp for air from your climax.

It feels… so good. Saved. Rescued. Claimed. Good to be his.

His kiss is all tongue and fangs, those little growls and huffs he makes when he feeds on you filling your mouth as he caresses you. His hands slink into the new open space he’s made, fingers snapping his laces open. Finally almost freeing himself.

But you laugh, sinking your own fang into his lip to make him gasp and freeze in pain. “Naughty,” you breathe before sucking on that seeping blood. “You know better than that… you know to ask first, my love.” You chastise him, making him shudder under your lips. “But since you were so wonderful being my hero, saving your lady love, I’ll forgive you…” you raise up, feeling his hands tugging fiercely, not even finishing all the straps to release that aching erection.

“To the victor…” he raps, guiding your body to sink quickly on his shaft… He pants in delight as you squeeze around him at last, “go the spoils.” His chest rises and falls, pale skin catching in the moonlight, his sweat glistening. But you can’t tear away from his mouth. Not with how he works his lips on yours, his tongue tangling in time with every little thrust you make.

One of his arms presses you closer to join where he fucks up into you, where you soak his skin and slap hard against him. But that other, that other arm winds behind your shoulders, hand clawed into the base of your neck, keeping your breath as his breath, your tongue twisted with his. But it’s not enough… not hard enough or fast enough, even as you feel his breathing grow ragged.

You sit up, launching off his chest with two hands braced. He whines, whines to have you break from his clutches. A single finger crooking, you beckon him up to you. A rustle of leaves, the scent of damp, nighttime earth in your nose, and he obeys to sit up too. Eager, biting his fangs into his bottom lip. Hips rolling, back arched in deepest pleasure, you feel his tongue lapping up, a single damp streak between your breasts. Those dexterous hands grip into your skin, those powerful arms that snapped your enemies in half are wrapped tenderly around your waist.

He growls against your neck, too hesitant to bite. Warm lips wrap around your ear, the loud suck, the squelch of his tongue sends ice cold shivers of pleasure right down your spine. One more time, a loud suck, the clack of his fangs together in your ear, and you shatter, another wave of orgasm ripping you in two. Wetness squirts down your thighs, his cock is so slick inside you from your arousal, even as thick and hot as he has grown approaching his own release.

Even as your walls clutch and undulate through his thrusts into you that never relent.

His back is wet, dead leaves clinging to his shoulders as you hold him, trying to keep your balance against the flexing muscles of his back. Your rogue, your hero, he takes advantage of your breathless submission as you float down from orgasm to clutch you even harder. His voice grates in his throat, thick with desire and breathless from exertion. “May I…”

“What do you wish?” you murmur, slack in his arms as he thrusts with desperation, your body barely able to ride him much longer.

“I want…” he pants, “to fill you. For you to seep with me, to make you…” he groans as you shudder at that dark, deep tone in his voice, “make you full of my seed and scent. So I’ll always be able to find you, darling…”

“Yes,” you hiss somewhere in the middle of his words. A shuddering whine in his throat, and you feel every muscle tighten like a bow string. Rolling you to your back, he presses your legs into your body, the heat of your folds now open to the night air. Hips snap hard, reckless and with abandon. He fucks into you at his pleasure, at his mercy. His eyes don’t seem to blink as he stares into your own face. Dirt smudges his cheek, but it’s that haze in his eyes, that way his mouth twists in beautiful bliss that makes your own body hum to be used.

Pressing you, folding you bent and spread for him, he cages you into the earth this time. A smirk, wide and toothy, pants down from above you, those dark crimson eyes flutter shut as he bucks and shudders. One loud pant that sticks in his throat and your walls grow warm, coated as he does fill you, cum and arousal leaking into the dirt. Not for the first time.

Not for the last.

Breath heavy, skin damp, he hugs you into him, the echo of his beating heart in your own chest hard enough to almost be your own.

“Never again, my love, my consort,” he whispers, more to himself than for your ears. “I’ll spend the rest of our lives rescuing you… as you rescued me.”

With one last kiss, he softens over you, almost sleepy in his breath, and you wipe the mud from his cheek.

That roguish mud from his ascended skin. And nestled as he is, he smiles against your breast as you do.

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levmada · 2 months

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every—lesser known—canon fact about Levi Ackerman.

infamously over the years, there have been countless false rumors about Levi in particular out of the cast. many of them have become popular, even ubiquitous, and it's annoying!

and also disheartening when you find out it's not true....

and hurtful when you realize it was - sometimes - made up by trolls.

so i'm making this post<3

credit to @levisfavoriteacup for the idea!!

*disclaimer: i'm not perfect, so this may not be Everything™️ but I am confident that it's the majority of information available, and that it's trustworthy. :)

First the most populars. There is no evidence across interviews nor other content over the years that:

Levi is ugly, and is considered ugly in AOT.

Nope. See here: (tumblr link), or:

Isayama finished his first sketch of Levi mostly on a whim, but the moment he drew his face, he had a sense it would work well / he knew he had something good. Something told him: "the yaoi fangirls are going to like this one".

As time passed and his popularity grew, Isayama caught onto this and wanted to portray him more attractively (in multiple ways) to the viewer/reader.

But from the beginning, this was something of the goal. He is short because Isayama had in mind what young women/fangirls in Japan consider attractive: a man with a higher-pitch voice; has a small face; and who is "short but strong".

In the world of AOT, he (in a nutshell) is mostly considered plain or awkward, but combined with his reputation and style, he's very charming. "He cleans up nice." Overall, it is positive :) But more importantly, realistic I think.

He's also something of a celebrity. People who advertise their product as being used by him are more successful; when he's seen in a shop, this by itself is considered "advertising" and more people come in. Quote: ""the tea that the hero bought”".

He's definitely not a 2/10 at any rate😇.

—the 24th episode of Naoki Yoshida's Anime Plan, 2013 / Interview with Frau Magazine, 2013 | Hajime Isayama x Hikaru Suruga (2014) | AU Smartpass - Erwin & Levi Close Up Interview Part 1 | Taking shelter from the rain reprise: Levi and Peaure

Levi’s type would be someone who’s "tough, feminine and sensual".

Levi's type "might" be tall people. But context matters, because in multiple translations "don't you think?" and "might be" are thrown around a lot. Isayama isn't known for his clarity. When asked, he practically said the question right back. —fan Q&A from a festival in Betsumaga, Aug.2014

What this quote might have come from is a statement by the author of an article Isayama was likely involved in. I can't say this is 100% canon, but in my opinion it's a little less canon than the Smartpass AUs; if those are sub-canon, then this is sub-sub-canon:

Levi's romantic type is someone who walks three steps behind him, and likes cleaning.

In the past, in Japanese culture, for a wife to walk three steps behind her husband implied highly traditional gender roles. What this is much more likely to mean is that Levi's romantic type is someone who will let him protect them, or will run away and survive even if it costs his life. (And they have to like cleaning.)

—the article is from 2013, and no longer exists. but the link was used as recently as 2021 as a source in this post by a reliable translator. I've found this quote also in varying qualities of translation across Japanese and English forums, so to the best of my knowledge, it's reliable.

Levi's cravat is a piece of his mother's dress + he was wearing her dress when Kenny found him.

This is a popular rumor that Isayama has never confirmed (i think it is true, tho.)

December 25th was chosen by his comrades because he doesn't know his actual birthday.

The guidebook only states that it is his birthday. I can't find any more context on this. —AOT Guidebook; p.256

His character profile:

—AOT Guidebook; p.78–79

His name is Hebrew, and means "attached" or to be "joined".

Isayama came up with Levi's name after watching American documentary "Jesus Camp". (It's about a summer camp-type program where evangelical Christian children are taught extreme beliefs. One of the children was named Levi.) Isayama heard it and thought it sounded cool. —Hajime Isayama x Hikaru Suruga (2014) | 2010 blogpost by Isayama

Levi is in his early 30s (in s3/RtS/volume 19). –Interview, Universal Studios Japan’s SNK THE REAL exhibition, 2016 | confirmation

If Kuchel was still alive, Levi would want to make sure she had an easy life. This means specifically filial piety, a concept exclusive to the East: he would fulfill his duties as a son for her. (tldr he's a mama's boy :3) —Bessatsu Magazine, 2019

Levi would have thin facial hair, but he prefers not to, so he shaves frequently. —January 2020 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 124)

He doesn't like coffee milk or coffee jelly. They're out of the question even.🤐 —July 2018 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 106)

He just gets depressed when he drinks coffee. Maybe he loves tea that much? He stopped calling Hange names like 'shitty glasses' since they became commander because he "seems" to respect their position that much. However, a Smartpass story delves deeper into this (and states as I suspected): [After Hange makes a joke] "Since becoming the commander succeeding Erwin, they’d toned down on their past speech and behaviour that had a touch of tomfoolery; Levi understanding that they were nevertheless trying to maintain the self “that was the case then”, also loses the will to curse at them." + "In the past, Hange had a Hange-type dream, and should have been progressing to that purpose. That lately, was it the weight of the office of commander, or was it due to the reality that is “all the world was our enemy”, their manner had changed considerably." —May 2017 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 92) | Goodnight. Sweet dreams, dear. Act II: Levi

If he and Kenny had fought one-on-one, Levi would've won. —December 2016 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 87)

intermission: all about tea

His favorite "food" is black tea. No actual food.

He doesn't add sugar or milk to his tea because he considers it too expensive—which it is canonically. Despite this, he will share his tea with his comrades (his original squad as far as is seen).

Even though he's Captain, he'd rather drink it straight (the implications of which are he's a hardworking man, like that of a farmer. aka, this makes him seem humble).

If a time of peace ever came, Levi wants to open a black tea shop (he said in a dreamlike way, not so much based in reality).

He also knows a good amount of facts and history about it. He's a tea enthusiast!!

Levi receives pilfered tea in shipments monthly, thanks to Erwin.

—AU Smartpass - Erwin & Levi Close Up Interview Part 2 | Part 1 | Taking shelter from the rain reprise: Levi and Peaure | Bessatsu Magazine, Jan.2014 | September 2016 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 84) | AU Smartpass My First Time Around: Levi Ackerman | The Case of the Corps Tea Party - File No. 09 Levi's Side (3/3) | sugar and milk in tea from the Japanese perspective

Levi, out of his original squad, found Petra cute/sweet in the general sense of the word "kawaii". Like Levi's romantic type however, this was sort of a non-answer to the question (of whether Levi thought she was cute). —2014 interview

After RtS, Levi seems to consider Hange and the 104th his family. —AU Smartpass My First Time Around: Levi Ackerman

He wears a cravat because Isayama based part of his design off Rorschach from the movie 'Watchmen'. He looks "delicate" because of his size and weight, but he's so powerful because [in issues before the reveal of the Ackerman bloodline] of "invisible power" at work. —January 2016 issue of Bessatsu Magazine (chapter 76)

The best way to describe the way he thinks is to compare him to the main character from the movie The Hurt Locker (2008). His character was born from Hiei from the manga 'Yuyu Hakusho', and Rorschach from the movie 'Watchmen'. The former was the basis for his appearance (especially his eyes), and the latter was the basis for his personality. Firstly though, Isayama had an image of a small man being the strongest.

—Hajime Isayama x Hikaru Suruga (2014) / Brutus Magazine (2014)

He is something of a protagonist (especially in s3p1). — Animedia, June 2018

His favorite tool (in general...?) is microfiber cloths (for dust I guess. Levi has no need for weapons :3) —July 2015 issue of Bessatsu Magazine

He will usually laugh/smile when he sees convenient cleaning goods (i.e., vacuum cleaners? feather dusters? ((cuz he's a shorty?❤️)) —Bessatsu Magazine, Dec. 2013

He does want to be taller sometimes. He gets eager to clean up after meals rather than cook at all. He can cook, though. —Bessatsu Magazine, Aug.2014 | fan Q&A in Oyama, Oita, Mar.2018

Levi mostly couldn't adapt to the changes that came about after the truth was discovered. Only he wears mostly the same uniform, cape, and blades.

After RtS, Levi personally retrieved Erwin's remains himself, for whom there was a special memorial service. After Eren (inadvertently) called him a "tiny old man" in season 3, Levi didn't care, but when he thought of it by himself later, he was hurt (unclear exactly why). Levi's father, most likely one of Kuchel's customers, is an insignificant man who's short. That's where Levi's height comes from. His face comes from his mother. At the start of season 4, Levi didn't change much compared to the 104th because he's turning into an "old man" who'd rather stick with his flip phone so to speak. He "doesn't break out into cold sweats". AKA he's always calm under pressure. He considers prostitution to be an ordinary job because of his childhood. Levi's vision is very sharp, way above average. He thought Eren's new look beginning season 4 was unclean/dirty (in more ways than one perhaps). —fan Q&A in Oyama, Oita, Mar.2018

He has slight bouts of insomnia. He never snaps/explodes when he's angry. But he does get angry or grumpy a lot, in general. He doesn't sing. It's more likely he would dance. If he was a fan of Momoiro Clover Z (jpop girl group), his favorite would be Momoka. When/if he drinks, he has a high tolerance, but he can get a little drunk :) One thing he highly hates and fears is mold. He is the one who ordered Armin to dress as Historia during the uprising. His blood type is A. Blood types are much like horoscopes in Japanese culture, and Levi's is as such: kichōmen, or well-organized; he likes keeping things neat, but can be stubborn and stressed out easily.

Whether he eats enough or has a good diet? He is "a bit lax". Maybe he forgets to eat sometimes, or has a low appetite. When Levi bathes, he goes for a quick shower then soak in hot water, which takes about ten minutes. Like a bird :')) He on any given night gets about 2-3 hours of sleep. He thought Eren was the best at cleaning (in season 3 / uprising arc). Because of his childhood in the Underground, Levi has a preoccupation/obsession with cleaning (specifically to ward off disease). He also doesn't have any pajamas, mostly keeping day clothes on when he goes to sleep - which is in "his" chair. Levi cuts his own hair using clippers. (Something like:)

He's aware Oluo imitated him, and found it annoying. Levi's horoscope (in general) as a Capricorn: Humanity’s Strongest Soldier - Levi. He possesses warmth in the midst of a dispassionate nature, and he is capable of leadership without verbal expression – both of which are special qualities of a Capricorn. Capricorns tend to hold certain levels of authority, even if they must carry out somewhat unreasonable tactics while in such positions. But when such authority is backed up with actual abilities, a Capricorn can gain Levi’s type of confidence and also be put on a pedestal by those around them. However, Capricorns won’t be dependent on others, much less trust them easily. They don’t hold high expectations and thus never feel a sense of failure. Levi’s faults include the inability to express himself clearly. Even though he wants to encourage his companions, he always speaks in a roundabout way, and without Hanji’s translation it’s nearly impossible to understand Levi’s intended meaning. Even though he is dependable in most situations, when it comes to love/romance, he expresses himself clumsily/awkwardly. —FRaU Magazine, Aug.2014. | fan Q&A in Oyama, Oita, Mar.2018 | Levi: Close-up Report (Part One) | Translator *the horoscope wasn't written by Isayama, but was published alongside canon information, and it's also not factually wrong, so I'm including it.

The dark circles under Levi’s eyes are to convey the “self-destruction” he takes on to reach the “standard” of Humanity’s Strongest. —Interview on the topic of Levi, May 2015

His 'liege'—as Eren is to Mikasa, and Uri is to Kenny—is Erwin. He is afraid of making deep relationships because of the cruel world he lives in; he can't know when someone he cares for will die or how soon. That 'gap' left in Levi's heart by Kenny's death was filled by his squad (the 104th). If Levi hadn't joined the Survey Corps, he would've been a "very irresponsible person". Risky with his life perhaps? As a kid, Levi used to make himself stronger in order to receive praise from Kenny. When he abandoned him, he wondered what his strength was even for. He was able to find peace with Kenny after his death. In CH72, the reason Levi kicked the shit out of Eren and Jean is because of his argument with Erwin earlier.

He knows he's a slave to his own strength, aka the idea of being a hero. He realizes it when Kenny asked what he's a slave to in s3/ch69. —Answers Guidebook, Aug.2016

If he ever changed his appearance, the one thing Levi couldn't be able to give up is his undercut :') He would grow out the top and tie it up :3 —Oyama homecoming event Q&A in 2014 | 2 | 3

Levi knows how to use a gun, but he "places more trust" in knives. —Bessatsu Magazine, 2019

Levi tolerates saunas. But instead of enjoying himself he seems to see it as a test of endurance. (LOL) —Bessatsu Magazine, 2020

Levi has newspaper-level handwriting that he practices often. He's very conscious of it and being connected back to the Underground. —AU Smartpass TEXT: Levi’s Signature

Isayama had considered killing Levi around the time of the thunderspear explosion. (As always) Isayama deliberated with his editors whether or not it'd be meaningful if he died, and they decided it wouldn't be. —Kawakubo interview, 2021

Specially, Levi holds his swords in a reverse grip "his own way" since he wasn't officially trained. —Illustrate Note Magazine, 2017

Levi forcefully bathes Hange by knocking them unconscious. —AU Smartpass - Erwin & Levi Close Up Interview Part 1

Levi is 4 at the time that Kuchel dies. —What the director informed Kamiya Hiroshi of on set

His character song is called "Dark Side of the Moon", found on YouTube here. Translated lyrics here.

how to draw Levi:

—AOT Guidebook; p.229 | +Illustrate Note Magazine, 2017

#please share... this took days of time and effort #levi aot #snk levi #snk levi ackerman #levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #captain levi #rivaille heichou #levi heichou #captain levi ackerman #levi rivaille #rivaille ackerman #aot manga #snk #levi art #levi shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi.thoughts

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bakubunny · 3 months

Note

so im not a brat at all, who in bnha do u think would love the good girls, the eager to please girls, best ? (:<

finally a question i can answer. 😭 i’m not a brat either. i hate punishment and the thought of doing smth just to get under someone’s skin makes me itch. that being said, my faves are my faves for a reason. 😉 i headcanon a lot of them into this category.

and i personally believe that most people - until they’re with a brat - don’t know how demanding that type of dynamic can be. there’s nothing wrong with it, but i would say that true “brat tamers” (i don’t like that term but whatever) are pretty rare because you have to be okay with the constant pushback from your sub. and most doms get drained by that rather than energized from it.

but i digress, here we gooooo 🥳

togata. listen. i said this before i started really writing ddlg/age play content for bnha: if we’re strictly looking at character traits readily exhibited in canon, togata is the first and really only character i could easily see as a true daddy dom of a little sub, the whole bit. he loves a person that’s eager to please, and his dominance style is heavily based on praise, gentle guidance, and seeing his sub flourish. togata does not get enough love, but i also say that knowing i may not write him very often bc i love my grumpy grump soft boys (see below).

aizawa. he’s got big daddy dom energy, but he doesn’t have the mental or emotional energy for constant give and take of bratting. just looking at young aizawa can tell you a lot about him: he’s much more sensitive than he lets on to the outside world, and he’s incredibly caring. he can put you in your place if necessary, but by far, he prefers obedient, pliant, good, etc. it makes him all soft and warm inside to see you smile and flourish under his care ion make the rules.

bakugo. you’d think he has the energy to be a brat tamer (that’s actually izu) because he can put you in your place so easily, but i think the moment someone who truly loves obedience and being good captures his heart, he’s such a softie. 😭 he loves it. it makes his heart race to have his little sweetie so eager to please.

todoroki. he’s not a brat tamer. at all. in fact i think punishment in general but esp anything that doesn’t involve pleasure is a hard limit for him.

yamada. soft dom/switch vibes for dayyysss. he loves good girls but doesn’t mind playful bratting.

kaminari. he’s kind of bratty as a sub, but as a switch/soft dom, but he doesn’t like coming down with a strong arm. he doesn’t mind a little give and take, finds it fun actually, but he thinks obedience is just adorable and he loves it.

toshinori. he’s so soft ok 😭 maybe in his younger days, he would have liked the push and pull, but he loves sweetheart who love to please. and after the life he’s had, he deserves a damn break.

tokoyami. sure he’s high protocol for the most part (imo), but he’s big on the appearance of innocence and has a corruption kink. obedient, pliant sweethearts make him crazy.

kirishima and iida could go either way i feel, but they love giving praise, and good girls are great for that.

midoriya has definite brat tamer energy, but he’s like kiri. he loves giving praise, guiding, obedience, softness, etc. don’t think he’d mind a good girl. i think he’d enjoy it quite a bit, but that playfulness and willingness to punish for your benefit should not go to waste. 🫣

chisaki. (i don’t like him but listen.) mostly because disobedient pets irritate the hell out of him. he doesn’t have the patience or playfulness needed for a brat, frankly. but obedient pets put a twinkle in his eye.

mashirao gives kind, soft dom vibes and i will take no further questions at this time. 🫣 he loves a good girl.

amajiki also gives soft dom vibes like ojiro. he can be a hard ass every once in a while, but he likes obedience.

@dcsiremc @neon-gothicc @heartofjasmina @sunflower-emoji thought you’d like this

#this was not a request i just have a lot of thoughts on it clearly lmao #asks #bakubunny #bnha #bnha smut #mha #mha smut #x reader #f!reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aged up characters #boku no hero

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1eoness · 11 months

Text

CHANGE.

cw: re4remake leon... just a lil more rude than usual. covers very sensitive topics: theft and surrogate prostitution (not mentioned), SUPERRR NOT CANON.

nsfw cw: DUBCON i think? (always practice safe and consensual sex) (slight-enemy smut idfk) dom!re4remake leon kennedy x sub! fem/afab-reader. size kink, creampie?? spit kink?? squirting?? mild degradation, pet names, feminine terms... straight up porn tbh i dont even know BRUHH WTFI DONT EVEN KNOW THE THINGS I WRITE

[to clarify, i am a minor (17). anyone <17 and anyone >17 uncomfortable with interacting pls dni]

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

synopsis :

your job is simple. as long as you exploit and delude the men at the top of the social pyramid, ada sponsored you with her safety and training. though, your naivete made it easy for ada to convince you that you weren't just some dirty pawn stationed in a particular estate—which happens to be leon's next mission area.

when he encounters you to perform your arrest, leon prays to any god up there that he has the patience not to mess you over for turning into the person you've become today.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

"— just listen to me, damn it!" leon scolded as he tugged onto the metal that strung your cuffed wrists together, cutting your retorts off with your abrupt grit of pain. your insistence of denying his chances without hearing him out made you more irritable than you already were. "you have no idea what you're carrying. you're gonna start a fucking epidemic if you take that anywhere near ada, you understand?"

it was understandable. you were carrying a formula. some unethical, potent 'opium' derived from a variant of the t-virus. freshly baked by some ex-umbrella geeks, it was marketed to be an effective drug, planned to be distributed to some sort of paramilitary in spain to modify their strength to inexplicable heights (which was proved to be false, yet some arrogant virologists insisted it had potential, so unethical 'scientists' wanted to get their hands on improving it). that's all you know about it, anyway.

leon's true nature behind his words rooted from the fact that he was fucking worried for you and it's not only because of the position that ada put you in right now. that enigmatic woman, treating you like some guinea pig and you couldn't even see it. it surprised leon that you were even alive.

leon knew you way before ada discovered you in that dark junction, before you dropped out of police academy without a word and went back to your old ways of 'getting through life'.

leon was your role model. he was the first one to make friends with you while you stood 'incompetent' in that academy.

but people dug their eyes in you because of your history. all it takes is a few facebook searches and some names for the other fellow cadets to define you using your past. and when the awareness rose to leon, he was the first one to defend you.

the eidetic memory of you; you were sat on a hall bench with his jacket hung loosely over your dropping shoulders, gripping an unopened water bottle that turned lukewarm. your fingers felt numb from the tremors of anxiety, and the broodingly saddened look in your eyes.

he was knelt in front of his dear friend, trying to reassure you that people can change, and you were already making those efforts. his thumbs held your palms when with a serious tone, encouraged you into promising him that you will never change; because you are a sweet girl and you never deserved to be shamed for something you thought was your survival. within this promise, he also promised you that as long as you kept your self-faith you will never go back to what you hated being. you should've seen how genuine his smile look when you chuckled sheepishly, the flush on your cheeks earning a double reasoning.

and now, it pained him more to realize that he regrets not making another promise, one he held back from saying that night. don't leave him.

a very selfish, unwarranted yet passionate part of him believes that you'd been so cruel to him, abandoning him like that. and now you want to leave again?

now you're being reprimanded by the cop who you looked at like he was a hero.

where was the bright cadet in those eyes, the one that looked up to him?

and it was just great of you to articulate further on how much he underestimated your stubbornness."i'm slowing you down. if it's not me (who will escort the sample), it's gonna be ada. you thought she was a one-man job? that you can somehow negotiate with her because you guys fucked once? my god, have you ever changed?-" out of being so naive? but the words don't follow because he knows you were going to say it.

leon's hand slid from your back to grip harshly at the back collar of your shirt, lifting your chest up from the table abruptly. he locked eyes with you, hidden tension bubbling the air like odorless toxins. he scoffs, and his low voice turned deliberate as he tried to spell the irony out for you. "ada. doesn't. work with people. she uses them, and you're not some 'special exception'."

and it's true, he knows it all too well..

"she uses... people like you." you were quick to correct him indignantly with a struggling breath. leon knew nothing about you and ada. ada was like a big sister to you. she taught you what you couldn't learn at police academy. she understood where you came from, and she knows the lowest moments in your life. but leon knew all of that too, didn't he?

"you know why?"

he scoffs. "enlighten me." and there was a subtle increase of tightness in his grip, eyes narrowing down at your bent-over body in anticipation.

"'cause you're a fuck up, kennedy."

upon hearing your quips, he thought maybe he should add a small noise of pain to it, because he flushed you further against the surface with a force that hinted irritation. he had enough of this pointless hissing. "listen, y'little bitch..." he gruffed with the mere frustration surging his voice. he's probably never addressed a woman like that, but oh, how people can shift within the span of their emotion. "you have the sample, now tell me where it is. and if you have it, then you know what to do."

leon wasn't confident that you had the item on you, knowing ada was most likely using you as a decoy. he didn't want to hurt you. even if you've looked like you've changed; to him, you haven't..

of course you were holding the "formula", leon was just dumb enough to think you actually had it on you. your eyes fluttered before you laughed emptily in heavy breaths, peeking over your shoulder whilst he did not let up on you. your torso was starting to fucking hurt. but so was your pride. "then come get it, rookie." you baited.

you ignited an internal burn he didn't even know he had. one that reached the peak of its abrasion.

"..fuck you." he growled inaudibly before you yelped, feet off the ground. and fuck ada, too.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

if you were gonna keep acting like a brat, he was going to fuck you like one.

his hand came behind your head, locking your hair in a tight grip while you felt his tongue glide against yours in a messy kiss. an overwhelming amount of affectionate frustration surged as he propped you up firmer on that desk. he ate your whines as he tired your damp mouth out, the rising feeling of grudge-rooted sexual frustration pining somewhere inside him hotly.

"why do you hate me so much, mmm?" he gasped quietly for a breath, his hand letting go of your hair and holding both sides of your hips, hastily pulling your pants up mid-thigh. he needed to be inside you, he just needed it so bad..

"cause you're .. hhah.. y-you've become too cocky f'your own good, kennedy-" leon scoffs at the sight of you drooled up with the trails of mixed saliva. you're sure that's not you? you could've fooled him, you were fucking sopping—trails of your essence sticking to your underwear. it made him moan low in desperation. he wanted to lick it all up. "is that right.." he muttered with utter lack of amusement as his cold thumb glided over your fluids absentmindedly, spreading one fold apart slightly to get a better look. his eyes soften, breath hitching knowing it's gonna feel so good inside you.

"d-definitely too cocky!-" you insisted with a contrast whine that emitted from your sweet voice, expecting him to start off with letting you adjust to his tip first. but you're hopeless for thinking leon would ever go soft on you just because you only remember the "naive" version of him years ago. people change, right?

you were suddenly squirming when you felt him fill and thrust into you thickly, humbling your little cunny as it pulsated. dumb little bunny, leon thinks to himself, watching you start to fluster and retort weakly beneath him with your ankles on his shoulders.

his hand comes up to your head, smacking your cheek swiftly. "shut up. shut the fuck up." he growls, eyes narrowing mildly, holding your cheeks with one hand as he pried your little mouth open. his thoughts were so guiltily dirty, wondering how cute your throat would look filled with his cock. he'll have to try another time, though, wouldn't he? for now his ring and middle finger deliberately slide into your tongue, savoring the minor 'hhnnn' that lolled out of your sticky tongue as your eyes peered up at him glassily.

the words 'fuck me' were written all over your eyes when his gaze locks down to yours. and could he resist such a pretty baby?- why were you so pretty?

it's a shame that you made so much effort to treat him indifferently, calling him by his last name and all...

your vision felt cloudy given that you were full of leon. but you catch glimpse of the way he smirks at himself before he leans down much closer to your face, folding your legs over and not giving a fuck if it hurts. the simple shift in angle had you crying out as his tip grazed over the right spots.

he spits a string of saliva down into your forced-open mouth, hoping it would furtherly aid in getting you to shut up over something so trivial. "so fucking dirty..." his fingers gently traced your bottom lip while he whispers with mock-disgust, yet it's laced with affection- a twisted pair of feelings that has him needing you at incalculable rates.

his hands come down to the exposed flesh of your hips, fingers dipping into your skin as he holds you still on his girth. it felt even better when you could feel his bulging size rub up inside you hastily— the way he was fucking you fervently and not letting you get away. you're never fucking leaving his sight, or his mind.

"h-how's this for.. uhh-..nngh.. being cocky? huh?" he groaned roughly after stammering with the embers of his frustration. leon's frustrated that he can't speak without stammering, so he takes it out on you with punishing thrusts that have you sobbing louder, mending his ego by ruining yours. he's stripping your pride away with each push into your sweet spots.

you gave in, vulnerable as you started to blabber from the way you were getting your breath knocked up. "hnggghh.... ahh!-.. l-leon!~ n-not there!-"

"there it is.." he mutters to himself sweetly mid-fucking-you-full. you're finally talking to him properly, how cute.. "more, baby?" he taunts with a struggling moan but he doesn't let you react; the only reaction he wants is you reducing beneath him, proving it by his fingers bruising your skin as he rammed into you in a desperate pace. "ngghh uhh.. fuck-" he whines loudly, your hole squelching uncontrollably as he fucks the juices out of you with every sweet drag of his sensitive shaft.

you turn him so soft he hates you for it.. he has such a soft spot for you, doesn't he?

"fuuck, this pussy's.. so good.." his eyes were half-lidded, moaning adorably before whining about the fact that he's about to spill a load inside you. "f-fuck, 'so good, please- mnnnnghh- aahh!~" his voice wavered, still driving his cock into you as he breaks through his limits and makes himself whimper gently, tears softening his eyes.

oh but his poor baby, creaming around his shaft so quickly and relentlessly, only to continue being rutted into like a little toy ♡. he coats your sweet little hole with his cum, flooding and painting it all over as his tip poured deep inside of you with a thick, milky warmth that pooled on the varnished wood.

you weren't even speaking anymore, your words melting on your tongue. he doesn't understand a damn thing you're saying but he doesn't need you to speak, he just needs you to feel good.

"fuck... uhhhnn!~.. fuck me, please, baby.." he blathers before he found himself whining at the way your cunt pulsates, eyes teasing at you subtly while he holds your cheeks together in his domineering hand. he doesn't even pull out much, just shoving and grinding his girth into your creamed-up cunny and making you endure the crushing pleasure. his hands scramble to push against the back of your thighs, folding them to let him fully fill up into your already deflowered, milky vulva.

"n-no, g'nna- leon!" your mind goes into total shudder as your back arched, having him hold your hips in place as you started to gush all over his stuffy girth.

"ohh, mhmm.. that's it, sweet girl.." leon knows you feel good, seeing you cry flusteredly while he still thrusted in you to lengthen the feeling of you cumming. he tore at your pride, pulling out the vulnerable version of yourself he hasn't seen in a long time. especially when you reach up for him like you wanted a hug. that did it for him.

he leans down to pick you up, your legs dangle tiredly around his waist. he's sorry to whoever's bed it was that he laid you down on. he whimpered softly into the fabric of your shoulder while trying to regain his stability. you could faintly feel him pepper tame, short kisses on it mindlessly.

he nuzzles into your skin. "you wanna be a good girl f'me?" he murmurs into your neck breathily.

"mhmm.."

"then get on your knees." leon lets go from holding you—letting you scramble onto all fours.

he stuffs himself back inside your sensitive hole like he's aching for it, making you wail with struggle. with your legs aimlessly sprawled on either side of him, he makes sure you don't stray from him by holding your hips again. the flesh spilling between his fingers as he pulls you closer like he's scared you'll run away. his hips move irrationally, wanting to make sure he's hitting it good, all the right spots again, just for his baby. he's so sensitive it starts to throb, masochistic urges as he overstimulates himself ceaselessly.

"hhhngh... you can't just.. come around- and then leave- like it's nothing!-" leon babbled whiningly between his forceful thrusts, his pace increasing with incessant speed. you could feel his fingers nimbly moving through your scalp, leon's hand holding the back of your head down onto the fluff surface where your cute little cries of pleasure went in vain.

you couldn't take it but leon made you, his constant rutting inside you even after cumming doesn't pause. he's suffocating this way but he doesn't even care. he's so loud behind you, fucking into your messy cunt like it hurts real good.

his attention is divulged slightly when he sees a little glow on the pocket of your shirt. how didn't he spot that? his hand snakes over your breast, fingertips swiftly snagging the high-tech vial and shoving it somewhere in his remaining clothing.

you yelped. ada was going to kill you. "h-hey!-" he notices you trying to look behind you but his hand is quicker, turning your head forwards with a gentle grip of his hand. he muffled your face into the sheets with the force of his hand holding your head, and he snaps his hips faster just to have you all adorable and crying for him again. "y'c-can't take tha-" oh, but what were you going to do about it?

he starts deliberately making up mistranslations of what you wanted to say. "mm, what's that, sweet girl? you want more?... oh, i know, baby, oh shh.. i got'chu, you're so good, huh? uhhuh.." he encouraged amidst fucking you back into a state of distraction, a hazy smile to himself while he considers his mission accomplished.

#straight filth.#leon filth.#leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy smut #IM SORRY IKTHIS IS INACCURATEBUT IM TRYING #leon kennedy x reader

1K notes · View notes

deepestnightcolor · 5 days

Note

SO grateful for your fics about our dear boy Sam 🙏🙏🙏 I would love your take on Sam with a more dominant reader if you ever feel so inclined 💕

Thank you sooooo much for your request! It really means the world to me!~

I mulled over this and hope my take on slutty sub Sam is able to satisfy your needs! Enjoy and thank you so much!

☾ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏʏ ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: The request above says it all. Sam's an absolute sub for you, dear reader. Use your powers wisely.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x afab!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 2449 words.

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: sub Sam, bondage, dirty talk, spanking, soft nipple play, game calling, dirty talk, teasing, edging, begging. Sam's dick is pierced, it's canon now, fam.

Breathing seemed almost impossible for poor Sam as his head was resting on the plush of your thighs.

Maybe it was because of your fingers dancing down his bare chest, maybe your intoxicating scent that was surrounding him. Maybe it was the sweet words you whispered to him, telling him what a good boy he was for you.

But in all honesty, it was probably all three combined with the fact that you had firmly tied his hands to the headboard of your shared bed.

Sam simply loved subbing for you. He also loved taking control over you, but this...this always felt rawer to him. The way you always spoke in a hushed whisper that carried an almost threatening undertone always made him melt on the spot. Made him crave to behave. To be your good boy.

"What do you want, Sammy?"

There it was again. Voice barely above a whisper, but so delicious it went straight to his red, hard dick. Pre-cum drooled from the tip already from what you could see. But it was understandable, really. Your hands hadn't rested ever since they had worked on tying him down; tracing circles on his heaving chest, stroking a straight line down his stomach, tracing his v-line with a tender precision. However, the moment you felt the heat radiating from his rock hard erection, you purposefully made your way upwards again.

He opened his mouth to give you an answer - he was a good boy, after all!- just to instead let out a shaky groan when your fingers finally wrapped around the shaft of his dick, suffocating his attempt to speak before it even could have been considered serious.

"I didn't hear you, Sammy." Your answer was clear, sharp. Teasing. You knew exactly what you had done, but that didn't mean you'd let your little sub go without any consequences. Fingers loosening their grip, you allowed the pads of them to wander his dick. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a ghost of a touch. But that was enough for Sam to immediately whimper for you. Whining for you, his slim hips bucked upwards, chasing after what could be; what was so close to being. You grinned to yourself as you saw your lover on your lap - brows furrowed in concentration, mouth open to let the begging sounds slip off his tongue. You loved Sam like this. He was in the palm of your hand, desperate and ready to follow orders. That's why you had to tie him up most of the time - he was an eager boy. Trying to get on your good side at all times, slobbering all over you when you permitted him to touch you.

Humping at you, fumbling your weak spots to try and make you cave. But today you had special plans for Sammy, which meant you didn't want to cave, yet even tied down he didn't make it easy not to. He was simply delicious all messy and needy like this. Red, drooling cock bucking up into the air with the desperate hope that it would make a difference this time, just to find out that it did not. The disappointment of the realization didn't linger long, quite the opposite. His hips were back in the air the moment they had met the mattress.

It was true - you were quick to punish Sam, but you were just as quick to reward him. Your hand now moved up and down his heated-up shaft, watching the reaction you forced out of the blond. His back was arched in, hips up in the air as if he feared you would stop as soon as he rested his butt back down on the mattress.

"Sammy~" you pressed, your thumb now actually finding its place on his tip, spreading the pre-cum with slow strokes. Sam was gasping for air, trying to fill his lungs enough for speaking to become possible, but you were growing impatient, clearly shown by the smack to his pretty thigh.

"You! You, I want you, pretty..ohhh fuckkkk."

However, you were far from stopping. You shifted around, now straddling your boyfriend, looking down at him with lustful eyes. Yoba, he wanted you. His whole body language told you so. From his tensed muscles to his dark blue eyes peering up at you, silently begging you for more. Of course, you weren't a heartless monster. Quite the opposite, actually. Just as horny for your boyfriend with need bubbling in the pit of your stomach, filling your veins, and clouding your brain. Your cunt was drooling for him, wetness coating your lips, your clit throbbing for Sam. You just had to rut against that pretty pierced dick. Show it the love it deserved.

"Baby, please. Fuck. Please, oh please, I am begging you... I need you...-" He gasped, his hands working against the restraints that clung to his wrists as if it made any difference; they held him to the headboard with an iron grip. A smack landed on his hip again, making your boyfriend whine, but the twitching of his thick shaft beneath you told you how turned on he truly was. "I don't think that's what a good boy does, Sammy," you sighed while shaking your head. But fuck - you really weren't a monster! And only a monster could resist that heavenly throbbing and pulsing against your wet pussy, the thought of the metal of his piercing gliding along your walls while you used your boyfriend as your personal fucktoy.

Lining up Sam with you always made you quiver in excitement. The man was big, slightly curved, and fucking thick. It was easy for you to say that he filled you like no other could.

"Look at you," you sighed as you rocked your hips back and forth, biting your lip. Your boyfriend stared up at you with awe, his mouth still hanging open as if he was about to say something, but all that left him were moans and gentle whines of your name. His cheeks were flushed, and his chest went up and down fast. His hands now continuously worked against his restraints, but when the realization that it was of no avail hit him, he decided to change tactics. His hips bucked up, an attempt to make you move faster in his lap.

"Ba-" he tried to urge you, but the feeling of your sweet, sweet walls wrapping around his hard dick made his world spin. "That's my boy," you cooed, looking down at the taller man, your own thighs quivering as you tried to adjust to him. The stretch felt painful, but in a way that made you crave more. The blond was lying beneath you, slender fingers pressing into the palms of his hands as he tried to savour the feeling. His brain barely was able to handle it, though, leaving him no choice but to babble. You attempted to figure out what he was saying, yet you didn't catch much more than "so good" and "fuck" and maybe, you were unsure about that one, "mine".

Sam's string of words could flow for all you cared, you weren't really able to understand him either way. So instead of wasting any more time you began to move your hips delicately. Starting out with a pace. So slow it almost drove you crazy, yet you kept staring at the handsome man beneath you, because his face simply made it worth it. SO full of pleasure and strain as he needed more, so divine.

"Behave," you threatened, giving his sensitive nipples another tug. Sam nodded, his ability to form coherent sentences seemingly out the window again as you began to grind your hips into him again. This time you moved up and down his shaft faster, with less regard to teasing him. The metal of his cock piercing just did something to you as it bumped and slid across your squishy walls, the tip of his cock entering you deeper and deeper with each bounce. Your boyfriend was obviously struggling beneath you, his legs twitching as he desperately tried to refrain himself from bucking up, his breathing shaking. He wanted to beg you to keep going, for you to fuck yourself stupid on him if you so pleased, but he wasn't able to.

The result he achieved was the opposite; you stilled your hips completely, leaning down so your faces were just about to meet. Another smack filled the room as you slapped Sam's hip, your fingers pinching into his nipples right after.

The whimper that left your lover's throat was absolutely unholy, eyes half-lidded as he gave you a small pout.

"That's no way to behave now, is it, Sammy?" You cooed, slapping his chest with a scowl. "Maybe I should just stop...you can fuck the air if you can’t keep your hips still. Maybe it will bring you as much pleasure as this pussy does, hm?"

"No! Oh, fuck, please! Don't, I beg you, I promise I'll behave!"

His lower lip was quivering - he had just gotten you this far, and now you would just stop? He wouldn't be able to handle that-

"Fuck, Sammy~ Love your fat cock inside of me...Lookin' so pretty for me, too. Do you like the way I'm riding you?" You cooed, but your hushed tone was interrupted by a low moan his dick tore out of you. The stretch was delicious, and by Yoba, you were so lucky that he was all yours.

Sam nodded eagerly to answer, which made you roll your eyes. He knew better than that, didn't he?

A breathless moan escaped his wet lips and he nodded eagerly, his whole body melting beneath you as you used him just how you pleased, riding his penis hard and fast. The blond watched you with hunger, and it was obvious just how badly he wanted to get his hands on you. His fingers twitched whenever he deemed you in reach, and his arm muscles strained to touch you.

"Sam," you warned, leaning down and biting down on his pink nipple, coaxing a hoarse moan out of him as his upper body snapped up as far as the ties around his wrists would allow. "Yes! Yes! L-love it!"

"And what do we say if we like something, Sammy?"

"Thank you!"

"That's my good boy."

You simply didn't care. His dick was there to please you, and the both of you knew it. Breathing heavily, you moaned his name tenderly, fucking yourself sloppily. You had to steady yourself on his shoulders, the feeling of his shaft filling you slowly driving you insane. His moans, so strained and full of despair, his eyes, full of adoration that bled into lust-

It was obvious that his head was spinning while he tried to find the right words, and you made it even harder by lightly rocking forward every now and then.

"I- gonna- cu-"

You abruptly stopped, even though your whole body screamed at you not to. You were so close yourself, but...

"Mhh...you haven't begged enough today, Sam, don'tcha think?" You asked, a dramatic sigh leaving your lips. On the inside, you wanted to just untie him and have him fuck you. He always fucked you so well when you riled him up like this. It was like a beast that was unleashed; but you just had to stay strong.

You rocked your hips forward once, straining a gasp out of him. "Maybe...mhhh...maybe I should leave you here for a while...let you...figure it out yourself~"

"No! Fuck, please! Please, please, please! I'm begging you! Let me cum! I'm...I'm your good boy! Pretty please, I'll do anything! I'll be good! I am good! Please!" He cried, blue eyes swimming in tears.

"Shame. I thought you learned your lesson."

You began to lift your hips, his cock just about to leave the warmth of your sweet. Wet walls completely when Sam finally snapped into action.

Again, you weren't a monster. So when Sam whispered a final "please" you finally allowed him to bottom out inside of you. "Help me a little here, my little slut. Come on," you cooed, lifting your hips to bounce on him again.

You wouldn't have needed to tell the blond twice. He bent his knees and planted his feet firmly against the mattress, using the newfound leverage to pound into you. His tip bullied into you as you worked against him, and fuck, you loved it. The sound of skin against wet skin and moans filled the bedroom again, just like Sam's incoherent rambling picked up again.

An actual sob tore from deep within him, a few tears trickling down his cheeks. His balls felt so heavy and you were basically sucking him off while you clung to him. He wanted, no, he needed to cum! He was a good boy! He found his words quicker this time, tears running down his face as he looked at you: "Please...please, please, let me cum! Balls...they hurt...you look so good! Feel so good.. Just...please," he sobbed, rutting his hips into you gently. His dick was drooling inside of you now, and the sloppy sounds filling the air, combined with his begs...

You were a panting mess yourself now, Sam's senseless pounding making the knot in your stomach grow. Sam didn't seem much further from the edge, almost immediately begging for you.

"Please! Please! Don't stop, please just let me-"

You didn't allow the blond to finish his sentence, instead, completely sitting down on him and halting his hips by clenching your thighs around them.

"I'm listening, Sammy?"

You began to ride him again, bouncing on him like he belonged to you. Sam's sobs didn't still, quite the opposite; they intensified the closer he tethered to the edge. "Can I-"

"Cum for me, pretty boy. Fill me up!"

But for now, you just had to lay your head on his chest for a moment, listening to his racing heart with closed eyes. Your hands were stroking through strands of blond hair as you tried to re-enter reality.

Sam didn't waste any time, his hips ramming upwards as rope after rope of cum filled you up, painting your bullied walls white. You felt so, so stuffed full, but whenever you thought there could be nothing more, Sam’s dick proved you wrong.

A hitch in your breathing could be heard, your own back arching inwards as he held on to your thighs, your legs spasming as your orgasm ed through your body. The sensation left the two of you breathless; walls tight around Sam's shaft, his cum mixing with your juices. You'd make him lick you clean later.

"That's my good boy."

#sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #sdv sam #stardew valley farmer #stardew valley smut #sdv fanfic #fanfic #smut #sdv sam x reader

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seikkoi · 3 months

Text

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ [1, 2] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 12k a/n: new year, new format. sorry for the delay! wrestled w this for a bit.

You believed him, obviously.

You drank in every malefic word. It’s only the easiest thing in the world to do. Any voice that suggests your wanton attachment was becoming self-destructive died without a fight. You tell yourself that’s impossible–that you couldn’t see your life without him anymore because it was obviously better with him.

Sure, maybe you had some suspicions about his work, and maybe he could be a tad austere demanding, but that was child’s play compared to anything in the past.

You let your body curl beside his, savoring every ounce of his cologne in the air. It’s unfamiliar, feeling his bare skin against yours, but you’re thankful for it. The sandman visits quickly this time, sending you sleep as a calloused hand strokes your cheek.

There’s a beautiful sight awaiting Tony when he wakes the next morning–you, all tangled in silk sheets, warm arms wrapped tight around his midriff.

Almost every hour it feels like he finds a new beauty in you, another reason you’ll stay on his mind every moment of the day. This time, he’s noticing how breath-taking you look asleep, peaceful and holding him like you’re scared he’ll disappear.

Your form is casked in a shy early morning light as he trails his fingers across exposed skin gently, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing. Tony would pay just about anything for you to see what he saw (which was absolute, unwavering perfection, in case you were still unsure).

Eventually, the sun rises high enough to illuminate the faint, pale marks on your hip–and only part of him wishes he showed more restraint.

No matter how much he wanted to take things slow with you, bring you in little by little, he needed your trust–your loyalty–so much more. He’d never cared much for delicacy when it came to love or attraction, especially not after Pepper. After all the bullshit with her, he wanted every living thing to feel the same desolate anger that fused in his bones. Scorched earth seemed too gentle of a policy.

It’s easy to say the end of their relationship came the second he found out, that all his feelings faded into nothingness and no further harm was done. It’s easy to pretend like he’s always been this way–this sharp-edged, arrogant man who commands loyalty and respect. It’s infinitely more difficult to acknowledge that his love for Pepper went away more like a kidney stone than a dying light.

That hot-headed arrogance, the one that soared at your proclivity for mistrust, or hints of leaving, that had been around for ages. The arrogance and fear of losing what he valued most burrowed together, growing slowly over the years into an obsessive need for control. It had laid dormant, waiting for that strawberry blonde catalyst.

The faint patches on your skin gave him a sense of satisfaction–you were his, and he tried to know that that would never change now. He realizes all his calculated moves probably weren’t needed, that he could’ve been more of himself with you sooner. Tony’s anger let him run clean over any worries that you’d leave at the first signs of his true colors. He really wanted to be the kind of man that was all sugar and no spice, but someone ruined that for you a long time ago.

Certainly, it at least wasn’t what you needed. Tony knew what you didn’t, that you could have any man you wanted. You could have chosen some run-of-the-mill, 9-to-5 guy. One who buys you flowers once a month while you live your own boring life with a dead end job, but you chose him for a reason.

You didn’t need coddling, just a bit of control–direction. All the worry he had about the ink in his life staining you could go away. Sleeping beside him, you looked just as pure and innocent as ever, dreaming peacefully. Hiding his life from you is exactly what led to last night’s events anyway. He made a mental declaration to be less conservative with himself, to give you exactly what you claimed to want (him–entirely and unconditionally).

He feels bad for past-him, who had to wait all those months to hear you cry out his name, to feel how easily your body submitted to him. Truthfully, you weren’t resisting him enough to justify the tight hold he kept, but every movement of your body needed to be his doing.

Maybe he should have just ripped off the bandaid sooner. You didn’t need things as fickle as slowness and patience, you needed to know where you belong–right here beside him, blissful and wearing the marks of his obsession.

Every fiber in his being hated doing it, but Tony pulls out of your sleepened embrace. The sudden loss of your warmth is almost physically painful, but he manages to rise from the bed. Your face scrunches slightly, sheets dragging to accommodate your shifting frame.

He contemplates waking you, if anything just to make sure your thoughts aren’t still set on leaving him. Tony’s not a betting man, but he takes the look on your face after coming to his room as a positive sign. Besides, he doesn't like the idea of waking you this early when you need rest more than anything.

There’s money waiting to be made, but he won’t deprive himself of this phenomenal view to do it. A rosewood table identical to the one in your room is moved closer to the bedside, right where he can keep you in his line of sight.

That’s exactly where you find him when you wake, hours later–already dressed in a black polo and dark pants, peering over his laptop. It’s a heavy knock on the door that stirs you, causing Tony to swear when he sees your eyes open.

The papers scattered about the table are shoved into a folder as he checks his watch and swears again. You’re almost too groggy to process voices at the door, turning just in time to see a wooden box transferred into Tony’s hands before the door shuts as quickly as it opened.

An apology is already spewing when he turns to you.

“You’re fine, it’s fine,” you waved your hand, starting to sit up.

You swing your legs over the edge, yawning and trying to think the last bit of sleep away. You might’ve forgotten about last night for a tiny longer had you stayed down. You feel the tenderness of your body before seeing it. Tony notices the subtle twitch of your brow, waiting for your reaction to worsen as he tucks the box into a leather duffel on the floor.

“We should leave in a few hours.”

There’s a flatness in his tone that pulls a puzzled look from you. He puts more papers away, now not even sparing a glance your way. It’s not out of contempt, just the last remnants of fear about you leaving. He had nothing but confidence when you were asleep–obviously feeling safe and enamored enough to lie beside him.

Now though, Tony’s forced to think ahead in time, trying to plan responses to questions and arguments you haven’t even made.

Maybe all Pepper did was make him insecure. (He’d never admit such a thing, though)

“What was that about?” you asked gently, even though you were genuinely trying not to wonder.

“Just work.” He strides back around the bed, planting a kiss to your forehead.

You manage not to pry, or give much of a reaction at all, simply smiling and still trying to stretch the weariness from your body. Your quiet demeanor comes from your own internal battle about his mood, nothing more. Tony though, for all his talents, sadly isn’t a mind reader. What he is however, is sure it’s his own fault.

Tony lets out a huff when he remembers he decided to be less withholding. You’re confused until the wooden box is brought back out. The bed makes a depressing noise under Tony’s weight as he sits across from you.

He can’t stand the apprehensive look in your eye, and figures there’s no time like the present.

“You wanna ask what’s in the box, don’t you, doll?” He says smugly, tapping the container against your knee lightly.

Trick questions aren’t really his style, but you don’t think there’s a right answer.

Tony’s expectations seemed to grow more complex the longer you were with him, and right now, you’re not certain what’s expected of you. The last ten hours in your mind was a feature film, full of depressing internal monologue about how little you really knew about him.

You know you should trust Tony’s words over the whispers of others, but they’re hard to separate when both sources are drenched in ambiguity.

“Look, I,” he pauses to sigh heavily, looking away from you for a moment. “I was completely open with Pepper–full transparency, no secrets, the whole nine yards.”

Vulnerability in any form was without a doubt his least favorite thing, especially with this. It almost petrifies him that you’ll see him differently. Mostly because he doesn’t know what he’d do if you really did leave. Somewhere, swimming in back of his brain is the idea that you’ll pull the same stunt she did. That train of thought always leads him down dark roads he’d prefer to ignore.

“I guess I was a little too open because I woke up one day and suddenly everything’s gone to shit.”

Tony’s phone rings, and for the first time ever, you see it declined without a second glance

“I cannot have that happen with you. You can ask me anything, if you can promise me you won’t leave if you don’t like the answer. If you can’t do that, you should go.” he ends coldly, and it sends a shiver through your frame.

You wouldn’t–whether he told you the truth or not. So, naturally, you nod in agreement.

A visible wave of relief rushes through him with a sigh.

“Okay, go ahead, shoot.”

What Tony’s expecting is questions about his work, about Pepper, maybe about Steve. The preparation for those questions is immaculate, answer trees with presumed added points of inquiry. Instead, you ask something he feels moronic for not planning for sooner.

“What are we doing here? With us? And don’t say it’s up to me.” You don’t ask how you normally do, with a hint of snide or taste of anger. It just comes like a whisper.

Stark sucks at very, very few things, but this is certainly one of them. Words never seem to do him justice. How he feels, what he wants to say, and what he ends up saying, never quite align. Hence why he much prefers action to rhetoric (hence why last night didn’t end in the screaming matches you might be used to from others).

Tragically for Tony, you’ve got that damned candied look on your face again that he absolutely cannot stand disappointing, even if you don’t know it.

Still, he takes a beat too long to formulate a response, so you continue.

“I mean, what are you telling all these other people who think you’re still married?”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation about my life, doll.” he says a touch too sternly, without meaning to.

He continues before your face can turn too sour, placing an apologetic hand atop yours and sighing.

“Truthfully? No one asks, it's–I think everyone’s able to put two and two together with Pepper gone. If they did, I’d say you were my girlfriend, maybe partner. But honestly, that feels a little inaccurate.”

“Inaccurate how?” you ask tentatively, hoping it wasn’t somehow less than that.

“Underwhelming.” Tony smiles and laughs a bit, making your face warm.

“Promise me that you won’t change your mind about me.” he continues exasperatedly, half joking.

For once, you can read the emotions on his face clearly–it’s obviously not a world of fun for him to say any of this, and you know it’s the closest you’re getting to an apology (and a direct answer).

“I won’t, I promise.”

You don’t fully comprehend the metaphorical contract you’ve just signed, more permanent than any marriage certificate in his eyes.

For your sake, Tony hopes you aren’t the type to break promises.

It’s early in the day once you return to New York, and while you managed to stay awake on the flight, your eyelids shut the moment Tony closes the car door.

You realize you must have nodded off when you open your eyes to the familiar cluttered horizon. As the buildings come into sharper focus, you also realize that the car is completely stationary right outside your apartment.

You shift in the leather seat, turning to see Tony tapping at his phone screen. A wide grin spreads as he catches your eye.

“How long have we been here?” you yawn.

“About an hour.” Tony mutters absently, brow furrowed at whatever his phone displayed.

“You could’ve woke me, you know.” You felt a teeny bit guilty for keeping him when he definitely had better things to do. You shake the soreness from your body, slipping your shoes back on your feet and gathering the items you had spread throughout the car.

“You looked tired,” he says dismissively, pocketing his phone and turning the car back on. “and I don’t mind.”

The apology you want to give is interrupted with the painful reminder that you still have a shift at the bar tonight. Tony watches the realization wash over you, laughing as you dramatically groan and toss your head back.

“What’s the matter?”

“Wish I could go back in time and tell Alicia hell no on closing tonight–”

“Uh-uh, nope, you’re not allowed to complain.” he interjects, shaking his head comically.

“Why not?” you laugh hesitantly, already guessing what the answer would be.

“Honey, it’s almost physically painful watching you waste your time there knowing I can take care of everything for you.”

Was this the first time Tony indirectly suggested you quit working? Not in the slightest. Lately, a week could hardly pass without even a small mention. In theory, it sounded lovely to you ( as someone who never planned on staying a bartender this long but had no other goals to stand on). Reality bore different fruit that told you independence was probably better.

So, as you’ve done before, that’s exactly what you tell him. You liked making your own money. It causes the billionaire to chuckle as if you’ve told the funniest story ever, making you feel like a paranoid freak.

“No one said anything about taking away your independence.” he chuckles, turning the key. “If making cocktails makes you happy, go for it, but I would at least make sure it’s a nicer location–with bottles worth drinking.”

“I don’t recall you having any issue drinking all those cheap cocktails.”

“I’d drink anything if you were the one serving them.”

You have to try hard not to swoon at his words, watching him leave the car and pop the trunk before you can say anything else. You follow before long, standing to the side as he moves your bags from the car to the sidewalk.

“It’s just hard–what I want to do isn’t really a money maker. People don’t get into art for the paycheck.”

He laughs again, and you’re starting to find it very infectious.

“Maybe I’ll single-handedly revive the field of patronage. Pay you to build whatever kind of gallery you want, if you let me keep a few.”

With a wink, the bags are carried by Tony to the front door, where he gives you a long, slow kiss that leaves your head spinning. Something leaves his lips about taking you to breakfast in a few days, but you’re too charmed to hear it.

All in all, you do end up working a lot less. Mostly because you don’t need to. Over the next month or two, Tony manages to persuade you to get what he wants. Okay, so it was less persuasion and more necessity.

Two weeks after your trip, your roommate gets a job offer out-of-state and moves out faster than you can make up the difference in tips. Originally, you weren’t going to mention it in the slightest. Plan A was to beg your landlord for more time, and plan B was to write a bad check and hope you had enough by the time he tried to cash it.

For weeks straight you worked non-stop doubles to try and close the gap. You were making progress, but steadily wearing yourself down to a dull nub. By the end of it, you were beyond burnt out and completely forgot that Tony knew nothing about it. You fucked up by inviting him over one night, not realizing that the sudden absence of half of everything inside would tip him off (that and the deep bags under your eyes).

Immediately, he asked how on earth you were still paying rent this month, and absolutely despised your answer. Tony had never been shy in telling you how wasted your talents were, and this night was no exception. Especially considering you hadn’t still made enough and planned on working another double tomorrow.

You had little energy or reason to argue with him about it.

Now, you assumed it was a one time thing, just to help you get re-stabilized, maybe find another roommate. Neither really panned out. Every hit on Craigslist gave serial murderer vibes, and tips were starting to trickle as summer ended. The following month, you walked down to the leasing office, last month’s check in hand, only to be told it was taken care of.

Do you think the bitchy lady at the front desk answered you when you asked how that was possible, or do you think she ignored you and called out next in line?

It’s the latter, leaving you forced to call Tony and find out from him. You wouldn’t let yourself trust him, so it’s only right he does it for you. Tony always gets what he wants one way or another after all, causing the same story to be told next month, and the following, and every month after for the foreseeable.

You can’t say he isn’t right, though. Less shifts just means more free time to do all the things you’ve put off for the last five years. And so, your life changes once more. All the paintings, books, and movies that sat abandoned finally get some well-deserved attention. You fall into a mellow routine: spending your mornings ahead of a new blank canvas and afternoons buried inside forgotten novels.

An odd shift is picked up here and there, the appropriate amount to stay on staff and keep some semblance of a normal routine, but not consume your life. You adapt surprisingly well, skipping that awkward stage of persistent guilt for having someone else handle your bills. It’s especially effortless when your now empty evenings are filled by Tony. It becomes easier to relax around him, oddly enough. You never thought that time would come, anticipating a lifetime of tiptoeing or a fiery end.

Funny, it feels like only yesterday when you were reeling at him buying a simple dress.

Between spending more time with Tony and less time working, you see more of what the city has to offer. The heightened level of status that dating Tony Stark brings unlocks a plethora of galleries, restaurants, and events you’d only dreamed of attending. Co-existing with the brazen personalities of the 1% could still be a pain, but now you know how to smile and pretend when it counts.

You even have the temerity to attend some alone. It’s much more fun with Tony, though. Your evenings almost always end inside your apartment, staying up and keeping Tony far later than you should. He rarely minds, often halfheartedly leaving to handle some issue or another. If your luck is high enough, no one needs Tony Stark, leaving him to occupy his time with his favorite person.

If you’re even luckier (or simply brave enough to ask) he’ll slide a taunting finger behind whatever teasing skirt or shorts you’ve chosen (specially to incite this reaction), whisper in your ear how perfect you taste and make your eyes roll. You’ve tried to reciprocate–an embarrassing number of times. Short of actually ripping his clothes off, you don’t know how else to get the message across.

Tony only takes your attempts as a sign that he’s succeeding at keeping your mind elsewhere.

During one of these late-nights, he’s working on doing just that when he notices you’re distracted for other reasons. He’s standing behind you in your dim bedroom, slowly working the zipper of your dress down as he trails the soft revealed skin with heavy kisses. Normally, you’d be panting, pressing against him trying for any bit of friction. Instead, he can see your tightly wound brows, the glossy flesh of your bottom lip jutting between two front teeth, thinking far too hard for how good this felt.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he hums lightly, turning you by your waist as the dark fabric pools at the floor.

Tony doesn’t still his lips at all, leaving tender marks down your neck and chest. The good news is it gets your breath choked and heavy just how he likes it. Unfortunately, your half-presence remains. He stops right before the airy lace of your bra begins, causing you to catch his eye.

“How come you’ve only taken me to the tower once?”

You don’t have a set event that prompted this question. The realization only dawned on you today. You’ve been dating one of the richest men on the planet for the better end of a year, and he’s taken you to his home a grand total of one time. Your brain is good at forgetting that night most days, but today you can’t shake it. It feels almost karmic to bring up bad memories, as if just speaking about it will bring it back into existence.

He laughs a bit when your issue proves so elementary.

“Seriously,” you stress, even though your voice wavers with the arousal he’s building. “We’ve been together all this time and I’ve never really seen where you live.”

“Promise you aren’t missing much.” Tony smiles, capturing your lips and guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“It’s only one of the largest companies in the world. Guess seeing the inside once is pretty lucky.” you sigh, feigning a dramatically sad tone.

You’re really trying to guilt him, making a purposeful effort not to soak into the heat of his touch. Hot hands snake up your thighs, thumbs brushing small circles into the inner skin. He dips below you as you sit, still humming his way up your legs with butterfly kisses.

“Might have been followed, couldn’t risk taking you home.” he mutters, preoccupied.

It’s not his fault you look too good to argue with right now (which you knew and were definitely using to your advantage). The dress you wore tonight might as well have been see-through– it hugged you like cellophane, and he made a mental note to buy you more in the same material.

While Tony’s busy leaving more hickeys on your thighs, a shiver runs through you. What would have happened had someone followed Tony’s car?

Your mind goes to work crafting all types of theories, and Tony recognizes the look plain as day. He stops with a stout sigh, leaning back on his heels. It pulls your attention back to him, looking down at him with uneasy eyes.

“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

Even if you’re not entirely sure what you need protecting from.

“Good, now do me a favor and lie back.”

You do as you're told, of course, more than enthusiastically.

Balance is important after all, though. So, while Tony gets what he wants now (as he usually does), he indulges you as well.

You made an off-hand comment about never actually seeing a broadway show in person, despite living in New York for literal years. Tony finds any missed luxury in your life unacceptable and naturally drops a small fortune to orchestrate a private show. While buying out the theater was partially for the romance, it would have also been too much exposure for him otherwise.

Afterwards, he makes a very notable detour from your usual route home, pulling you away from your long ramble about how awe-striking the show was. Asking just gets you a cheeky smile and turns your attention towards the tower.

You get the full tour that you weren’t afforded the first time (given the circumstances). The lobby you recall, with its marble floors and high ceiling. It’s well in the evening, leaving the tower empty minus a few guards and late-night staff.

You regret never paying attention in science when Tony guides you through the labs and workshops.

As you pass through room after room, each unnerves you. Most things of the scientific nature are lost on you, but you’re certain the high amount vials and chemicals you see would floor even Einstein.

You can’t place why they unsettle you, looking so out of place and painfully high-tech in stereotypical white walls. It also doesn’t help that Tony spiels about the building and not what lies on the tables three feet away.

You swallow your questions, fearing that the answer to be even remotely similar to the one that drove Pepper away.

Tony mentions having dinner upstairs, to which you smile and follow him into an adjacent elevator before you can stress yourself out further.

The doors open to a penthouse apartment that you don’t remember walking through before (definitely too caught up in thinking you were about to be dumped over a drunken mistake). You obviously expected Tony to live in the same luxury he exudes, but the decor and imported wood reminded you just how wealthy he was. He leads you to his office, tucked behind a frosted glass door that you do remember from last time.

“This,” he starts, swiping a small card against the door’s thin black reader with a quiet beep, “is where the magic happens, but it is off-limits without my permission.”

You give an understanding nod when he turns back, although you wanted to laugh at how quickly he switched from sounding like a complete nerd to stony-faced. Tony leaves the door open once you enter, tucking the card back into the pockets of his slacks.

You are naturally more curious than most (for better or for worse), and make quick work walking around the vast space, eyeing each shelf, table, and weird gadget. A pair of soft couches mirror one another in the center of the room, surrounding a cluttered coffee table of notes and books. A whiteboard stands nearby, covered in what’s probably math but could pass for ancient Greek. Every inch of the walls is lined with something–be it awards and diplomas or more books with words you’re convinced are made up. It strikes you then that the office lacks any windows, and you wonder if that’s by design or sheer chance.

At the back wall shines various lights and screens, below it a thin, large clear desk where Tony sits. The desk holds more of the odd, transparent screens, which Tony closes with the swipe of his hand as you approach. A compliment of some capacity about the decor is brewing when you notice the picture frame sitting nearby. Two figures pose in front of a row of trees, one clearly Tony, and the other a young man, with dusty brown hair and pristine in dark blue graduation robes. Tony’s arm wraps around the younger, smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen. The young man holds a slender booklet and a matching smile.

Predicting this, he answers the question before you figure out how to ask it.

“That’s Harley–don’t start getting any ideas, he’s not Pepper’s.” he says, pulling you by the waist into his lap.

“Is he your nephew or something?” you question, resting your head against the velvety fabric of his shirt.

“Howard Stark was a man of one child, to his disappointment, so no. Harley’s a family friend.”

“You just run around befriending random college kids?” you joke, dangling your legs over the edge of the chair.

“If I’m feeling generous enough.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a figure appear across the room in the empty door frame. A tall, older man waits–hands clasped behind his back in black pants and pressed white button up.

“Mr. Stark, there’s a visitor for you.”

He speaks as quickly as he appears, with an unexpectedly posh accent. Tony taps your knee, and you leave his lap very begrudgingly and watch with even more unnecessary sorrow as he exits the room. A promise is given about returning soon, but you know better than to believe that.

A word is exchanged between the two that you can’t hear across the large office. When Tony’s figure leaves, the other man enters. You notice his blue eyes as he comes closer, deciding to take a seat on one of the couches.

“Mr. Stark has requested I quote–keep you from dying of boredom–in his absence.” he says, standing at the head of the couch across from you.

“Has he now?” you laugh lightly.

The thing they don’t tell you about rich boyfriends? It takes time to make all that money, keeping them busy and away from their easily bored girlfriends. So, you nod when the man smiles, making a permissive motion towards the seat.

“My name is Jarvis, I work for Mr. Stark.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m [y/n]”

“You need very little introduction, ma’am. Mr. Stark has talked a great deal about you over these last several months.” he laughs, crossing his legs.

“Really?” you ask. It’s not extremely surprising, you just assumed Tony was perpetually occupied talking about other things. He did make a good move though, Jarvis is much more pleasant company than he usually keeps.

“Indeed, he’s quite fond of you.”

You aren’t used to hearing this–from anyone really. Everyone you know has no idea Tony exists (for better or for worse) and everyone he knows seemingly despises you. It’s a breath of fresh air that does wonders for your insecurities about this whole relationship. Not a complete cure, but the start to some form of remedy..

“And what do you do for Tony?” you ask, not wanting to be rude and keep the conversation entirely on yourself.

He ponders this for a moment, giving you the impression he’s never had to explain this before.

“I assist Mr. Stark in his day-to-day activities, so that he may devote more energy towards the company.”

What was with this calculated nature everyone around him seemed to take on? Still, Jarvis appeared to be a beacon of kindness (the accent might be biasing you). It’s bright enough to tempt you to ask Jarvis what you were too hesitant to ask Tony, mostly out of trepidation over the answer.

“I have to admit I’m a pretty terrible girlfriend–I don’t even know what Tony does.” you sigh and pout slightly.

Naivete was an old trick you didn’t mind pulling out of the bag now and again.

Jarvis chuckles, an optimistic sign that your tactics are working.

“Stark Industries is a manufacturing and research company that specializes in pharmaceuticals and biotech.”

Now that line sounds more rehearsed. More accurately, it’s strikingly similar to the first line that pops up when anyone searches up Stark Industries.

“Doesn’t sound much to me like a merchant of death.”

You might have been better off forgetting Steve’s words, but it’s all you can think of when you picture what lives in the labs just below you. As much as you wanted to play out the rest of your life with Tony in blissful ignorance, you were constantly exposed to things that made you question if it really was bliss.

You expected maybe a twitch of the brow from Jarvis, the face trying to compensate for what the mind already knows. Instead, Jarvis’ mouth turns downward, cocking his head in confusion at the moniker.

“Where did you hear that?”

Before you can answer, Tony’s voice bounces down the hallway. In the next second, he’s back in the office, and Jarvis is standing. You’re disappointed (and shocked) that Tony didn’t take as long as usual, having to cut the conversation short.

The older man shoots you a curious glance as he leaves—an unspoken reassurance that he does indeed expect an answer at a later point.

“Everything okay, doll?”

Tony asks, because you're too busy thinking to mind your face, and it looks troubled. You shake it off though, smiling and taking the hand he holds out.

The two of you have that dinner, though the entire evening you catch weathered blue eyes watching you from afar.

Remember that thing about rich boyfriends and their busy jobs? Yeah, that becomes a pain quickly. You could handle the phone calls on dates or distracted answers while an email is answered no problem. But once Tony brought you to the tower, he didn’t see a reason to keep you away anymore. You happily started spending most of your nights there. You just didn’t fully process the implications of Tony living where you work. Most days he manages to spare an hour here and there, interrupted by phone calls and meetings. So, often you roam around, trying to not wonder just what your boyfriend has to do to earn all that money.

You pick up on a lot of little things about his life from pure close-hand observation. The Tony you know is sweet and passionate. Tony working is almost an entirely different breed. You thank god that you’re just dating him and not working for him. The sternness he tended to use with you wasn’t exclusive, but dialed to an eleven when he came to his work.

The most jarring, however, is the constant presence of armed guards at the Tower, even in Tony’s penthouse. You think back to every date so far, scanning memories for shady figures waiting by exposed exits. A few potentials stand out, but you can’t be certain your memories aren’t being falsified by present events.

One morning, you pass one of the men on your way to the kitchen. It’s an early morning, at least for you, coming down the stairs as he pours a cup of coffee. It strikes you, since they normally keep near the elevator and you’ve never seen them do anything except stand around.

The bald man nods towards you, and out of nothing more than courtesy and habit, you nod back. He retreats to his post without another word soon after.

Despite the early hour, Tony’s already risen before you and is likely tucked away somewhere working. Peace is a valued comfort, of course, but the tower gave you an overwhelming sense of emptiness without Tony around.

Any mess you leave is miraculously cleaned (you learn this is Jarvis’ doing), and most of the tower is off-limits for you. Still, you enjoy being relatively closer to Tony than you were most days, so hanging around isn’t too much of a burden.

That morning proves fruitful as well, as you get to speak to Jarvis again. That’s not to say you haven’t seen him. In fact, he’s almost always somewhere nearby. The issue being that it’s normally coupled by Tony or other parties. This time, he’s alone.

You’d entered the kitchen that morning in a determined search for caffeine, planning to spend your day shopping for something new to wear for a gala that’s a ways away. It’s a much calmer experience without crowds, so you got an early start.

Jarvis enters soon after the guard leaves, setting fresh kitchen towels onto the island.

“Morning, ma’am.” he says, opening a cabinet across from you.

You laugh lightly, finding it odd that a man old enough to be your father would waste such honorifics on you. You inform Jarvis of such, to which he gives a chuckle of his own.

“It’s simply out of respect and the nature of my work, nothing more.” he explains, delicately laying each towel in the small space.

“You don’t find it weird calling people younger than you sir and ma’am?”

It’s a pretty genuine question, having never been in such a role yourself. The cabinet is shut with a soft thud as Jarvis turns towards you.

“I do not.”

He goes for the recently emptied coffee cup beside you, refilling it before you can tell him that’s not necessary.

“Might I inquire to you about something?” he questions, handing you the warm mug.

You were expecting a continuation of your earlier conversation. You had prepared questions of your own, of course. Mostly about Steve, and definitely a few about Pepper. A nod of agreement leaves you as the warm liquid slides down your throat.

“Do you not find it–strange, romantically involving yourself with someone so much older than you?”

The raise of his brow tells you he is similarly being genuine. This floors you though. Ironically, that was one of your main reasons for rejecting Tony all those months ago. But lately? You barely even thought about it. You’d stopped paying attention to the odd snide comments and the occasional bizarre look. Really, the fact only comes back to you when Jarvis mentions it. Come to think of it, you can’t recall Tony ever bringing attention to it either.

“I don’t really notice the little jokes and weird looks anymore, so no, not at all.” you shrug, taking another sip.

“I mean no disrespect, simply curious.” he laments.

“None taken, don’t worry.”

“Might I also ask then,” he pauses, testing out the words in his mouth first and waiting for your approval. “–how your family’s temperament is towards Mr. Stark?”

“My parents died when I was really young, and they were both only childs, so I’m gonna say it’s pretty neutral.”

Jarvis goes a tinge red at this, immediately apologizing as if it was somehow his fault. You can’t help but laugh at the contrite attitude. He stops once he sees the grin on your face, breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t seriously offended you.

“You’re fine, really, I’m surprised Tony never mentioned it to you.”

“Mr. Stark is typically a private man, and I doubt he would share such information with anyone without your permission.”

“Yeah, that can be– annoying.” you sigh.

“I understand, naturally is,” Jarvis nods towards you, walking past you to exit before halting. “Employ a bit of patience, if you can. Mr. Stark’s stress is greatly alleviated with your continued presence.”

If his behavior now was relaxed, you didn’t want to imagine how he was prior.

That afternoon, you returned to the tower, spoils in tow (and paid for with Tony’s matte black card). Despite the time, there wasn’t a sign of Tony anywhere. Most of the lights were off when you entered, causing you to pull out your phone flashlight like some kind of horror movie. You made your way through the penthouse, flipping switches and checking rooms.

Kitchen, empty. Office, empty. Gym, empty.

Your voice bounced through the hall as you climbed the stairs, calling out Tony’s name. Disappointedly, you were only met by silence. Out of the last forty-eight hours, a grand sum of eight of them you shared with him. One out every six hours (and most of those you were asleep). The recurrent solitude made an evening in your own home suddenly sound much more favorable.

You traipse into the bedroom, tossing the gown that you were very excited to show Tony into one of the massive closets. The random handful of items you had scattered around the room are thrown into your bag. Some you leave in their place–you knew you wouldn’t be away long. A bright light shines in your face when you fumble with your phone, reminding you to turn it off. It also gives you the literal lightbulb idea to text Tony.

[ heading home for the night, call me when ur free ]

In the still quiet of the penthouse, a beep reverberates behind you. Puzzled, you turn, noticing the golden light trickling from under the bathroom door.

“Tony?” you call out again, crossing the room towards the door.

On the other side, water runs for a moment, followed by the click of the lock as the door opens.

“Hey, honey.” he drawls, walking out with a sniffle.

“You okay?” you ask tentatively. “It was like, pitch dark in here.”

He pulls you into a welcomed embrace, wrapping large arms around your body tightly.

“I’m fine, they’re just timed. Gotta be eco-friendly, right?”

Tony punctuates his sentence with a kiss on your forehead. You stay in his embrace as long as possible, resting your head against his chest. His heart thumps heavily, beating like a rabbit through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Eventually, the embrace has to end, mostly so that Tony can plead to you to stay another night. He promises that he’s yours for the evening, and given that this was what you preferred anyway, you oblige.

First though, Tony has a surprise. One that he swears will make the tower feel more comfortable for you. His surprises are typically rather ornate or sickeningly expensive. This one, however, is moderately less materialistic than usual.

Down the hall from the frosted door of Tony’s office is a room that you were initially told was off-limits. As you reach the end of the hall, Tony explains he needed just a little more time for some ‘finishing touches’.

Another keycard is produced from his pocket, swiping on a reader much similar to the one in his office. When it beeps in response, the card is planted firmly in your hands.

“Go ahead, check it out.” he grins, motioning towards the door.

Tentatively, you enter the previously inaccessible space. Once inside, your jaw nearly drops. It’s not a large space, but it takes a while for you to process everything within.

Shelves stand tall with various jars and tubes of paint, elegant brushes and canvases of every size. Tables sit near pristine walls, freshly painted and holding any medium you could possibly want. The walls are bare, save for the antique painting hanging by the window. You recognize it instantly, not believing your eyes at first. Tony doesn’t need to say it for you to know–this was all for you.

What Tony does feel the need to say is that if everything isn’t to your liking, he can have it changed in a day. He worries as you stand silent, not reacting in explosive joyful glee like he hoped.

“No, no, it’s perfect.” you swiftly add, turning to him beaming.

You’re still in awe as relief passes through him as your arms wrapped around him. Somehow, Tony always manages to redefine what you thought you deserved. There’s a painting worth half a million dollars sitting less than 10 feet away, and it was purchased just for you.

An impressive length, all for a simple smile. How the hell could you ever settle for anything less from anyone else?

Sure, you don’t realize this is a purposeful gift to encourage you to stay around the tower more, and the knowledge wouldn’t change anything anyway.

After you thank him excessively for the next ten minutes (to which Tony’s response can mostly be summed up as ‘has literally no one done anything nice for you? ever?’), the dress you bought earlier comes to mind. Tony thought you learned by now that he’d buy you the world if it was for sale, but indulges in your feverish gratitude for the time being.

You do the leading this time, back into the bedroom where he waits on the black duvet for you to change. It’s a magical feat that you manage to get it zipped up alone. Stubbornness also plays its own role.

When you reemerge, it’s Tony’s turn to be rendered speechless. A sleeveless auburn number wraps your body, cinching at your waist and following to the floor. Cut-outs show off your midriff, letting the cool air cover your skin. The high level of regality is new to you, but you weren’t risking the embarrassment of being underdressed a second time. It’s also Tony’s favorite color to see you in (which you totally didn’t know and totally weren’t exploiting for this very purpose).

“Well?” you start, give a small twirl. “What do you think?”

There was a worry that he might find it too much. Another thing you picked up on over the last few weeks was Tony’s subtle disdain for clothing he found tacky or too revealing. You hadn’t managed to hit that threshold so far, and knew it better to avoid.

“As amazing as you look, I think you need to take that off before I end up ripping it to pieces.” he responds, voice low and hungry.

Solace finds you, pleased that you didn’t make a wrong choice. It’s brief though, because a second glance at Tony reveals that while he liked the choice, (almost too much, really) he also wasn’t joking in the slightest.

A raise of an eyebrow says it all–don’t make me repeat myself.

So, under his fervent commands, you wind up pinned below him, dress long discarded on the plush carpeted floors as his fingers curl inside of you. A hand keeps your wrists pinned tightly above your head, keeping you at his mercy. If you could call his unrelenting fingers mercy.

You quickly grow more frustrated than ever at the barrier of clothing on his body. It’s always goddamned there, holding back the warmth you can feel radiating through. His restraint prevents you from taking the friction you need. You’re further burdened by the teeth grazing your neck, sucking slow and teasingly on your pulse point. All the man had to do most days to turn you into a needy mess was kiss you, but after so many busy days, this was sweet torture.

Tony knew it too. The increasing pitch in your whine was music to his ears. It’s not before it’s broken and whimpery, your excitement coating his fingers. Every movement was overwhelming, and yet still managed to leave you desperate for more.

“Please, Tony, fuck-” you plead, interrupted by your own moan when he curves his fingers again.

“Aw, do you need something, darling?” he whispers, moving away from your neck. “I know I taught you better than that–use your words, pretty girl.”

This isn't an uncommon taunt of his, loving the embarrassed shy look that crawls over your face each time. He’s pleasantly surprised tonight, however, as you just about had it enough to give in. The award for longest time to make someone wait under they verbally beg for you to fuck them goes to Anthony Edward Stark, with an impressive record of eight months.

Your brows furrow, trying to find your center again to speak with clarity and not falter under his gaze.

“Would you stop being an asshole and just fuck me, please?” you sighed exasperatedly.

Manners would be something to correct later. For now, Tony’s happy to focus on rewarding your needy pleas.

Your wrists are granted all too short reprieve, as he takes little time undressing, climbing back on top of you and attacking your neck with hard, bruising kisses. The hard member you’re used to having constrained by high-end slacks feels larger pressed bare against your folds–hot and heavy as he returns a hand to your wrists.

His free hand aligns him at your entrance, stopping when he notices your tightly shut eyes. Now that simply won’t do.

“Open those pretty eyes.”

It’s a short and breathy order, the tone earning your instant compliance. Tony’s eyes are dark above you, catching them only for a moment before he swiftly sinks into you (he’ll allow it this time).

There’s little resistance, as you were already a mess from earlier, but his thick member still stretches your walls. You cry out when he reaches the hilt, snapping his hips into you only to withdraw and fully sink back into you with the same speed.

Tony gains a new found appreciation for the philosophy behind a reward being sweeter the longer you wait. There’s nothing more delectable in the whole world right now than the fractured moans escaping you, despite your visible attempts to bite them back. As much as he wants to commit this coy little expression of yours to memory, he’s clearly not doing his job if you’re able to hold anything back.

The hands above you let go, gripping your hips instead to thrust deeper into you. It does just what he needs to do, listening to the sweet sounds of your whines as his cock reaches right where you needed to. All this time without h, combined with his fast and hard thrusts has moan after moan falling from your lips.

Tony can hardly contain himself either, high off the sticky mess you're making. Your neck is perfectly dotted with tender marks from his mouth, only driving his ecstasy further.

He knows he’s being more than rough, pounding into you relentlessly–you’re just taking him so well, your nails leaving tiny red crescents on his thighs. It drives him wild, possession does go both ways after all. Every erratic breath and tremble of your legs came from him. You were his–who begged for him and moaned his name.

The fast, rough pace pushes you to your peak not long after, and Tony recognizes the stuttery pitch of your voice.

“Go ahead, darling.” he whispers into your ear, voice soft and gentle despite how deep he was inside you.

Your legs wrap around his waist as your core swells with pressure, desperate for him to be impossibly closer than he was. It’s not long after your voice breaks altogether, falling into a slight plea as your walls tighten around him.

The feeling of you losing yourself around him sets off something entirely new in Tony. He’d never miss another chance to make you his like this. A deep groan echoes in the bedroom walls, unsteady hands holding your hips tighter.

He was absolutely nowhere near done with you.

Before you can catch your breath, it’s taken as he slams into you with renewed energy. A string of curses leave him when your back arches into him, straining against his hold.

Your body feels white-hot with pleasure. You were used to Tony pushing you into orgasm after orgasm, alternating between his mouth and fingers until you’re a pile of jelly below him. This was entirely different, hit that spongy spot inside of you over and over as your walls shutter. It leaves your whole form trembling, mind blanking each time he bottoms out.

“Shit, Tony, I can’t,” you whimper.

It’s a broken plea, already feeling your body go taunt a second time. Still, you hope for a bit of reprieve, just enough to bring your mind back to earth.

“You will for me, darling.” he groaned, voice heavy and breathless, bringing a hand to your hair and exposing your neck to his teeth for another assault. “I know you can take it.”

A shiver runs through you as his latches onto your neck, deciding you could stand to have more marks across your skin. You’re completely lost in the throbbing member splitting you apart, aimlessly grabbing at the soft sheets below you. He leans back, pulling your hips up to keep slamming to you, letting a hand wrap around your throat and press against the fresh mark left there.

“All mine, aren’t you?” Tony moans above you, close to his own peak. He just needs to feel your body to submit to him one more time.

The tender pain in your throat mixes deliciously next to the sweeping euphoria. You want to answer (mostly because you know he’s expecting one), but all your mind can zone into is how electrified your skin is.

“Aw, is my girl too fucked out to answer me already?” he taunts, even if the sight of you this blinded by pleasure nearly sends him over.

No one else could ever have you like this, he’d make sure of it. You were past shame over how his words left you, cruel or praiseful. Any utterances that made it known you were his turning your body into melting sugar.

Tony’s own hips stutter, bucking into you as your peak hits you again, your moan silenced by the tight hand around your throat. He’s close behind you, keeping his rhythm until the shake in your legs lessens.

He sinks into you, caressing your face and burying himself back into your neck. A long moan floods your ears, feeling him still inside of you and paints every inch of your walls white. Hot, heavy breaths cover your ear as he fills you, not withdrawing until he’s certain you’ve taken every drop.

You’re an exhausted pile of bones below him, leaving him feeling quite prideful. Stark on the other hand is oddly energetic. He disappears for a moment, returning after putting his boxers back on and grabbing a towel.

He lies beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. Soft praises and peppered kisses follow, trailing along your face and shoulders. He tells you over and over how perfect you did, though you're still barely present.

You’re focused on calming your breathing, so Tony’s praises fall onto distracted ears. You aren’t that distracted, though, as his next words ring through clear as day.

“I love you, doll, you know that?” It’s barely above a whisper, spoken between into the delicate skin of your collarbone.

You turn your head almost instantly, blinking rapidly because surely you didn’t hear that right. The words left him before he knew what he was saying, caught up in the swirl of post-coital bliss. In an unusually empathetic act of vulnerability, he stands by it. The declaration is repeated louder to your stunned face.

He’s not that vain that he expects an immediate reciprocation–though you eagerly give one anyway. That's all good and well, except he senses concern in your voice.

“That’s just how every guy wants to hear that, thank you.” Tony jokes, propping himself onto his elbow with a grin.

“That came out wrong, I just,” you chuckle softly, trailing off. “You are being genuine, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“I guess–be honest, you really don’t mind being with someone like twenty years younger than you?”

He throws his head back in laughter, and you use the little energy you have to swat at his shoulder.

“You’ve been talking to Jarvis, haven’t you?

“How the-what do you mean?” you fully turn on your side to face him, more puzzled than before. You also worried you somehow crossed a line discussing Tony with someone else in private.

“Don’t sweat it–Jarvis is more of an old friend than an employee, regardless of whatever the old bat says. He’s just overprotective.”

“And he was worried about us?”

“More about you, specifically, that you were some covert gold-digger playing the long game for a chance at the Stark inheritance. He didn’t believe that I had to damn near beg on my hands and knees for a simple dinner.” he says indignantly, and you have to roll your eyes.

“What if I was? You don’t know.”

“Please, no one trying to woo me for my money would start as many arguments with me as you do.”

“I do not start arguments, if anything you’re the one-” you start to defend yourself, then Stark raises an eyebrow and the sentence dies on your tongue. “Okay, point taken.”

Tony pulls your naked form towards him, your head resting on his chest as your body curls beside his. You’re more than spent, the sound of his heart still racing after all this time doesn’t process under the lure of sleep.

For now, you’re too in love to care.

When you wake, Tony’s absent from your side. This is not unusual in the slightest for any night you spend here, but it's barely four in the morning.

You scan the dark room momentarily before switching the bedside light on. Groggily (and on sore legs), you rise, tying a short robe around yourself. Thinking of yesterday, you actually check the bathroom this time to find it empty. You ventured out of the bedroom to an empty and pitch black hallway. Deja vu feels like an understatement.

You start to call out his name just like before, stopping once you see the light flowing from the kitchen downstairs. As you descend, Tony’s voice grows louder. His back comes into view once the final step is crossed, with another figure in front of him.

Tony swivels slowly when you enter, and you notice the person he’s speaking to is the same young man from the photo. You cross your arms over your body as best you can when you enter the space, suddenly feeling very underdressed for meeting a stranger.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” Tony asks apologetically, to which you shake your head and yawn.

“Harley, this is [y/n], [y/n], Harley.” he continues.

Harley holds a blue duffel in his right hand, giving you a curt wave with the other. Under the bright kitchen lights, however, he gets a better look at you. You don’t understand why in the moment, still half-asleep, but he makes an unsettled face at you before darting his sharp eyes back to Tony. After which Tony tells you he’ll be up in a moment and you return back to the warmth of the sheets without protest.

It’s not until you step into the bathroom later in the day that you figured out why he looked at you that way. A few tender marks still spotted the left side of your neck and the top of your chest. While not the best first impression, it sends a wave of excitement through you at the sight. A bit of concealer goes a long way after you shower.

Tony explains that Harley is just stopping by briefly, and that he’ll be leaving after dinner tonight as you get dressed. You obviously spend the entire day worried about it, convinced any further interaction with Harley will be painfully awkward and uncomfortable for you both.

Unfortunately, you end up wishing things were just awkward.

Jarvis prepares an excellent meal, and you make it through the first two courses with Harley’s eyes piercing you across the large dining table. It’s not constant, as he manages to dart away each time Tony speaks to him as if he never looked your way. Engaging in conversation becomes troublesome under his gaze (though it’s mostly just Tony asking Harley about some trip he took). You almost start to think you’re imagining it, wondering what the hell his issue could possibly be.

Thankfully, Tony has to excuse himself for a phone call, leaving the two of you alone.

The moment Tony’s out of earshot, Harley leans in, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” he questions dramatically.

“Are you?”

“Funny.” he snorts, taking a bite of roast potatoes.

He stays quiet for a second as Jarvis clears away empty dishes from the table.

“That’s not a yes, though.” he hums in a high pitch.

“If it would get you to stop staring, I’m twenty-six.”

Harley hums in approval, sitting back in his chair.

“Was that really your problem? You know you could’ve just asked at literally any point in the last hour, or hell, asked Tony.”

“Oh, I did.” he scoffs, shrugging his shoulders.

Tony returns, taking his seat in the same breath that Harley wipes his mouth and stands.

“Well, I’ll leave you and your child bride to it.” he declares sarcastically, turning for the exit.

“Excuse me?”

Tony’s voice stops Harley in his tracks, rising and closing the distance to the young man. You heard worse, but based on the tightness in his jaw you can assume Tony hasn’t.

“Oh, come on. She’s not even four years older than me. What else would you like to call it?” Harley jests, laughing.

“You have a flight to catch, don’t you?” The edge in his tone shocks you, and cuts Harley’s laughter straight away.

He takes his leave without another comment, but he does give you another overdramatic wave on the way out. You tell Tony what passed between you two in his absence and ask what all that was about, but Tony just shakes his head and apologizes.

You’re not sure why–it hardly bothered you as much as it did him.

Later that night you overhear Tony on the phone. You presume it’s with Harley, hearing Tony mention something about ‘showing more respect’ and ‘minding your own business’. You hope it isn’t Harley–even though the kid was an ass, Tony speaks with a ferocity that unnerves you just as the eavesdropper.

Fall passes by without more pop-up visits from impolite guests.

While painting will always be one of your first true loves, even the strongest of loves can grow tiring. The technical term is typically referred to as a lack of inspiration. You can’t get a single image out of your brain and onto a canvas. It’s a well deserved burnout though, the rest of the studio space lined with finished paintings. A consistent month and half of work proved quite the endeavor. Most are simple plays with color, though there are a few you came to be very proud of.

Yeah, a break would probably do you some good.

There’s more than one traditional seat for you to choose from, all extremely lush and definitely better for your back. The floor works a lot better though, so you stand and stretch the soreness from your body. Would you learn your lesson and sit in the chair next time? Nope.

The evening was growing near, evident by the lemony sky. Your hyperfixation meant a lot more nights indoors, even on the sparse evenings Tony was free. All signs pointed towards taking advantage of what was likely one the last warm nights of the season.

You wasted little time changing out of your paint covered sweats, throwing on a simple blue skirt and white sweater.

On your way downstairs to his office, you spot Jarvis in the kitchen preparing a drink you presume is for Tony.

“Oh, I can take that to him.” you intercept him at the bottom, taking the cold glass in your hands.

“Very well.” he nods to you, taking in your dressed up state as you walk away, not expecting either of you to leave the tower that night. “Shall I have the car ready for you and Mr. Stark?”

“For me, definitely. Can’t promise anything about him.” you call back to him, increasing your volume as you head further into the hall.

You knock once you reach the glass door, waiting idly until you hear his voice call out come in. Tony doesn’t lift his head when you enter, scrawling away at something atop his desk. You hear him muttering to himself softly, shirt disheveled and unbuttoned.

You’re certainly not silent as you cross the space. Your heavy boots made a mild thud on the hardwood floor, surely loud enough to get the average person’s attention, you thought.

Nope, wrong.

He does know you’re there, however– the screens in front of him are switched off as you approach the desk, head never lifting from the papers.

You wait patiently beside his desk, setting the drink down the corner. His attention doesn’t yield for no less than five minutes after. When he does finally address you, it’s with tired eyes and gleams.

“My, my, my,” he whistles, guiding you over to straddle his lap. “What a fantastic surprise.”

Tony’s hands can never be idle more than a moment, already snaking them under your skirt to the supple skin of your backside. He’s much more interested in that than anything you say about leaving the tower. Who could blame him, really. Any red-blooded man would after hours of phone calls and calculations.

You twitch when he squeezes hungrily, sensitive from the same hands the night prior. He’d nearly forgotten, and the remainder is a good amusement.

“You know, I could get so much more work done with you just like this.” he hums, lifting your sweater to graze your stomach.

“You’re welcome to join me.” you point out, linking your arms around his neck.

“There’s nothing more I want, but I have a few more things to take care of here.”

You figured as much, of course. Knowing that answer was coming doesn’t make it any less disappointing. Conversely, seeing your smile falter for any reason is akin to a tragedy for Tony.

“How about this, it’s still early– you go out, have fun, I’ll pick you up for dinner later.” he concedes.

That fixes the problem, earning Tony a very satisfied kiss from you. It’s long and heavy, nearly enough to make him consider sending you out on shaky legs, but he resolves to bring that fantasy to life another time.

An hour or so drifts away as you take in the fresh autumn air, window-shopping from store to store. Close to when you're due to meet Tony, you stumble across something you can’t be sure is a really bright bar or a super dark restaurant. As you go for a better look through the towering windows, the doors beside you swing open.

You spot Steve first, getting a clear view of a reddened cut above his eye. You fail at turning away from the door in time. It was worth a shot, even if he was just five feet away.

“Oh, would you knock it off–I’m not gonna bother you.” he exclaims exasperatedly, a deep slur in his words (so that solves that mystery).

You give a half-hearted surrender with your arms, watching him head for the street corner. Mid-way, he stops, turning back unsteadily.

“You still with Stark?” he questions.

“What’s it to you?”” you scoff, rolling your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid–annoying people and their annoying judgements.

“Just don’t tell him you saw me, okay. I don’t need more shit with him right now.”

Remarkably, Steve sounds genuine. Well, as genuine as a drunk man can sound. A grand opportunity presents itself. Someone with a lot more information than you needs something of you.

“Sure, okay.” you agree, watching a breath leave Steve. “If you can tell me what you meant at the party.”

Steve, having drunk every drop of Kentucky Bourbon on the block, happily obliged your question for the small price of not dealing with Stark.

If asked to make a list of all the things you guessed Tony was involved in, your brain would assume the best of the worst to ease its conscience. Steve’s answer is, tragically, nowhere on that list.

You wander around for a bit playing moral adjudicator in your mind. It’s a consuming task, and in your concentration you space completely on the fact that you were expected somewhere. In your bag, your phone buzzes to no answer, muffled in the city’s noisy ambience.

You have to see for yourself, which makes the tower your destination after you’ve calmed your nerves enough. It’s been ages since you’ve taken the subway anywhere, though you somehow manage to work through the busy platforms. You remember you live in the age of technology, deciding to rely on your phone for navigation.

Two missed calls and around five unanswered texts from the past half hour await you, all from Tony. You swear to yourself as the train car rocks, hurriedly typing a response.

[ where are you? ]

[ on the way back now. didn’t feel well. ]

Lying feels like swallowing a bitter seed. You know that ‘s not an answer. You know you’ll have to find some way to explain the missed calls later. Honestly, that might be the harder task than covering a lie. All you hoped was that New York traffic would play in your favor and you could make it back before him.

The luscious bells of victory are right in your sight as elevator dings! open. Your genius plan to check his office is foiled quickly, the black card reader blinking back at you tauntingly.

A moment passes where you question your own motivations. Why were you even bothering to let someone else get into your head again? You could ask him anything, so why lie to him when you chose to stay in the dark–

You all but fly up the stairs, striding through Tony’s bedroom and into the bathroom. It takes a while for you to find it, having to scour the numerous cabinets one by one. Your hands touch a rough leather pouch, right under the sink.

You open it tentatively, praying for Steve to be wrong, but your fingers find the small plastic baggie within, and your stomach flips when you know he was telling the truth.

You don’t have long to process it. The elevator sounds again from below

Shit.

You thought you had more time to craft a better excuse.

“What happened? Everything okay?”

His voice is stern even if his words are sweet, turning his body towards yours as you enter the kitchen. Your hands reach for a glass to fill with water, needing a distraction to ward off his gaze.

“Got a little dizzy, took the subway back.”

“You took the subway alone? This late?”

You can’t tell if he’s wrestling between concern and suspicion, or just pissed. Although, here would be where a normal person would remember that under a year ago you took the subway later than this five nights a week.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just going to get some rest.” you smile weakly, swallowing the rest of your water and heading to walk past him.

Tony makes a quick step to the side to keep you there, looking down at you with pointed eyes. Despite the small heat in his eyes, a hand caresses your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Who were you with?” he asks slowly.

“No one.” you replied, keeping your voice light and confident.

Or so you thought. Tony’s fingers wrap the base of your nape, tilting your head slightly to see if you have the gall to lie to his face.

“Is there a reason you’re lying to me?”

“How long?

“How long what?” he scoffs, unyielding.

The tiny plastic you’ve been white-knuckling for the past few minutes is dangled inches from his face. That hardened jaw falters, shortly returning with a dry chuckle and sly smirk.

“How long have you been meeting Steve behind my back?”

part four coming soon

tag request: @those-late-night-feels

#seikkoiwrites #tony stark x reader #tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark smut #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon

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dotieeee · 4 days

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 16

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 16 Warnings:

Non-consensual dom-sub dynamic (belt-flogging), alcoholic consumption, bullying

Replay Level 15

Ready? Level 16 Start:

You didn’t really want to be here. Not at all, no sir.

You were a big fan of routine. Every day from Monday to Friday, Ms Rosenthal would come by at your home to supervise your studies. You’ve heard her compliment you many times to Uncle Cas about how you’re quite a few levels too advanced for children your age; you’ve been getting perfect scores in all your arithmetic tests; your reading and writing skills are superb.

Two months ago, however, Uncle had decided to take a pause on the routine and mentioned it was perhaps time to try something new: going to school for a day to see how you’d like it. This, you didn't understand. You’ve been doing exceptionally well with your studies, kept your nose clean and everything – so how come Uncle had to disrupt the way things were just because your psychologist told him to?

“Nellie is just eight and she needs to spend time with people her age, Mr Innis. She may be intellectually gifted, but besides her tutoring sessions, you may want to see her enrolled in any of our elementary schools and be around with other kids to prevent emotionally stunted growth.”

According to your research, the psychologist just called you aloof and immature.

But Uncle Cas pleaded that you give this day a chance. Just this first day of school, and he said if you didn’t like it, he wouldn’t pressure you to stay.

So far, except for odd stares from the other kids on the playground, you’d been left alone on a stone bench reading a book you had brought for comfort.

Algebra I For Beginners.

You wanted to be like your uncle working with computers one day, and he said if you wanted a leg-up, Algebra was the way to start. You took out a notebook and a pencil, intending to begin with an equation on page thirty-one, when you spotted several kids convening around the base of one of the slides, whispering among themselves. One of them, the blonde girl with pigtails in the middle, pointed to someone on the swing – a boy with thick brown curls and downcast brown eyes – followed by everyone else’s laughter. Anyone from a distance like yours could easily see that they were making fun of him for whatever reason – all of them except the tall boy with blond wavy locks and bright blue eyes, who ignored both the laughter and the boy on the swing, merely hanging back to observe. There was something a tad snobbish in his facial expression, but you couldn’t really tell. Maybe that’s just how he usually looked. You’d later discover how correct your initial assumption would be.

One of the kids, you didn’t see who, pelted the boy with brown curls with a pebble, but it hit the sand near him, loud enough to attract his attention.

From across the short distance you heard one of them say, “Hey, is it true they eat babies in the districts?”

Everyone, save the blond boy, burst into raucous laughter and went on to call him names you’ve only heard on television before, which made you frown a bit.

The boy was clearly minding his own business. Why would they bother him at all by calling him needlessly cruel names?

You abandoned your book and your bag and approached them.

“Excuse me,” you politely interjected. “What did he do?”

The girl with pigtails in the middle said, “Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” you said.

They whispered among themselves, which you only caught glimpses of.

“You think she’s District too?”

“She doesn’t sound like it…”

“I haven’t seen her before…”

One of them quipped, “He’s District. Are you?”

“That shouldn’t matter, either. Everyone should be treated fairly.”

“You know what my father calls your type? A rebel s-sin..synthesiser,” a brown-haired girl said with contempt.

“I think the correct word would be ‘sympathiser,’” you replied with a tilt of your head, which earned an eye roll from the girl.

“Whatever, freak,” she said snootily. “Ugh, I’m leaving, this isn’t fun anymore.”

Everyone in the group groaned but they dispersed. The blond boy, however, stared at you with mild interest, which he tried to hide using a blank expression. You ignored him in favour of talking to the brown-haired boy – he could’ve stopped his ‘friends’ from calling him terrible names, but instead, he just stood back and did nothing.

“Don’t mind them,” you gave him what you thought was a friendly smile. “They’re all just huge shitbags.”

Both the boys seemed taken aback by your language. Your uncle always had to tell you not to say things like that, but you hear him use that kind of language all the time, especially in the kitchen. “My name is Prunella Innis. You can call me Nellie.”

You held out your hand to the brown-eyed boy, which he shook tentatively.

The blond boy confidently strode over to you and took out his palm. “Coriolanus. Coriolanus Snow.”

“Hi,” you flashed him the same smile and shook his hand lightly. You then turned to the other boy, who got out of his perch on the swing and introduced himself, sniffling.

“My name’s Sejanus Plinth.”

“I know,” Coriolanus said matter-of-factly. “I heard your family just moved to the Capitol.”

The boy named Sejanus nodded, but there was something sad behind his eyes. To try and make him feel better, you said, “Sejanus, huh? Mine did about two years ago.”

Both the boys gave you surprised looks; you shrugged it off and said, “So what? It certainly didn’t do my parents any favours.”

Sejanus actually cracked a smile, but Coriolanus’s real expression remained masked behind what you could tell was a fake smile.

A word you recently learned, ‘elitist,’ crossed your mind. You’d discover much later that assumption too, would be correct.

“You’ve been here since the middle of the war? I haven’t seen you in school before,” the curious blond asked.

“I’m homeschooled.” And if you had anything to say about it, you liked it better that way.

Sejanus bashfully showed a tiny brown bag. You peered inside and saw gumdrops. Your uncle didn’t hoard gumdrops as much as he did with chocolates, so you suspected that he didn’t like them very much. You took one, saying ‘thank you’, and Coriolanus took some after you.

“Am I going to see you around?” Sejanus asked you, looking somewhat hopeful.

Your smile faltered a little. “Probably not.”

Sejanus’s brows drew together. “Why not?”

“My uncle says I don’t have to stay if I don’t like it. And I’ve decided that I don’t.”

“So you’re going to keep studying…at home?” Coriolanus wondered with a tone that sounded like it was a foreign concept to him.

“Yes.”

You smiled at them both and went back to your bench to pick up where you left off in the book. Your uncle emerged not much later from the building with an expectant look on his face. That look immediately morphed into exasperation once he saw you begin packing your bag.

“Let me guess: the place didn’t even stand a chance.”

Nodding, you added, “The kids here are hostile; therefore I think the environment may be cutthroat.”

Your Uncle Cas sighed to himself and commented under his breath, “You know, sometimes I think your vocabulary is a punishment for my past actions…”

Ignoring this, you glanced up at your uncle with an innocent grin and asked, “So, do we get ice cream after?”

“A big, whopping ‘no.’ Not a damn chance.”

Uncle Cas only laughed at the pout on your face, but you glanced back at the boys named Sejanus and Coriolanus, nodding farewell to them both. The corner of Coriolanus’s mouth twitched upwards and Sejanus gave you a small wave. Your gaze lingered just a little on Sejanus’s warm brown eyes.

You would see both of them again in a few years’ time, but that little girl walking away from the schoolyard didn’t yet know that the boys would remain a permanent fixture in her life: one of them, taking her heart with him to his grave, and the other, forcibly twining with and shaping her entire future for the worse.

Nine fifty-eight on a Friday night is quite a busy time for Club She Said. The girls-only membership club is already packed with well-dressed rich Capitol women with pretty drinks in their hands, chattering about and giggling among themselves. The company whom you invited seems to have arrived surprisingly earlier than you have and is sitting at the bar seemingly engaged in a lively conversation with the lady bartender.

“You’re early,” you comment as you take the seat beside her.

“It’s called ‘growth. You should try it sometime, it wouldn’t hurt,” Livia Cardew jabs at you as she sips her drink.

Your maid of honour, casually dissing you. You roll your eyes in mild amusement as she orders a drink called The Dark Lady on your behalf – a blackberry-lemon smash – and say, “This is a nice place. It feels cosy and...safe.”

Your eyes dart around the club, spotting nothing but female staff – waitresses, DJs, bouncers – plus the numerous cliques who seem to be having a blast catching up with their girlfriends over drinks without the presence of their male partners. You’re thankful Livia chose this place on your behalf – even with your fiancé’s money and influence, this is a place he’ll never be allowed to enter.

Livia grinned smugly at your compliment. “Well, with your ridiculous time limit, I figured we both deserve to spend it wisely and without your boyfriend breathing down your neck.” She gives you a dead-eyed look and adds, “Honestly, he’s the only man I know who gives his girl just a measly one hour and thirty minutes to be out and about on a Friday night. So, unless he’s horny and he wants to fuck all the time, he’s just being an ass.”

This, you can’t agree more.

The lady bartender arrives with your drink, elegantly presented in a tall, slender glass, garnished with fresh blackberries and a lemon wedge. You thank her and turn to Livia to reply, “What can I say, I hit the jackpot. Oh my, this is amazing.” You had just taken a sip of the drink, which is by far the best you’ve ever had, to which the bartender beams in thanks.

Livia lets out screech of excitement. “Wait till you try Better Than Sex...”

She then proceeds to explain the drink’s etymology in great detail – a drink made of coffee liqueur, chocolate liqueur, full-cream milk and cherry grenadine, garnished with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. She goes on from She Said’s cocktails to showing you photos of bridesmaids’ gowns which she fishes out of her purse.

“I think this one fits your theme best,” she says as she points to a photo. “Besides, I look fucking fabulous in that colour and cut.”

Then she starts pointing out to you who’s sleeping with whom in the club, right before she jumps into the topic of arranging your bachelorette party.

“What? Absolutely not,” you say. Images of you passed out, drunk, and being hauled home by a displeased Coriolanus cross your mind. You shiver inwardly in horror at the idea.

“And why not?” she retorts, clearly outraged. “How could you fucking pass on your own hen party? That’s like, the hen’s only chance to have a bit of fun before the cock locks her in a cage and throws away the key. Pun totally intended.”

She takes a long swig of her drink and holds out a pointer finger for emphasis. “Read: by ‘fun,’ I meant strippers.”

With your eyebrows raised, you shake your head and respond, “Try mentioning that when he’s around and see if you get more than the icy stare.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. He used to hire escorts all the time. Honestly, he’s such a hypocrite.”

It takes you quite a bit of convincing for her to finally drop it and relent.

“Ugh, fine. Forgive me for trying to take my role seriously,” she sighs as she rolls her eyes dramatically and curls her lips in mock disapproval. “Don’t blame me down the line if you start feeling unfulfilled for not trying out other dicks for size.”

The lady bartender brings another round of cocktails for two, and you both clink your glasses together before sipping. This is the most alcohol you’ve consumed not just in one night, but also your entire life. You haven’t even gone through your second glass halfway and you’re already feeling the proverbial buzz.

“Okay, Innis. Spill. I know you didn’t invite me out for drinks just to shut down my hen party-hosting skills. Plus, we’ll get to meet at that cake-tasting thing tomorrow anyway. What is this about, for real?” Livia, ever the sharp one, rests her chin on the back of her hand and stares at you inquisitively.

You meet her gaze nonchalantly and reply, “Nothing. I was just bored. Can’t wait to try the cakes out.”

There is truth to that, somehow, because aside from the wedding preparations, college classes, and Coriolanus dragging you along to these events he’s always invited to, he still hasn’t allowed you to freely roam the city, perhaps fearing you’d attempt to contact your uncle and make a run for it again.

Livia squints her eyes at you while inching closer and not breaking eye contact. “You’re a good liar,” she concludes, leaning back into her seat and nodding in approval. “I like it.”

She gestures to the bartender for another round of drinks – your eyes widen when you realise she just ordered shots – and says with a mischievous grin as they arrive, “Luckily for me, I have methods of extracting valuable information – methods, mind you, that have, so far, yielded me with satisfactory results.”

You shake your head in mirth, accepting the drink from her. She raises her glass as if taking you on a challenge.

“Mark my word: you are going to fold, Innis.”

“Bite me, Cardew.”

Both of you burst into fits of laughter and throw your heads back in unison as you empty the shot glass. Two more of those and eventually you tap out of the drinking spree, earning the scathing comment ‘lightweight’ from your drinking buddy, who isn’t too far from your level of tipsiness despite what she brags about. You decide to order a basket of bacon-jalapeño poppers to nibble on, and you manage to get through half the basket before Livia takes it away and places it behind her, well beyond your reach.

“Easy on the grease, will you please?”

You pout. “Hey, I wasn’t done with that.”

She just replies with a frown, “Watch your figure. Tigris won’t like it if she makes adjustments to your dress at the last minute.”

You finish off the piece you’re holding with a single bite and lean on the bar with a slumped posture.

“Or not. You know, maybe if you let yourself go, your boyfriend might just – ”

“It’s Sejanus’s second death anniversary tomorrow.”

A pause passes between you two, with Livia staring at you as if she doesn’t know how to react or what to say to what you just blurted without warning.

“‘District boy?’” When you shoot her a half-hearted glare, she corrects herself, her tone a little more mellow, “Sorry, force of habit. And not to be a bitch, but why do you care?”

Why, indeed? The first year, you had no trouble going through, but the second somehow seems like another empty hole in your heart, slowly growing and gnawing away at the rest of it. Like all the aches you experienced just a few months after his death has come back in full force.

“Shit.”

Livia’s curse is followed by a slump in her posture as she leans on the bar and processes the information. “So, you really love him.”

“I do. Or did. I don’t know anymore.”

She motions for two glasses of water which arrives instantly. You’re only too happy for something without any trace of booze in it and drink the entire glass in one go.

“So, you called me here,” your drinking buddy says carefully, “Because you don’t know what to do and you can’t really talk to your boyfriend about it because he’d get jealous.”

Once again, she’s spot-on. Except she missed the part where you suspect that your boyfriend might’ve also killed him. You give her just a single look and she instantly confirms her hypothesis.

“He won’t get jealous; he’ll just shut me down.”

“That’s the same thing.” She sighs audibly and stares at you sombrely.

“You’re a sucker for self-punishment, you know that?”

You merely shrug in response.

“I’m not invalidating your feelings and shit, but this isn’t helping you at all in this Snow-situation.” Livia empties the last remaining shot glass. “I know you miss him, okay? It’s pretty clear. But that’s not going to bring him back. Just because your first love is gone and you’re stuck with your sociopathic fiancé doesn’t mean you have to be miserable.”

Livia gives you a look that can only mean ‘get your shit together’ and orders one more set of cocktails. When they arrive, she takes one for herself and hands you the other.

“But that also doesn’t mean we can’t toast to his memory.”

You take the glass and raise it. “To Sejanus Plinth.”

She copies your movement, muttering, “To your District Lover Boy, Sejanus Plinth.”

You both empty your glasses at the same time and you almost slam the glass back on the table. Never in a lifetime did you ever think toasting to your dead friend over a fruity-boozy drink could feel so cathartic, but here you are.

“There. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, get your shit together, Innis. You’re smarter than that.”

Despite her harsh reprimand, you find yourself chuckling, to which she just rolls her eyes, smirking exasperatedly.

“You know, he gives me so much grief for asking you to be my maid of honour.”

Livia lets out a shriek of glee. “I’d pay a fortune to have seen his reaction when you told him.”

“Oh, he was beyond m-miffed.” Your words are beginning to slur, indicating you probably had way too much of your capacity. “I was jus’ wondering why you accepted. Curious, ‘is’all.”

“If you’re asking if I’m over’im – ” her own garbled words are interrupted by her loud burp, which startles the waitress passing by – “Yes, I am. I’m over him, swear. But if I can get laid while I’m at it, why the fuck not, right?”

Guffawing, she adds, “Jus’ wanna see him suffer. ‘Magine the guy losing you? He’d spiral the fuck down. Honessly, I tried, m’kay? All this wedding prep – I already bumped into him sooo many times, made a loooot of passes, but no-ooo, he only has eyes for you.”

Side-eying you in jest, she adds, “No accounting for taste.”

You giggle. You actually giggle along with her as she shoves your arm playfully. Then, both of you share a look and dart like lightning to the washroom, throwing up in separate cubicles in unison. Having let some of that out, you begin feeling just a tad better even if the buzz still lingers.

You’re on the sink washing your hands when you notice the time on your watch.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I have to go.” According to the time, you’ve gone thirty minutes over your fiancé’s time limit.

Livia lets out a groan as she emerges from her stall. “Yeah, me too. I’m so hammered. I already paid, you get the next one. And you better not pull a District and go cheap on me, Innis.”

“Trust me, Cardew. When I pay, you can go drown in it for all I care.”

She snorts in laughter on the way outside the She Said Club, where she says her driver is waiting in the parking lot.

“Look sharp, Innis. Your executioner has arrived,” she mutters so only you can hear.

True enough, you look into the icy blue glare of Coriolanus Snow, leaning against the service car door, the stone-cold smile on his face concealing his ire.

“Did you have fun, sugarplum?” he says as he approaches.

From behind you, Livia fakes a retching noise.

You, however, are rooted to your spot as you try your best to appear sober.

“Livia, pardon me, but I have to take my fiancée home.” Coriolanus’s falsely cheery tone is disarming, as usual.

“You heard him. To the gallows, you go.” Livia pats you on the back and mumbles a ‘good luck’ under her breath before addressing the male. “See you both tomorrow. Try not to tire her out too much tonight, will you, Coriolanus? She can’t miss this; you know how she lo-oooves cakes. Loves them.”

Inwardly, you groan the way she just tries to rile him up, but he seems to keep a level head as always. In fact, he goes on to give her a wider grin.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself too much with what my fiancée and I do behind closed doors, Livia, and I am well aware how important this is for her.”

Livia just blows a loud raspberry in his direction before getting inside her car and driving off. A firm, large hand immediately grips your arm and the now stern voice of your fiancé chills your blood.

“Come, Nellie. We will talk when we get home.”

And you all but get shoved into the car before it drives you both home, where you suspect he might just pop off.

To the gallows, you go, alright.

Coriolanus Snow had never thought he’d see you again, but here you were, in the same year as him and in his class, sitting just a few seats before him to his right, listening aptly to Professor Cecil drone on about a linear equation on the board that he was well aware you’d be able to solve blindfolded and with hands tied behind your back.

You had left an impression on him when he met you in that playground all those years ago. Even if he remembered you using such colourful language unbecoming of a girl, there had already been something behind your eyes and in the way you spoke that he couldn’t pinpoint then.

He'd later discover the correct adjective: erudite.

Everything about you perplexed him to no end: your perfectly natural Capitol accent, your exemplary manners, your sharp wit, your gifted mind…

Your District origins.

Coriolanus had never thought someone of your calibre could emerge from such a place, yet here you were: an enigma he didn’t know what to feel about.

Festus elbowed him discreetly, distracting him from his thoughts and passing a crudely written note.

u crushing on district-homeschool freak?

Festus sniggered behind a closed fist to avoid drawing attention to himself. Coriolanus grinned imperceptibly and wrote down below the scribble a tasteful reply before handing it back to him:

Fuck off, kindly

The note comes back with more of Festus Creed’s infamous chicken-scratch handwriting:

really pretty though. too bad she’s district.

Coriolanus crumpled the note and tossed it in his bag and went back to staring at the back of your head.

Now, Festus’s former observation he could firmly attest to. You were undeniably easy on the eyes and considered one of the prettiest in his class. Over the next few weeks, he would find out that even the boys in the upper class agreed, with the way they would throw stares at you when you walk by them in the hallways. Unfortunately, he can’t confirm the part about you being District; you weren’t really forthcoming about your personal life to anyone yet. He’s heard of rumours circulating about you being born to a former Capitol actress, though, so the thought that maybe you’re not even District. Maybe someone else spread the idea of your District roots out of jealousy, and maybe you hinting at them when he first met you was just a way to make the real District rat feel good about himself.

Because if you were indeed not of Capitol origins, then that meant the Districts had the capacity to produce more children like you, which they could one day weaponise to try and overthrow the government once more. An army of district kids like you, putting the ones like Arachne, for instance, from the Capitol to shame…

Coriolanus shuddered at the thought.

He’d later discover another aspect of you: that underneath your well-mannered demeanour, you hid what he can only describe as intellectual savagery.

It was lunch break sometime in the first semester. You were alone at a table as usual, declining the nicer girls’ offer of sitting with them at their table.

Coriolanus sat with Festus Creed, Sejanus Plinth, and some of his other male classmates were sitting just a few tables away when Arachne Crane, for whatever reason, had just decided to cause a scene in her usual fashion, backed up by Juno and her other lackeys. The group seemed to have come from the Talent Show rehearsal and approached your table looking just about as menacing as a pack of squirrels ganging up on a rattlesnake.

“Hey, district-homeschool freak,” he heard Arachne call out, as she leaned on your table.

Coriolanus saw a hint of danger flash in your eyes before you stood with grace and an uncannily calm air.

“Oh, so she thinks she’s so tough, huh?” one of the girls quipped behind their leader, but he didn’t see who it was.

“Not at all. I’m just supposed to stand when somebody’s addressing me,” even your tone came off as non-confrontational. “It’s called courtesy, you might’ve heard of it.”

Arachne sneered. “Is that what they teach you at home? What else did they teach you, how to fold your laundry? How to be more submissive to your future husband?” The group laughed with her in a jeering manner.

Plastering a cold smile, you responded, “On the contrary, Arachne, they teach me Algebra II. We’re currently on the radian measure which you wouldn’t know because you’re not on that level yet. I could ask you what they teach you here, but judging by the way you talk, I’d say not that much. In fact, I fear for the state of the Capitol Academe.”

Arachne’s eyes narrowed at the insult. “Just because you have money for tutors doesn’t mean you’re smart.”

“True,” you said. “Money can’t buy intellect.”

“Well, it can’t buy class, either,” Arachne countered a little more loudly.

“I know. I can tell,” you said, clearly unfazed by her increasingly hostile behaviour. “Because you clearly have neither of the two. Are we finished?” You took a quiet, demure sip from your juice pack, before continuing, “Because this is boring me. That’s great Talent Show material, by the way: boring people to death.”

Arachne hid her hurt by scoffing, muttering, “Come on, this is pathetic.”

As they left you alone, you sat back down with the grace of a princess and continued your lunch like nothing happened. Festus kicked him under the table, grinning obnoxiously, and said, “What’s the matter, Snow? Scared that she’ll bite?”

Coriolanus curled his lips in a challenge and kicked him back, while the rest of the table chuckled, still in disbelief at what they just witnessed. He could’ve sworn it was this very moment that made you earn his classmates’ respect, even if you eventually revealed your underlying intolerance for blood and gore during a Hunger Games rerun in History class.

With his eyes glued on you across the mess hall, he couldn’t deny that the way you maintained your cool while hurling witty insults was a form of art you seemed to have mastered.

Later on, he would have his first proper conversation with you in an empty classroom when he arrived earlier than he had planned for a math period. You had been there earlier than he was, your razor-sharp focus on a fourth-year pre-calculus problem written on the board, your arms crossed in full-concentration mode. He watched you take a piece of chalk and attempt to correct what seemed like a solution written by a student.

It took him ten seconds. Ten seconds before he could stop himself and break the silence.

“What made you change your mind about attending school?” Coriolanus asked.

“Hello to you, too,” you turned to face him with a smile momentarily before shifting back your attention to the problem on the board. “Psychologist’s orders. She said I needed to spend time with people my age.”

As if he wasn’t already curious about you – or at least, matters concerning you – you had to add this to the mix.

“Why are you in freshman year?”

“As opposed to what, being locked up in an insane asylum? They have pretty rigorous qualifications that I haven’t met yet.”

It was this moment that he decided he liked your humour immensely. Coriolanus let out a genuine laugh, and you turned to grin at him before you writing a few more lines and returned the piece of chalk to the side of the board.

“No, I meant, why aren’t you in a higher year?” He clarified. “That’s clearly senior-level material.”

“It’s just math,” you shrugged. “Outside that, I’m just like everyone else.”

“I highly doubt that,” a voice said.

You both turned to the voice at the same time to find Sejanus Plinth standing at the classroom doorway.

Ah yes. The District rat.

Now, Coriolanus could confirm that he was, beyond a reasonable doubt, full-blooded, cloddish-accented, one hundred-percent District. The blond quickly masked the sneer of disdain forming on his face with his usual grin as a greeting. He spared you a glance and you both catch each other’s eye. He had thought for a moment that he’d seen a flash of recognition behind them – had you caught that scornful look he had for the District rat? But before he could even confirm, you were already smiling warmly at the other boy – that other boy who was leagues below who you deserved (even if you were part District). That boy with a bag of gumdrops you both briefly interacted with about six years ago who needed you to come to rescue him from almost being ganged up by a bunch of other children.

Sejanus Plinth, who would later grow closer to you and thus would divulge to his best friend the tragic events that would explain your need for a psychologist. Sejanus, who’d later reveal to him that he’s developed a crush on you. Private Plinth, who’d be too chickenshit to tell you until before he left for District 12 and ultimately stayed there.

The teenage Coriolanus might not have been aware then, but the two would have profound, lasting influences in his life: the girl, he’d fall madly in love with and force into marriage, and the boy, very much dead yet he’d still be competing with for her love.

Behind you, you hear the apartment door slamming close and you almost jump at the noise.

You sit on the loveseat in the living room, where Oscar the cat greets you with a head bump on your leg. Before you can pet him, however, Coriolanus picks him up gently and exits, presumably to put him back inside his playroom. He soon returns, pausing on the other side of the coffee table and staring down at you with an utmost displeased expression. Nowhere near comparable as when he found you crouching inside a wooden crate in the middle of a botched escape attempt, but it’s still significant.

“Explain why you went over thirty minutes beyond what you were allowed to spend outside.”

With his hands inside his pockets, he draws to his full height and glares at you icily while he waits for you to speak up and defend yourself. You rub your face with your palms to appear more sober than you really are, but so far, the buzz is still there like an annoying fly you can’t swat off.

“How much did she make you drink?” He asks, crossing his arms in his growing impatience.

“Wha-no, she din’ make me do anything.”

Great. Because slurring your words when you’re being interrogated by a former peacekeeper leads to excellent results. Still, you can’t help but frown at the way he makes it sound like Livia forced you into it.

“Fine. How much did you drink?”

“Much.” Dammit. “I mean, plenty.”

Coriolanus pinches his nose bridge and exhales audibly. “You know you’re not a heavy drinker. You shouldn’t have allowed her to goad you into this. How could you be so irresponsible?”

“Stop talking to me like ’mma child,” you bite back and cross your arms. Inebriated or not, you will not be reduced to an invalid without an agency of your own. “I can think for myself.”

Letting out an aggravated sigh, he gives you a condescending glower. “This is exactly why I told you not to pick her. She is not a good influence on you, Nellie.”

You blink once or twice to process what he just said. You get to your feet, finally realising why he’s so upset with such a simple thing as you drinking out like a normal young adult on a Friday night.

“No, you don’t like her because I’m actually having fun with her. There’s a difference,” you conclude softly. The idea is so absurd, it sobers you up a little. “Remember when you said, I needed to reconnect with old friends or some shit? This is me doing that.”

“This is not about you making friends,” he admonishes in the same patronizing manner. “This is about who you chose as your maid of honour.”

You choose to stand your ground and glare at him. “I made it clear I’m not changing.”

“And I made it clear that I do not approve of your choice,” he says roughly. “Get her off the list and call Clemmie or Lys.”

“Or just call off this fucking wedding, how about that?”

As you harden your expression, he, in turn, gives you a look that you are aware does not bode well for you.

“I don’t like your language, Nellie.”

At this moment, you find yourself agreeing with Livia.

Who cares what he thinks?

“It’s my wedding too, okay?” you snap. You exit the living room quickly, intending to just get the argument over with and lock yourself in your room where he can leave you alone. Unfortunately, he follows you at once. “I can choose whoever I want in my own damn entourage. It’s the only thing in this...this charade that I get choice in and you’re not going to take that from me.”

Coriolanus catches up on you and grabs your arm, which you yank back without much force. “Do not talk to me that way – ”

“She’s the first real friend I’ve ever made since Seja – ”

But there’s something within you that catches you mid-speech. the temperature in the living room seems to drop several degrees, which matches the tone he uses.

“Carefully choose what you say next.”

So, you’re really not even allowed to talk about him as a friend, now. It almost physically pains you that even the man he once considered to be his best friend now refuses to even speak of him.

“Coryo, it’s his second death an – ”

“I know what fucking day it is,” he draws close and hisses in your face. “And you don’t get to use that tone on me. You don’t get to endanger yourself this way and step out of line.”

After his menacing tirade, Coriolanus pulls away. In a second, his fury instantly dissipates, replaced by a blank, even serene expression.

The calm before the storm.

“I can’t have my future wife misbehaving like this,” he says with a tone enough to chill your blood. He then closes the space between you two in a calculated manner, stopping merely inches away from you to stare down at you. “I should be nipping this in the bud.”

Your vision spins next, and you wonder for a second if the alcohol you consumed finally has gotten the better of you – until you notice an almost painful grip around your thighs: your fiancé had just hauled you off the floor and placed you over his shoulders. Before you can protest, you’re dumped unceremoniously into a soft surface. Disoriented, you make a feeble attempt to get off the surface, but you’re harshly flipped over on your stomach, unable to lift yourself off owing to being pinned down by something you can’t shake off.

You’re filled with dread the instant your mind processes what just happened: Coriolanus had just carried you to his room and is keeping you in place on his bed with his entire body draped on your back.

It's the alcohol you’d have to thank for your delayed response time.

Desperately, you claw at the pillow, as if it’ll help you out from underneath him, but you freeze when you feel his breath fan your ear with a whisper that sends shivers down your spine:

“I want you to count to from ten when I say so, sugarplum.”

You feel him pull back, the bed shifting slightly. It takes the rustling of a belt behind you to send you into hysterics; the feel of the cold, night air on your ass as your dress is lifted, revealing you in just your underwear, is enough to make you beg.

“Coryo, please, no – ”

Your words die in your throat as a sharp, white-hot pain lands on the swell of your ass, almost at the same time you hear a loud crack.

He's just hit your almost bare backside with the softer side of his leather belt, and it fucking burns to high hell.

You’re still reeling at the shock of it, but your hair is bunched and pulled, not enough to hurt but to gain your attention.

“Start counting,” he commands from behind you.

Ten. That means ten lashes of his belt. Nine more of this and you can barely handle one.

You sob out of fear, but you don’t know if it’s out of fear of pain or of him.

“Please, I won’t do it again – ”

A pained yelp escapes you the moment the belt lands on your ass again. Another hair pull, followed by his stern voice from behind you.

“Nellie, you’re prolonging this by not counting as I said. Now, I will not ask again: count to ten.”

Go to hell.

You don’t know what compels you to – perhaps it’s the thought of you being unable to sit for the next few days on any surface without wincing in pain – you inhale sharply, swallowing back the insult you’re planning to hurl, and whisper:

“Ten.”

Another cracking of the belt, followed by your cry as it hits you, followed by you shakily whispering a number. He repeats this without mercy and without reprieve – just pure malice and the intent of inflicting pain.

Sniffling, you manage to stammer “f-five,” bracing yourself for another, but it doesn’t come.

You lay flat on your stomach as you weep audibly in your helplessness and shame, belatedly realising he’s removed himself from you and has gone off fuck-knows-where. Just as you’re about to try and get up, he makes a re-entrance, having come from the bathroom. He’s completely shirtless now, eyes locked in and heading straight towards you.

You begin sobbing anew and try to crawl off the bed, but he’s instantly on you, pinning you down as he straddles your thighs with his own, taking your wrists and pinning them above you with a single hand.

“No, please…”

Directly over your ear, he whispers gently, “Sshh, shh, it’s over, sugarplum, I’m here to take care of you now.”

Despite your rather pathetic sobs, he continues cooing over your ear, while you feel something wet and cold being rubbed gently on your ass where the belt had hit you multiple times.

“It’s just a salve, my little sugarplum,” he explains. “It’ll help heal the skin faster and reduce bruising.”

The salve helps like he says, thank goodness, because after he’s massaged the area, it had numbed almost entirely – too bad it does absolutely nothing with the trembling on your hands. For the next few minutes, your fiancé strokes your hair, kisses your crown, and whispers what he thinks are comforting words, all of them a blur to you as you continue lying down on your stomach, unmoving and still trying to wrap your head around what just happened.

“You made me do that, my sugarplum,” he says, and you’re almost tempted to believe how contrite his voice is. “I will never hurt the love of my life – as long as you give me no reason to.”

You’re barely paying attention when he starts peeling off your dress entirely, even when he jerks himself off above you and spills himself on your bare back, even when he cleans you up and wraps you almost lovingly in his blanket and pulls you close to him in a cuddle you’re all-too-familiar with.

What you listen to aptly, however, is what he tells you quietly as he runs his fingers through your hair in this sick form of forced intimacy.

“I will move the wedding to a month and a half from now. Mid-October. In return, you get to keep your maid of honour, and I will lift your uncle’s exile the day before the wedding. That way, he can walk you to the aisle and hand you over to me, just like he should’ve done from the start.”

Just before you let yourself succumb to sleep in his arms, you make a mental note to ask Livia for a crucial favour as this last-ditch attempt to throw a wrench at your fiancé’s plans for the future.

Sejanus Plinth felt a little guilty as he sat beside you on his bedroom couch. You were hunched over the coffee table poring over three open books at the same time, scribbling madly on a nearly full page of your notebook, essentially doing your part and more in this supposedly partnered effort of writing a ten-page analysis of some pre-Panem fantasy trilogy. It was obvious you had been spending the recent nights getting some work done on the paper based on the way you rubbed your eyes constantly and yawned into your palms. He was supposed to have written about three pages now, but he had barely scraped one and a half, and the open notebook he had on his lap was devoid of handwriting.

Yet he still couldn’t quite believe his luck that he had you in his bedroom, the first friend he had ever made since his family’s official move to the Capitol. His friend, the smart, quiet, sassy, pretty girl who had once defended him from one of the many bouts of name-calling by his own classmates and then vanished from his life. He had little hope he’d see you again, but here you both were in your second year, your friendship stronger than ever.

“You know, experts say that staring into paper has been scientifically proven to yield a ten-page book review.”

Your cheeky little comment did not go unnoticed, but Sejanus just flashed you an innocent smile he knew you couldn’t resist. You rolled your eyes at him and proceeded to sigh, before setting your pen down and heavily leaning back on the couch.

“I guess we could take a break,” you admitted as you rubbed your eyes, and grabbed a throw pillow, hugging it to yourself.

“Speak for yourself, I can go all day,” Sejanus joked. “I’ll go get us some food.”

He stood from his couch, but before he exited the door, he looked back at you and grinned, “Nellie, try not to fall asleep before I can come back, yeah? Ma worked hard on those strudels.”

You gave him a sweet, exhausted smile, and said, “Please thank her for me. Not that I won’t be thanking her later before I get home, but still.”

“I’m sure she’d like that,” Sejanus nodded when he finally closed the door behind him.

He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and straightened the collar of his shirt. As if having you alone in his room – albeit for completing the essay together – had him feeling nervous enough before you even arrived, his Ma just had to gush over you just as soon as you crossed the threshold.

Of course, he’d revealed to them how he met you all those years ago, carefully omitting a few details, but when he told her last week he’d have you over to visit, she had wildly assumed you to be his girlfriend, which you weren’t. Something he had always been so adamant with her about. Besides, he knew he had zero chances on you, as gifted and as talented and as attractive as you are.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wishing that weren’t the case.

It wasn’t your looks or your brains that had him developing some sort of…feelings for you. You were a breath of fresh air in the Capitol for him, starkly different from the other girls in the school who were either vapid, vain, or arrogant, or all those three at once.

“So? How is it with you and your…friend so far?”

He hadn’t even crossed the doorway to the kitchen and his Ma was already on his case. He loved her with all his heart, and he was extremely grateful for her hard work, but she could scare you away even before he had made a move.

He met his mother’s expectant smile with a tired grin and replied, “It’s going great, Ma.”

His mother beamed at him – he didn’t have the heart to take this little joy away from her when she was so excited – and told him a maid would carry the tray of food upstairs for him instead and shooed him away from her kitchen.

“She’s really pretty, by the way,” she added just as he was leaving to go back to his room.

Sejanus found you resting your head on the couch’s armrest, hugging the throw pillow to yourself and in blissful slumber.

He didn’t have the heart to take this little bit of rest away from you, either.

Sighing to himself, he grabbed a fresh velvet blanket and tucked you in it before sitting beside you and observing you. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face and let his fingers linger on your cheek.

You didn’t wake up until about two hours later, and by then, Sejanus had made good progress on the essay since you weren’t distracting him too much. He then spent the rest of the day doing more staring than actual schoolwork, trying to commit this day to his memory, no matter how inconsequential.

Aside from the kiss he would eventually share with you, Sejanus would constantly remember in his last days just how soft your cheek was and just how he could’ve snuck in a quick kiss on them that day if he hadn’t been so faint-hearted.

Enter Level 17 - soon

Next on Level 17 - Wedding bells toll, Snows going honeymooning on the beach, just filthy filthy smut (fucking finally lmaooo)

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated! Sorry for the delay as well, the next update will likely take about 2 weeks from now duw to work still being crazyyy. Thank you for your patience!!!

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #Young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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cuethediscoandthedrinks · 1 year

Note

tonowari loves when u ride him, that’s practically canon. he also loves when you sit on his face, bc ajhdbtjs ofc he fucking does. basically, he just adores being beneath you, letting u take charge<3😵‍💫

oh, 100%!

tonowari + cockriding ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡☾ ﾟ｡⋆

• the thing is, in spite of the daddy physique and stature, tonowari is a tried and true sub!switch; so if you decide to take him deep, and rut down onto his girthy, pulsing blue cock?? he's here for it

• i think throughout sex of any kind with tonowari, he just can't help but close his eyes. the pleasure's too much for this babyboy, and his eyes just flutter shut to help him hold off on cumming too soon

• the bouncing and jostling from your thicker, softer thighs against his toned muscular ones also sets him off too, bc he loves nothing more than seeing the small bounce of the curve of your tummy, or the smoothness of your legs grinding down onto him; it just makes him wanna please his um'ma yk? 🥹

• despite the movie depiction, a part of me genuinely thinks that the metkayina clan see beauty differently to the omaticaya too; therefore, what constitutes a fit, healthy and fertile mate isn't quite the same

• what's needed in the forest (agility, flexibility, lightweight) isn't the same compared to the sea (bigger, wider, stronger), so tonowari finds it especially attractive when you eat a bit more too, as your legs get bigger and stronger, and your face and tummy fill out a little - it just means you're both fit to have his babies, but also that he's providing more than enough to keep you fed and happy

• it just triggers his babyboy instinct like no other as well, esp if you already have babies with him. he'll find it incredibly arousing to be of use to you, letting you hump and ride his engorged cock for all it's worth.

• the concept of the man choosing his female mate and taking her isn't the same in the metkayina clan; the mother grows, births, rears; if she decides she wants your babies, it's something for the man to do his utmost to provide. and if not for the pleasure, than on the basis of honour

• he'll almost find some majesty and innate respect in it, feeling proud to protect his clan, play daddy when he needs to, yet also fulfil his um'ma's desires in all the ways she needs. be it hunting, protecting or pumping you full of his thick, warm, sticky seed aww<3

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peachesofteal · 10 months

Note

I can’t help but wonder….what’s the difference between the dynamic that Darling and Simon have and the one Darling and Johnny have? Do you think she prefers one over the other, or maybe is closer to one and not as close to the other?

Actual canon for Dead Disco:

I don’t think she prefers one over the other. I think at first, in the relationship, she felt closer to Johnny, because Simon was tougher for her to open up to, and vice versa. She didn’t see his face for a while, not until he and Johnny decided they were going to try to keep her and I think that wore away on her a bit. They all have their strengths and weaknesses, but they compliment one another, and just fit together so well.

Darling and Johnny’s dynamic is warm, and soft. She fell in love with him so quickly, it felt like a true daydream. He makes her feel at ease and safe. It’s gentle and he’s really the glue for all three of them. Johnny speaks every love language in their relationship, he’s very emotionally intelligent, which meshes really well with some of Darling’s more… stunted attributes. He knows what she wants and what she needs sometimes before she even verbalizes it.

Darling and Simon run a little more hot. She loves how she can turn her brain off when she’s with them, but Simon takes strides to ensure she can disconnect and feel relaxed. She looks to him for everything, direction, approval, guidance, and he lives to provide it. He lives to provide everything she needs, to take care of her, and she’s just so in love with him and his complexities. His edges are sharp, and when they first got together, he confused her. She didn’t understand his moods or the way he operated, and she struggled a bit. She’s got a stubborn streak, which he loves, but it poses an issue for them every now and then. It’s more Dom/sub.

When it gets down to it, Simon is the rock. When Darling is falling apart, or Johnny’s at his wits end, Simon steps in and handles them both. He knows exactly what they need, and provides it. He loves having something entirely his, someone like Darling, who needs him. Johnny is the web, the thread, and Darling is… well she’s Darling. She’s their balance, their purpose. The princess in the tower.

#peaches asks #dead disco #john soap mactavish #Simon Riley #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x john mactavish x female reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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lionlena · 2 months

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♕ Queen's Milk (Oberyn Martellxf!reader) one shot

Summary: You are Oberyn Martell's wife, his Queen. After a difficult birth, the first son of the Prince of Dorne was born… Now you are trying to recover, but your husband wants something more.

8,3k

I started writing this about three months ago. It's actually part of a much bigger story. But I've given up hope of writing it in full. That's why I decided to turn it into a one-shot. Note: Oberyn is not 100% canon. I assume he never be with Ellaria Sand for too long and… Of course, he didn't die in a duel with the Mountain ;)

Warnings: NSFW, fluff + porn, loving husband Oberyn, mention of difficult childbirth, postpartum period, blowjobs, unprotected sex, fingering, lactation kink, If you squint you will see a sub Oberyn, the reader has long hair, a brief mention of a previous abusive relationship, breastfeeding…

If you want to learn more about Dorne and listen to Pedro's wonderful voice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6VCGXAYYntc&t=19s

♕ Queen's Milk

You were lying on the bed and looking tenderly at your several-day-old son. You were so proud. Your son… The firstborn son of the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper… The only child from his marriage bed. His only son.

You knew you shouldn't be so proud of it, but you couldn't help it. You were the only woman who managed to tame the prince's wild temper. The only one who became his wife instead of his 'paramour'. And now, you were also the only woman who gave him a male heir.

It's true that Oberyn didn't care about the baby's gender. You knew it. That's just the way it was in Dorne. Regardless of the child's gender, the firstborn child took over in Dorne. People treated princes and princesses with the same respect. Something that was hard to find in the rest of Westeros.

Bastards were also treated completely differently than in other lands. In Dorne, no one made fun of them or threw mud at them. And yet, despite this knowledge, you couldn't shake the feeling of pride when you looked at little Dorian Martell. And you saw that Oberyn was also overjoyed, although a little lost. At first, you were surprised, he was the father of 8 viper bastards. And yet, the day after Dorian's birth, he was a little embarrassed to tell you that he didn't know how to change diapers. And then you realized that there was something else special about you.

Oberyn Martell was never present when his daughters were born. The truth was that he had met the first two when they were no longer wearing diapers. He most often saw the remaining six for the first time when they were over 3 months old. And he was never really a full-time father. He didn't change diapers, he didn't get up at night to take care of a crying baby. Yes, he provided his daughters with everything they needed, and his lovers could count on special considerations, but instead of changing diapers, he preferred… Changing sexual partners in a brothel.

All of this changed with his love for you. You were the only woman in all of Westeros who completely captured his heart. So he couldn't imagine not being present in your child's life from the very beginning. Even if you were the one who had to teach him everything.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the prince in the chamber. He immediately walked over to the bed and sat down next to you. He kissed your forehead and looked tenderly at his son's sleeping face.

"How are you feeling, my Queen?"

You giggled quietly at his words. Another thing that made you feel special. There was no title of King or Queen in Dorne. Still, Oberyn liked to call you that affectionately. Mostly when you were alone, but even if he did it in the company of others, he didn't care about their outraged faces. He just had to emphasize your uniqueness. You weren't just his woman, his wife… You were his Queen.

"I feel fine." You replied with a slight smile. "Although I'm a little tired and I'd love to cuddle up to your strong body."

Oberyn smiled widely at your words, then spoke in a voice full of love and happiness.

"My love, I was just thinking the same thing. I could use some rest too."

He then carefully picked up your son and carried him to the cradle. When he came back, he immediately laid down next to you and pulled you to his body.

"Relaxing and cuddling with you is my favorite chore. Especially when our son is sleeping."

He started caressing your cheeks tenderly and kissed your head. You snuggled into his strong chest and sighed in contentment. Oberyn began stroking your belly with his hand and murmured:

"Honey, can I ask you a question?"

Lost in your little heaven, you didn't really notice that his tone had changed, from sweet to seductive.

"Mmm… Yes."

"My Queen, since we are alone in our bed, will it be okay if I take off your dress?"

You immediately realized what he was implying, and his next words only confirmed it. He started caressing your breasts and his voice became more flirtatious.

"I could do my chores and make love to you without having to worry about our son interrupting me."

He looked at you with eyes full of lust and you froze. You knew it wasn't his fault. How could he know that not all women were ready for sex so quickly? He wasn't interested in it before. Besides, he was passionate and you knew it and accepted it. You made love to each other until almost the eighth month of your pregnancy, but then you stopped when the maester became concerned about your health.

Your labor was very difficult and you knew you wouldn't be able to give your husband what he wanted. Your heart trembled. You could suggest him to use the services of whores, but… The truth was that you were incredibly jealous, and Oberyn had promised you on wedding day that from now on you would be the only woman in his life. Therefore, with big heartache, you replied:

"My Love, you know we can't do this so soon after giving birth? You could accidentally hurt me."

The smile immediately disappeared from the prince's face. He would never, ever contribute to hurting you. He felt stupid as he realized how inappropriate his offer was.

"Oh… yes, that's right. I'm so sorry, Honey, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. It's been so long since the last…"

He looked away from you for a moment, trying to hide his embarrassment at not thinking about something so important.

"Let's go to sleep instead."

You couldn't take it anymore. Your husband was lovely… Peculiar, but lovely. You cupped his face in your hands and stroked his cheeks with your thumbs.

"Look at me."

Oberyn sighed and looked you straight in the eyes. He really felt embarrassed. He knew a hundred ways to satisfy women and men. With his eyes closed he could find all the erogenous zones. And yet… He knew nothing about female pregnancy. He looked at you with an apologetic expression.

"Yes, my Queen."

You looked at him gently, not feeling even a hint of anger.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I know this is hard for you because it's part of… your fiery temper." You kissed his chin gently. "But you'll have to wait a little longer for it. I promise it will be worth it."

Oberyn couldn't help but smile softly at your words, although he still felt a little embarrassed.

"You're right, Honey. I'm getting more and more impatient every day… But since you promised it would be worth it, I guess I have to wait a little longer."

Then a thought occurred to you. You could still give him some relief. You smiled and started caressing his chest with your hand.

"Although… There are other ways."

Oberyn smiled wider and began to caress your cheeks as your hand moved lower and lower.

"Yes, there are other ways…" He replied in a hoarse voice. "But I wouldn't want to force you to do anything."

You shook your head and licked your lips, your hand already on his stomach.

"You know… The fact that I'm not ready for pleasure yet…" Your fingers hooked the hem of his pants. "That doesn't mean you can't feel relief."

Oberyn let out a soft moan, well aware of your intentions. Your gentle touch was already giving him so much pleasure. He took your hand in his for a moment and stroked it tenderly. Then he kissed you and purred:

"Don't hesitate to continue what you started, darling."

You nodded and kissed his chest while sliding your hand into his pants.

"Do you want it to be like this, my prince? Or do you prefer my lips?"

Oberyn moaned even louder and ran his hand through your hair.

"I want both, Honey."

The prince looked at you with eyes full of lust and you smiled and licked your lips.

"Oh, you're greedy, but… You'll get what you want."

You removed your hand from his pants to unbutton them. You then leaned in and placed a passionate kiss just below his navel. Oberyn couldn't control himself and cleared his throat. He closed his eyes when he felt your soft and gentle lips.

"Y/N… Do you know what you're doing to me?” He started caressing your hair, his voice full of lust. "I love you more than you can imagine."

You raised your head for a moment and looked at him lovingly.

"Do you want more, my prince?"

Oberyn nodded firmly, a quiet sound of satisfaction escaping his lips.

"Yes, my Love… I really want more. Now that you've started it… I want you to keep going. I can't describe how much I want it…."

The prince looked at you with lustful eyes and you pulled down his pants and underwear, muttering:

"Very good."

You started kissing his stomach again, caressing his most intimate places. Soon he felt your hot mouth on his groin, getting closer and closer to his cock, which was already swollen.

Oberyn let out a deep moan as your tongue licked the first drops of pre-cum from his cock head. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, unable to control himself. He kept one hand on your head, pressing you gently against his body. Although he never did it in an overly insistent or brutal way. You weren't one of his whores. You were his Queen. His other hand gripped the sheets as your tongue licked his length and your hands caressed his balls. He reveled in your sweet and tender actions.

"Y/N… Oh, Honey… This feels so good! I'm losing my mind here…"

You smiled at his words and reinforced your actions. You touched his cock even more intensely and with more passion. You used your mouth and hands to bring him to the peak of pleasure.

Oberyn moaned loudly and his body tensed. He breathed deeply and his voice was full of desire.

"Oh gods, Y/N, you're so good at this! I'm going to…"

The prince couldn't finish his sentence and climaxed. You tasted his salty seed on your tongue and swallowed everything he offered. His hand gripped your hair tighter for a moment, but as soon as he finished, he let go of you. He looked at you with a happy and contented expression.

"Thank you, my Love. You were wonderful."

You placed one last gentle kiss on his groin before laying down next to him and gently caressing his chest. Oberyn was still euphoric from his orgasm and gasping for breath. You touched your lips to his ear and whispered:

"Like I said. My body needs time to recover, but you… You can always ask me for 'it'."

Oberyn looked at you with tender and loving eyes.

"My Queen, thank you for understanding my needs and for giving me what I wanted."

He stroked your belly tenderly and looked deeply into your eyes with a romantic and gentle smile.

"Honey, your body deserves to rest and recover after everything you went through giving birth to our healthy and happy son." He brushed his thumb over your lips. "But since you promised I could ask for 'it' whenever I wanted, I'll definitely take you up on that offer again."

You sighed and closed your eyes.

"You deserve it, my prince. You were so understanding and caring when I was pregnant. Now you still try to do everything for me. At least this way I can repay you. And I know you need it."

Oberyn couldn't help but smile at your compliments. He felt proud that you appreciated his sacrifice for you. His hand began to tenderly stroke your exposed shoulder.

Without opening your eyes, you continued to gently rub his chest.

"Now that you're satisfied, are you ready to rest?"

"Yes, my sweet Queen. I am ready for some rest. And thank you again for giving me everything I needed." He kissed your lips before closing his eyes to rest. “I love you, Y/N.”

You smiled and whispered sleepily, "I love you, Oberyn."

Then you fell asleep happily in his arms. The prince stroked your hair as you fell asleep in his arms. He felt joy and happiness in his heart seeing you, his love, so peaceful.

"Sweet dreams, Honey." ♕ It was the middle of the night when Dorian's loud screams filled your chamber. Your son was lying in the cradle and was clearly unhappy. You rolled over and nudged your husband.

"Oberyn, your son needs you." You mumbled, still half asleep. "I recently fed him while you were sleeping, so it must be a diaper issue."

The prince slowly woke up to the sound of his baby boy crying. His eyes were half open, but he knew his son's needs came first. He looked at you with a slight smile and caressed your cheeks tenderly.

"It's okay, my sweet Queen. I'll take care of Dorian."

You felt a wave of joy knowing that you had managed to transform the frivolous prince into a caring husband and father. You watched for a moment as Oberyn stood up and headed towards your son's cradle. However, you quickly went back to sleep, believing that your husband would be able to soothe and put Dorian to sleep.

Meanwhile, Oberyn walked to the baby's cradle and took his son in his arms, making soothing sounds. With patience and love, he began to change Dorian's diaper. When he finished, his son looked at him with tired eyes and kept whimpering. The prince smiled at the baby and began to gently rock him in his arms, singing a soothing song. Soon Dorian's wailing turned into soft grunting until it stopped completely as he fell asleep. Oberyn kissed his little son on the forehead and whispered, "Good night, Dorian."

The prince carefully placed the baby in the cradle, then returned to the bed and happily snuggled into your body. ♕ The weeks passed and you felt better and better. Dorian grew up healthy and happy, and your husband patiently waited for intimate moments in bed with you. Finally, two months after giving birth, you felt ready.

Oberyn entered the chamber and saw a beautiful scene that immediately melted his heart. Your son was lying on the bed wearing only a diaper, and you were sitting next to him. You made soothing sounds and kept leaning down and kissing his little belly. Dorian made happy sounds and waved his hands.

Oberyn looked at you tenderly and came closer.

"Good evening, my Queen."

He sat down on the bed next to you and, like you, kissed the baby's belly. He smiled and whispered in a tender, calm voice: "Good evening, our dear Dorian."

You smiled at your husband and kissed his cheek. When your baby boy saw his father, he waved his hands even more and babbled happily in his childish way.

"You have perfect timing, darling."

He returned your smile and then leaned down again, kissing Dorian's belly and looking at his son with tenderness and adoration.

"I couldn't miss the chance to spend time with our beloved son." He stroked his son's dark hair. "How was your day, little one?"

You smiled mysteriously and said:

"Oh, our son had a very interesting day. Didn't you, Dorian? Mommy didn't let you sleep much today." You looked at Oberyn again. "Now, you have a very important task to do."

Oberyn chuckled softly at your comment and looked at you curiously.

"Oh, yes? So what is my task, my Queen?"

The prince kissed his son on the cheek and stroked his belly.

"Don't let him fall asleep for another half hour. I'll take a bath and then breastfeed him."

Your request seemed a little strange to him, but he wouldn't dare disobey you. He believed that you always know what is best for your child. He smiled at you gently and replied:

"It's okay, my love. Go enjoy your bath while I take care of our son."

He then turned his attention to Dorian. He started caressing the baby boy's belly with his hand and making funny sounds, making the baby laugh. Before you went to the bathroom, you looked at your son and husband with love once again. You smiled mysteriously, which Oberyn didn't miss. The prince began to wonder what you were planning, but he decided to focus on the task you had entrusted to him. ♕ When you came back from the bath, you looked stunning. Your long hair was loose and slightly damp. Your skin was shiny and smelled of honey. And you were wearing one of the thinner nightgowns that didn't cover much.

Oberyn's eyes lit up when he saw you and his jaw dropped. He was entranced by your appearance and couldn't hide the fact that the mere sight of you was enough to turn him on.

You smiled at him, took Dorian into your arms, and sat comfortably on the bed. Your nightgown had such a low neckline that you could easily take out your breast full of milk and start feeding your son. Your baby boy immediately closed his eyes and eagerly began to suckle. You cooed at him.

"Oh, I know you're tired, my little prince, but just a few more minutes. Once you're full, Daddy will change your diaper and you'll go to sleep for hours."

Oberyn couldn't take his eyes off you. Your appearance, your breasts, your son in your arms. It was an image that was burned into his memory. If he could choose the moment of his death, this would be it. He moved closer to you and started stroking his son's head.

"Oh my Queen, you look gorgeous." His voice was hoarse with desire.

You smiled fondly at him, thinking that what you were planning for him would put him in an absolute state of euphoria. But you had to finish your motherhood duties first.

Your son slowly started to fall asleep, enjoying your warm milk. You moved him away from your chest and rested him on your shoulder, gently patting his back. Then you handed him to Oberyn, saying: "Change his diaper and put him in the cradle in the next room… And when you come back to me, close the door behind you."

The prince nodded and followed your instructions. He felt his skin tingle just thinking about what you had planned for him. When he was sure that your son was sound asleep, he returned to you and quietly closed the door behind him. He looked at you with lust, ready to accept whatever you offered him.

He walked up to you and kissed your cheek.

"Dorian is sleeping and you… you look stunning."

You giggled and ran your fingers along his beard.

"I hoped you'd like it."

"Mmm… I like it very much… I always like you…"

You rolled your eyes and muttered, "Flatterer."

Oberyn smiled, his eyes showing nothing but admiration for you. He leaned closer to you and kissed your neck passionately.

"I couldn't have dreamed of anything more wonderful… You are absolutely gorgeous and I wish I had you all to myself right now."

At that moment you knew you had complete power over him. You kissed his ear and whispered:

"Undress and lie on the bed on your stomach."

Oberyn loved the intimate bond he had with you and had no qualms about following your command. He immediately took off his clothes and lay down in the position you asked him to do.

"There. I am all yours, my sweet Queen."

You sat on his back and leaned down to kiss his shoulder. You felt proud that you were able to tame the Red Viper.

"It's nice to know I still have that power over you, my sweet prince."

Oberyn growled in pleasure as he felt your lips on his body.

"You still have power over me and nothing will ever change that."

You couldn't hide the fact that his words made you happy and filled you with pride. He truly made you feel like a Queen… Like all of Westeros was truly yours and like you could do anything. You wanted to make it up to him.

You started massaging his shoulders, neck, and back. You found every tense muscle and made sure you felt your husband relax. You heard him sigh in relief and you said in a sweet voice:

"You've been so sweet these past months… So patient."

You leaned down and bit his ear. He couldn't help but growl slightly at the feeling of your gentle bite.

"It's been a long time since you showed me that kind of affection… I missed it, Honey."

He closed his eyes and continued to enjoy the massage you were giving him. He felt all his stress disappear and at the same time his desire grew. He didn't want to pressure you. But you sensed it easily. You saw his hands grip the pillow and felt his hips lift. You smiled to yourself. Your plan worked. You kissed his neck and murmured,

"What if I told you that you don't have to be patient anymore? That your behavior will be rewarded tonight…"

Oberyn turned his head to look at you. A happy smile appeared on his face.

"My love, with that one sentence you have made me the happiest husband in the Seven Kingdoms… I can't wait until our bodies become one again."

His gaze alone was enough to make you feel wet between your legs. You sat down next to him and smiled. You took a moment to observe his muscular body, sculpted by daily spear training. You were a lucky one.

"I know that you missed my body and my inner warmth. And that 'other' ways to satisfy your lust were unable to satisfy this longing…" You gently stroked his hair. "But I feel that my body is ready… You can have all of me again, darling."

Oberyn loved the way you spoke to him and he was completely mesmerized. He slowly got up and approached you. He brushed his fingers against your face as if to make sure you were real.

"Y/N… It's like you read my mind. You know my desires so well."

He looked at you with deep affection and kissed your neck. He brought his lips close to your ear and in a hoarse voice full of lust, he said:

"I want nothing more than to have my wife back… And now I want to show you how much I missed your body and your warm pussy…"

You kissed him passionately and whispered, "Show me." Then you giggled and added, "If my motherly tricks work, Dorian will sleep until morning, so… My whole body is only yours."

You lay down on the bed, and Oberyn's heart skipped a beat at your words. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy your body. With a gentle smile on his lips, he moved his body closer to yours and was above you. He started kissing your neck and whispered:

"It'll be like this until morning. I'll make the most of it."

Oberyn began to alternate between nibbling and licking your neck and his hand moved between your legs to rub your clit. You moaned softly, happy that he always knew how to drive you crazy. You ran one hand through his hair and the other caressed his stomach.

"Mmm… I missed you too… The feeling of you in my body."

Oberyn moaned softly, feeling your caresses. He continued to kiss your neck as his fingers worked skillfully over your pussy.

"Ahhh… My sweet Queen… I can't express how much I've missed being inside you."

Oberyn's lips began to travel lower to your shoulders and cleavage. You stopped him for a moment and pulled away. He looked at you longingly for a moment, but when he saw you take off your nightgown, his eyes burned with lust. His eyes devoured your naked body. His hands started caressing your thighs, hips, belly…

"You are a goddess and even that is an understatement… You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known."

You laughed softly and pulled him in for a kiss. You stroked his jaw and whispered,

"Oh, my prince, you know how to charm a woman with words."

He looked at you with a mischievous smile as his finger slipped inside you, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I can do much more than just charm a woman with words. I want to show you."

His thumb rubbed your clit, making you moan louder and louder. Oberyn leaned closer and whispered in your ear:

"Do you want me, dear?"

You moaned loudly and licked his ear. You felt yourself getting wet and ready for what you wanted him to give you. You tried to catch your breath and speak.

"Have I… not done enough today to show you… how much I want you?"

Oberyn smiled passionately. He knew what your words meant and he couldn't resist anymore. He pulled you into another heated kiss. When he broke away from you, his eyes were dark with lust. You ran your hand down his stomach and felt how swollen his cock was.

"My Queen… I want more… I need more."

His voice was like the growl of a wild animal. He wasn't always this impatient. Sometimes he would spend an hour pleasuring you before sticking his cock inside you. But you weren't surprised by this. He was thirsty and so were you.

"So it's your lucky day, Oberyn Martell, because your queen wants a lot more today too."

The prince smiled widely and grabbed your hips, pulling you down. You squealed in surprise, but you didn't mind. Oberyn began to intimately run his hands over your body until he reached your thighs and gently but firmly spread your legs.

"I am the happiest man in the world knowing that my Queen wants me in her bed as much as I want her."

His eyes were full of love and lust as he knelt between your legs. He leaned over you, practically covering you with his powerful body. He kissed your shoulder sweetly and you felt the head of his cock approach your entrance. Still, he waited patiently for your sign.

"My love, my perfect husband… I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this."

Oberyn moaned softly, his hands stroking your sides soothingly.

"My Queen, you have no reason to apologize. I would never change this moment, even if I had to wait another month. The moment I am with you, everything is fine. And now everything is perfect."

You looked at him gratefully and felt your heart beat fast. You kissed him on the lips. You felt ready and you wanted him. You nodded and the prince wasted no more time. He pressed his body against yours, brushed his lips against your neck, and began to slowly enter you.

And that was the moment when you realized that it wasn't going to be that easy. Your husband was big, even before labor, the first moments of his thrust into you caused a slight burning sensation, but now it was worse. You bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from groaning in pain. However, his next thrust had you gripping his arms tightly. You hissed in pain and winced. Oberyn immediately froze and looked at you with concern in his eyes.

"Oh, no… Did I hurt you?"

The prince didn't know what to do. He was still inside you, but he didn't want to hurt you. His actions melted your heart. You took a few deep breaths to calm down and relax your vaginal muscles. You also had to calm down Oberyn.

"Everything is fine… It's been a while and my body needs to get used to it again…"

Oberyn breathed a sigh of relief, although he was still concerned. He gently brushed his lips against your forehead and whispered, "I can stop, anytime…"

You smiled and shook your head.

"No… It's better. Give me more."

Your husband looked at you carefully and nodded.

"As you wish, my Queen."

He started moving inside you slowly, being even more careful. Every few moments he kissed your cheeks and forehead, trying to distract you from your discomfort. The initial pain and burning sensation you felt began to subside. It was replaced by a familiar, pleasant warmth, and a shiver of pleasure ran through your body. The prince's patience and understanding began to be successful. You started moaning louder and louder and scratching his back.

"Mmm… My sweet prince… I want more of you…"

Oberyn had no problem noticing that instead of pain, he was now giving you pleasure. Your body was willing again. He smiled fondly at you and continued to caress your face while speeding up his thrusts. However, he was still watching you carefully, ready to fulfill your every desire.

"I'm all yours…" He growled into your ear. "And I will always be."

He couldn't hold back any longer. He wanted you so much. He was almost addicted to your body, to your warmth and smell. He nuzzled his nose into your neck. Hearing your moans become louder, he was sure he was doing everything right. He grabbed your hips and increased the speed and depth of his thrusts as another wave of pleasure hit you. You grabbed his arms and muttered:

"Oh yes… Ahhh! Just like that, honey… Ahhhhh!"

You started placing hot, sloppy kisses on his shoulders and neck. The prince moaned loudly and lifted his head to look at you with lust. His eyes were almost dark and his forehead was covered with beads of sweat.

"You are mine, Queen. Your body belongs to me for me to worship and please you."

As he said this, he leaned down and gently bit your neck. His words, his bite, his thrusts… It all drove you crazy with pleasure. You felt yourself getting closer to orgasm. You grabbed his hair, pressing his head to your neck. You felt your heart speed up.

"Ahhh! Yes, my prince. I am your wife, your queen… and I belong only to you."

This time, it was your words that made Oberyn moan loudly, feeling himself getting closer to his orgasm. He felt your nails scratching at his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. He bit your neck gently again, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. You felt his hot breath on your ear as he panted.

"So take my love… just like I take yours."

You wanted him even more. You wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him to enter you even harder and deeper. Your moans began to merge into one, filling the chamber with sounds of pleasure. You arched your back, feeling a familiar tingling wash over your body.

"Oh gods… Ah! Oberyn! I… I…"

Oberyn couldn't help himself. He pushed deeper into you, but his thrusts became more erratic. He was on edge too.

"Oh, my queen… You are like sweet poison to me…"

"Ahhh! My darling, my sweet prince… Mmmm… I…"

You felt ecstasy wash over you. Electricity coursed through your entire body and you screamed his name loudly as you climaxed. Your whole body trembled and your vaginal muscles gripped his cock tightly.

Oberyn lifted his head and looked at you, satisfied, he had achieved his goal, he had pleased you. He himself was getting closer too. He moaned loudly and stilled, emptying himself inside you. His hot seed flooded your insides. He still stayed inside you and began to gently caress your face. His breathing was slowing down as was yours.

You felt your legs tremble and you could no longer keep them on Oberyn's hips. You groaned in dissatisfaction and lowered them down. After such an experience, you always felt the need to be as close to your loved one as possible. So you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

Oberyn had no intention of resisting you and happily pressed his body against yours. He felt an explosion of passion, desire, and love in his chest.

"You have no idea how much I needed this…"

You smiled and stroked his cheek.

"I can imagine that."

Oberyn returned your smile, then kissed your forehead and whispered,

"You are my whole life, Honey."

He was so happy and fulfilled that he didn't want to break free from your embrace. He rested his head on your breasts and sighed in contentment as you began to stroke his hair.

You also felt the same way he did. You couldn't imagine a better man. A man whose main goal in life was to please you and provide you with comfort. Still playing with his hair, you said:

"You are everything to me, my sweet Prince. You are my heartbeat and my breath… And this moment can last forever."

Oberyn raised his head for a moment and kissed your cheek, only to snuggle into your breasts again.

"This is heaven." He murmured.

You felt him start to caress your side with his hand and you smiled. You started massaging his neck and said:

"If this is heaven, then you died lying on top of me."

Oberyn chuckled at your joke. He always loved your sense of humor.

"Well, if that's the only way to the afterlife, then that's a death I'll gladly accept."

The whole situation suddenly reminded you of the beginning of your affair, when you were still married to your first husband. The cruel and aggressive Lord Aron. You knew that having an affair with the Prince of Dorne was a death sentence for you, but you couldn't resist it. You fell in love, and as it turned out, you weren't the only one. Oberyn was crazy about you, he wanted you to be his. He wanted to free you from your brutal husband and he had an idea. Except you didn't like his idea at all.

You laughed in amusement and looked at your beloved husband.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

Oberyn looked up and frowned.

"No, I don't know… Tell me."

"When you came up with the idea that the best way to free me from Aron was to make that bastard mad when he caught us…"

You shook your head and giggled. It made you laugh now, but it didn't at the time. Oberyn really wanted to make your husband so furious that he would challenge him to a duel. The prince was confident in his abilities. And even though you also believed that he was a hundred times better warrior than Aron, the very moment of his fury made you afraid.

Continuing to stroke Oberyn's hair, you added:

"I was so terrified as I waited for him to burst into the chamber and see us. And you pulled me close to you and said, 'If you're going to die, I want you to die on me.' And… Oh gods, I hated you then for saying those words. Now they amuse me."

Oberyn started laughing along with you.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it. But for me, it's the moment I'm most proud of. I remember how forcefully I had to hold you down and how sure I was that I wasn't going to let that scum kill you. Those were tense moments, my love. But I would do it again, just for you." He leaned closer and whispered, "You were my Queen even before we got married."

You pulled him into another heated kiss and then said in a joking tone:

"You should thank the gods that your queen has become accustomed to your sense of humor and sarcasm over time."

Your husband chuckled and brushed a few stray strands of hair out of your face.

"And yet you married me. My charm, my wit, and my strength won your heart, my Queen. You just have to admit it."

You shook your head. You felt so wonderful in his presence that you decided to keep joking.

"Even if you torture me, I won't admit that…" You lowered your voice to a whisper. "After our first night together, I knew I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life…"

Oberyn's eyes sparkled with joy at your words.

"I didn't have to torture you… You just admitted it." He kissed your forehead and added, "Our first night together is forever burned into my heart, just like you."

You felt yourself bursting with joy. Sometimes you wondered, what you did to deserve such a loving husband? And other times you felt that the gods had decided to reward you for the years you spent with an aggressive, stupid husband who treated you worse than a dog. You sighed and stroked his dark hair. There were already some gray streaks here and there, but you thought that only made him more handsome.

"Our journey has been long and not always easy, but we are finally here. In this wonderful moment."

Oberyn sighed with satisfaction and replied to you:

"And in the end, it was all worth it, because I finally have you, all to myself. And nothing or no one can hurt you, because I'm here now."

Oberyn began to caress your body tenderly, and you melted under his touch. However, not everything was perfect. Something started to bother you… You hissed quietly and started massaging one of your sore breasts. Your son may have been sleeping, but that didn't mean your breasts stopped producing milk.

Oberyn looked at you worried and you started to explain to him:

"My breasts are full of milk and sometimes it kills me. Our son eats a lot anyway, but I have more milk than he needs."

The prince listened to your explanation with a slight smile on his face. He watched you massage your breasts and suddenly he gently grabbed your wrists.

"Let the prince relieve you, my love."

Before you could respond, he started kissing and massaging your breasts. The feeling was great. His hands, much larger than yours, cupped your breasts perfectly. His fingers dug into your skin with perfect pressure.

Oberyn smiled, pleased with how well he was doing. You heard his hoarse voice.

"You will always be taken care of, my Queen. Just ask me and I will satisfy you as best as I can."

You closed your eyes and sighed softly, feeling his firm but gentle touch. Due to his massage, a few drops of milk flowed down your skin. Oberyn looked at it as if hypnotized. He was suddenly overcome with the need to taste it. He licked your skin, tasting the sweet milk, and purred with pleasure:

"My Queen… My love… You are like a dream… You are my dream and my desire…"

You couldn't even find the words. It was something you never expected. Oberyn looked like he was obsessed with your breasts, and was willing to do anything to serve you.

The prince licked his lips and gently placed his mouth on your nipple. He had always loved women's breasts, but this… This was something he had never done and he was as stunned as you were.

"Can I?"

His pleading voice sounded like never before. His brown eyes looked at you hopefully. You nodded and he immediately placed his mouth on your nipple and started sucking.

A soft moan escaped your lips. It was a completely different experience than feeding Dorian. Oberyn's mouth was sucking with so much force and his hands were still squeezing your breasts, causing the feeling of pleasure to travel from your breasts throughout your body and straight to your core.

You started caressing his face with one hand and gently tugging his hair with the other.

"Ah… Oh yes, that's a relief. Honey, don't stop…"

Oberyn moaned passionately upon hearing your words. The taste of your milk, the Queen's milk, was addictive, and knowing that his actions were pleasing you at the same time added to the excitement.

He released your nipple for a moment and croaked:

"What a lucky prince I am to have such a wonderful wife as you."

Then his tongue began to dance on your skin while his hands continued to caress your breasts, more and more milk flowing out of them. Oberyn smiled lewdly and began to suck on your other breast.

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

"Oberyn… Oh, gods… You're so perfect at this… Mmmm…"

Every time he touched your breasts, the pain you felt lessened. Every flick of his tongue sent a wave of pleasure. Until the pain and tension stopped completely and you couldn't hold back your moans.

Oberyn smiled warmly at the sweet sounds you were making. He pulled away for a moment to get some air.

"I'm glad you're satisfied… I just want to serve you… And I want to taste your wonderful milk every day…"

You giggled quietly and shook your head. You realized that you had probably started his new obsession.

"Umm, Dorian wouldn't be happy knowing his dad was stealing his milk, but…" You smiled and looked at him with lust. "He sleeps peacefully in his cradle and doesn't see it. So, go ahead, my prince."

Oberyn laughed happily and brushed his lips against your nipple.

"Your milk tastes delicious… and for me, there is nothing better than the combination of these two things, a happy wife and her delicious milk."

The prince started sucking your nipple again, swirling his tongue around to give you additional sensations. He wanted to hear you moan his name in ecstasy.

As Oberyn continued to suck and caress your breasts, your moans became louder and louder. You couldn't stand the tension building in your body anymore. Your hand went between your thighs, but your husband didn't miss it.

He knew exactly what you needed and he couldn't resist giving it to you. With a loud click, he released your nipple and in a voice dripping with lust, he said,

"My love… Let me handle this."

One of his hands moved between your thighs and his thumb found your clit with ease and practiced precision.

You started moaning even louder and moving your hips restlessly.

"Yes, please… Please… Oberyn…"

You couldn't even form a coherent sentence anymore, but he didn't care. He didn't need your words. He knew your body and your needs better than his own. His two fingers slid inside your hot core, moving rhythmically as his thumb continued to rub your clit.

You were already on the edge of pleasure. Your body became defenseless and sensitive to the prince's touch.

"I'll take care of you, my Dear." He purred, pressing his lips to your breasts.

Your breathing became rapid and your heart was beating like crazy. Everything around disappeared. There was only pleasure. Oberyn's fingers, his mouth, his voice…

"Let it go, my Queen. I'm here for you."

Hearing your lustful and loud moans, he couldn't resist. He wanted to do everything he could to help you achieve an intense orgasm. He sped up the movements of his hand and pressed his lips against your nipple one last time. And that was it. A strong shiver ran through your entire body. Your whole body tensed as your orgasm hit you.

You screamed and cried with pleasure. And your moans intertwined with his name as You climaxed.

Finally, you closed your eyes and fell back onto the pillows exhausted, feeling your vagina twitch around his fingers.

Oberyn waited a moment longer, knowing how sensitive you were at that moment. He gently pulled his fingers out of you and placed a sweet kiss between your breasts. He then laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, holding you as if he were holding his most precious treasure. He kissed your temple and whispered tenderly into your ear:

"My Queen and my Love… You are even more beautiful when you are filled with pleasure … You make my heart beat louder than thunder."

You smiled and snuggled into his warm body. You still couldn't gather your thoughts, but you knew he wouldn't leave you until you returned to normal. You sighed contented and happy. Your breathing slowly calmed down. You felt so relaxed and safe. Finally, you placed a sweet kiss on his chest and whispered,

"Thank you, my love."

The prince immediately replied:

"You don't have to thank me. I always want you to feel happy and satisfied."

He kissed your neck gently, unable to stop himself from touching you. In return, you caressed his body. From time to time, you ran your fingers over the scars on his chest, remnants of many battles.

You didn't see how long you lay next to each other in complete silence. It didn't matter. You closed your eyes and purred almost like a cat.

"You are perfect, my prince. Every part of your body… As if the gods created you, especially for me."

"And you are a masterpiece, my Queen. No one in this world could compete with you in terms of beauty, grace, love, and sacrifice… My love for you is like a star that will never fade." He gently, even reverently, caressed your body. "My body and heart remain the same as the day I met you. You are the greatest wife a man could dream of."

You moved away from him a little and pushed yourself up on your hands. Then you leaned over him and looked him straight in the eyes. You almost touched your nose to his.

"Do you think so, my prince? Or maybe you just want to cast a spell on me that will make me never think about anyone else but you for a second."

Oberyn chuckled and jokingly replied:

"You are too smart for me, my Queen, I cannot deceive you." He started caressing your cheeks, and a seductive smile appeared on his face. "But you are wrong, my love. I don't need to cast any spells on you, my Queen. You are like an angel, the most beautiful angel I have ever seen… And it will always be like that."

You started peppering his face with small kisses and then collapsed onto his body with a sigh.

"You know you are my safe place. My oasis in the desert."

Oberyn embraced you and pulled you closer to his body.

"And you are my refuge, my Queen. My refuge from the horrors of the world. You are the light of my life, my love." His voice was full of affection and love. "I am your husband and your lover. And I will never be anything else, ever."

He seemed determined and confident like he had no intention of ever changing his mind about you or your love.

You snuggled into his chest even more. As if you wanted to absorb his love and warmth.

"I love you." You said, your voice slightly sleepy.

"Y/N… My Queen… I love you too." He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. "May our love be eternal and lasting, just like the gods themselves."

"Hmm… That's a good plan."

You couldn't stop yawning anymore. And now that you had finished making love, goose bumps began to appear on your body. Oberyn noticed that your body was getting cold, so he gently wrapped the blanket around you and wrapped his arms around you tighter. He started stroking your head and in a calm, sweet voice he said:

"I am here for you, my queen. I will keep you warm. No one can hurt you as long as I am with you. You are safe with me."

You smiled and were about to go to dreamland when one thought appeared in your head.

"Hmm… I forgot to tell you…"

You opened your eyes and looked at the prince, half asleep.

"We should throw a feast. After all, Dorian is two months old and we haven't celebrated his birth yet."

Oberyn smiled broadly. He loved feasts, and he loved feasts even more when they were in honor of his family members.

"That's a great idea. We'll throw a feast and invite all our friends from Dorne. It will be a great opportunity to show the world our love and the wonderful baby we have." He kissed your head. "Dorian is a precious gift, my Queen. His birth must be celebrated, but also your sacrifice. Because you two are the greatest people in my life and the best and most important gifts a man can ever receive."

You nodded and kissed him on the lips. After a while, you snuggled back into his chest and were ready to fall asleep. You knew that the prince would probably wake you up in a while with sweet kisses and ask for another round, but you didn't mind. As long as he treated you like his Queen, he had all of you. All your body, heart, and love. Before you fell asleep, you heard his sweet whisper:

"Sweet dreams, darling. I love you."

♕

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #prince oberyn #prince of dorne #oberyn martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you #oberyn is a husband #he is so sweet #my sweet prince #fanfiction #my ff #pedrostories

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ladythornofrivia · 3 months

Text

👹 Match Made In Hell 👹 || Aemond x Reader (My Demon AU) (Part Three)

Next Chapter

🍒 a/n: this series is inspired by k-drama, and it’ll deviates from the canon, but still had the same atmosphere as the netflix version. i’m so sorry it took so long to update a new chapter!

🍒summary: reader, who has now made pact with the devil, must face the difficulties by the likes of her surroundings, and Aemond, who took pleasure on tormenting her, even divulge his dirty thoughts.

🍒 warning: Dark!Aemond, violence, blood, misogyny, mentions of cheating, Aemond is a demon in a fic, he’s a d*ckhead, but charming, reader is a b*tch, spoiled brat, smut, action sequences, oral sex, rough sex, public sex, hotel sex, hate sex, contract, blood kink, religion themes, knife play, sexual tension, Aemond in a red suit, money kink, p in v sex, breeding kink, sex in the club, sex in a hospital bed, toxic relationship, fake relationship, possessive Aemond, obsession, jealousy, stalking, blackmail, dom/sub relationship, wet dream, cunnilingus, fingering, squiriting, reader is a virgin, aemond is experienced, moaning, reader and aemond being horny, 69, lotus, sex on the wall, praise kink, creampie, daddy kink. Demon!Aemond has powers, but needs reader to fuel and restore his power. The story from the show will be different in fanfic. Inspired by K-Drama “My Demon”.

Chapter Three: Heiress’s Bitch

Afar from a thickened crowd of paparazzis and reporters, on the left side of the corner, there was Aemond, in a fanciful suit of black and green with gold-embroidered scarf hung loosely around his neck, leaning and beaming as his violet eye watched the spectacle, and you on the platform, microphone on the podium, distress overwhelmed you, attempting to cooperate on various questions, concentrating. Accidentally eyeing on a one-eyed devil, a former prince regent to the Greens, only for him to withhold the possession of your thin lacy pink thong that was once clinging between your legs, with his tongue licking over his gleaming, fanged teeth.

“You may now suffer and keep your empty, prideful head high as you wish, but soon I shall have a taste of you, my little angel,” his thoughts penetrated in your head.

The Devilish Prince is waiting outside the fitting room. And it bugged you to a point you want to strangle yourself to death. If Aemond wanna-be decides to torment by reviving you back, you have another chance to get rid of yourself again.

Why on Earth did he decide to pick you, or pick on you—you’re unsure. Thoughts stifled yet jumbled all at once that you hadn’t realized your top sleeve slipped from your shoulder, and your pink satin skirt is crooked, tilted on one side. Everything went wrong. So wrong all you crave at this current moment is to sleep or eat fast food or drink away. Or possibly thinking about crawling up to a hole and die. Or somewhat in that order.

You still couldn’t register in your head that Aemond Targaryen—as a devil—would step into your life—audacious and malicious! And superstitious!

The audacity is real!

A real good one at that. Aemond, a total bastard—jerk—a former Prince Regent—is in your world—your real world—one true flesh. A fucking prick with a demonic stick up in between in his legs is here. As much as you admire Aemond in the series, despite his war criminal activities, his charisma oddly exuding through screen, you can’t help but admire, but seeing him now, has shrank your heart to hate thousand times fold.

And here you thought, being in a room with devilish jerk has set your heart of fire—and not in a romantic idealistic way. You wanted to stab him with a Dark Sister. Over and over and over and over again. You wanted to hear his scream, for what he did to you. It was unbearable. Your purity, your maintained image dwindled in a flash.

Why can’t it be Cregan Stark? Or Robb Stark? Or Jaime Lannister? Jaime Lannister—Kingslayer has devilish charm you couldn’t resist. The problem is, you’re not blonde enough. And you’re not Cersei or Brienne of Tarth.

What about Loki? The God of Mischief? He’d be perfect. Tom Hiddleston with a devilish scheming smile he beholds and puts everyone on a chokehold. But all you got is the Aemond the former Prince Regent.

In all days, you shouldn’t be nervous. In a fitting room, you are alone, with your heart pumping. In an unusual circumstance, you should be ecstatic with your new attires to a press conference. Press conference might boost your business—or lowers—depending on which answer. There are several conferences you’ve dealt or saw before. One is from Philippines, the other is from Italy.

It’s a hassle as it already is. The question is; why does your “attempted” suicide had to be announced? Who could possibly leak the information? More importantly, who started a commotion—an accusation of you being suicidal? Your soul is dying from stupidity everyday, not to a certain of killing yourself from someone stupid—maybe that’s another list of stupidity, but surely there’s more to it.

You never thought of dying once. You never thought of injuring yourself. Keeping your held up high by doing hard-work is ultimately the best. Self-care and fashion lifestyle goes second. You love yourself too much to make a “jump” for the sake of a stupid man—a wild mongrel who has more worth of acting like in a zoo than a quiet and lavish luxury.

Picking another attire, before slithering out from the top, large hands abruptly rotated you, pinned you against the wall and meet his eye—Aemond.

“Aemond, what are you—”

His lips plunged against yours. Those damnable smooth lips, drowning the squeak in your throat, one hand held your neck while the other pinned against the wall.

He pulled away, and undo your outfit in one swoop.

“I’m hungry for a moment, darling,” he purred, untucking his trousers. In between the opening, hardened cock stretched in the undo zipper, and your legs hiked around his waist, his body pressing you down until the space enclosed. Grunting, Aemond thrusts into your cunt, panting together.

“Aemond, not here,” you said in a strained tone.

“Shut up, you fucking cunt,” he said, biting your lower lip, drawing a wet scratch, taste of iron left in your mouth and his scathing teeth, as his pounded movements became sloppy and messy, heavy with breathing and muscles on his legs fatigued.

Nevertheless, he quickened his pace, and his semen spurted in your tight folds, leaving you breathless.

“Aemond, you—”

“Get dressed, stupid bitch,” he ordered, shoving you forcefully back on the wall. “Don’t make me repeat myself, little girl. Have your white outfit ready.”

Choking, your soft hands grasp against his, but not powerful enough. “I was going for pink—”

“Fucking bitch, I’m not asking you,” he seethed, hand strangled on your neck. “Did I not make myself clear?”

Under his grasp, your eyes blurred, chest constricted and deprived from air. “Why are you doing this? If you hate me that much, why did you decide to fuck me?”

“Isn’t obvious? You’re so hideously repulsive, I can’t stand the sight of your feeble appearance. That lousy and bratty mouth of yours needs to be shut. I can’t stand the noise—the sighs—you make in the fitting room.” He loosened you and watched you dropped on the ground. “A little girl like you has no place in a woman’s world.”

Absconded from the fitting room, tears ran down on your face. Picking yourself up off the ground, numbed fingers swiped across your wet cheeks.

Could he really be comparing you to someone else? There’s no way. Even in a form of a man, a devil’s no better beside the lousy man.

As you stepped out of the dressing room, the assistants had no expression but an obvious mark of reddened blush on their cheeks and neck, as Aemond had a scowl etched on his princely visage.

~~~

On a Sunday mass, everyone bowed their heads with prayer as the priest preached regarding to loving your enemies, and forgiving others’s sins. Though this is a quiet mass—a private mass, more like. As a sign of good luck. A prayer.

Aemond found it ridiculous. His eye stared and lanced at the back of your head as you kept yourself down, memorizing the priest’s words and its uniquely hymn.

Aemond, in his cherry red suit, kept an eye on the family. Blessed, no one is able to notice his true form except in a disguise of your butler.

“Let us pray,” the priest said, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollow be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven…”

Aemond never heard of prayers like this before. For him, it’s a fascination, but a grotesque sound in unison. The recital conjured him back to the days where Queen Alicent and Otto Hightower are highly dedicated to the Faith of the Seven, how his mother wore the ornaments of seven-pointed star on her lavish gowns in most days. King’s Landing’s walls were adorned in statues and stars—their holy grail to keep the place from evil’s perseverance.

To him, as a Westerossi, this is nothing new.

Aegon’s holy grail is drinking and whoring, while Helaena’s is her insects and her children she bore with brother-husband. Aemond’s holy grail is history, books, swordsmanship and Vhagar, the largest dragon in Westeros—he recalled it all too well. He figured that there were no dragons in this world—your world, but has airplanes and helicopters—that’s how you were transferred into the hospital, just down by the isolated beach, carrying you in his arms, unbothered if someone sees you and him strolling casually out from the deep waters. Despite all the deeds he has done, Aemond found your modern world amusingly impressed.

When the prayers are done, there was a bread and wine communion—again, new and beyond from Aemond’s religious practices in Westeros’s Old Gods and New, something about Jesus and his twelve disciples at the last supper. His eye watched over your feeble and small stature gracefully taking the offer. He eyed on the paintings. Scanning the room, you see nothing but marbled statues of historical figures and angels depicted from a human’s eye, paintings and depictions of Old Testament and New Testament in the Bible fascinated him more than his own religion, something about religious emanates soothing and sinister to the past testimonies in the past of mankind. If Faith of the Seven were decorated in paintings like this, maybe Aemond would’ve been convinced. He could’ve been as a sworn servant to the religion, a maester in a way—never to be wed, forever devoted to the goodwill of guidance to sinful peasants and subjects to the light.

Though, your mind differs. There weren’t any sincere prayers and mournful thoughts in your head, rather shrouded by a dark aura, something he can’t pinpointed. He watched you taken your seat as the mass hymn a song regarding to praising God.

And there, the Devil awaited.

~~~

As the future president of the AURORA company, you strolled and mounted inside the car—assurance within you is hanging by a thread, but you kept yourself in check, telling yourself that this won’t take a while. But beforehand, Aemond’s hand blocked you from entering the copper and black sports vehicle.

“Don’t touch my Vhagar,” he reminded, rather strictly. His violet eye gleamed—no, darkened within his short warning.

“Vhagar? Are you serious right now? I can open doors myself,” you shot back, the feeling of inadequacy hadn’t left in your chest since the fitting room on the previous day.

Aemond, without showing his obvious grimace, escorted you inside the car, lifting the car door in an upward direction, leading you inside the passenger’s seat and drove you all the way to the press conference.

~~~

For the press conference, things hadn’t been gone so smoothly. Paparazzis invaded the moment you arrived, dubbing you as “Miss Future President” of AURORA.

Reports bombarded you with useless inquiries and what outfit you were wearing. Obviously you wanted the people to focus on your outfit more than your “suicidal attempt”. As for Aemond, hands on his back, striding alongside you until you reached the platform with your pink suit with gold buttons and your simplistic threads of gold bracelets and thin necklace on your neckline, your hair tied up in a low ponytail, long framed bangs slightly tucked (hair reference).

“Are you ready to set hell on stage, Miss Future President,” Aemond mocked.

Nonetheless, you disdained him with cold shoulder, and stepped onward to the clear-glass podium, formally address the issue to a recent event. Cameras clicked and reporters typing on their laptops, then you began to speak in two languages, which Aemond doesn’t recognize, nonetheless his curiosity piqued.

Endless topics from reporters came, already slandering accusations disguised as questions, but you handled it well.

Rabbit questions like regarding to comparing your nightly activities to your ex-fiancé, how both are reckless and childish—nepotism. Then partying, then other scandals that are once addressed as false had been brought up again—their resolved minds can sometimes fickle.

Until…

“You may now suffer and keep your empty, prideful head high as you wish, but soon I shall have a taste of you, my little angel,” his thoughts penetrated in your head.

“What the—you fucking—”

The press conference grew in silence, cameras flashing. The crowd is in awe of your random reaction.

“Pardon me,” you uttered, cheeks reddened. “I’m still in quite state of shock since I have been taken to the hospital. Forgive me.”

“As the next president, what is your next move for the Aurora company?”

Several cameras clicked.

“Regarding to the AURORA company, nothing is set in stone. When the next project is ready, I’ll be the first person in the company to inform you and the media. That will be all.” Bowed, you stepped off the stage.

Your back inclined to a bow and left, leaving the press rowdy, bombarding you with questions, questions that involved and regarded to personal affairs with your ex-fiance and the CEO of EDEN company.

Meanwhile, Aemond’s mischievous smile grew, taking the scenery in.

And the only thing he could utter, within a crowded noise was—

“This…should be interesting.”

Tucking your rosy light-laced underwear in his pocket, saving his dessert for last as he watched you disappear through the doors.

~~~

“I want my underwear back, you asshole.” Stomping outside the AURORA building with heavy huff. Pink heels clicking the pavement as you went your way to the wide parking lot.

Aemond’s violet eye flickered. “Only if you say “please”.”

“Fuck no. Give it to me! What if I have blood on my thong, are you still going to play yourself?”

“A deal’s a deal, Miss President. Keep this up, you’ll get more scandal,” he reminded, his teeth gleamed.

“I thought you said you’re going to help me, not humiliate me. I almost cussed out to hundreds of paparazzis and reporters because of your perverted ass! Don’t tell me you also have my bra?” Pulling the fabric, you spotted your croquette lace bra shielded your chest beneath the pink office suit.

“This is rather fun. I’d rather have this, than a formal way of ending the conference. Dare, I must say you have an exquisite taste in wearing these contraptions you women covered your maidenhood.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Aemond’s platinum hair swayed. “Your face is quite amusing. Don’t get yourself hurt, Miss President. Otherwise, you’ll get sick from your anger issues.”

Raising your fist, the mark on your wrist glowed. Bemused, Aemond clicked his tongue as he stopped your motion with his hand caught your marked wrist, his other hand—still holding your thong—his index finger swished, his tongue clicked. “Ah, ah, ah, that’s not how our deal supposed to go, little angel.”

“Go to—”

“Hell?” Aemond’s brow flicked. “But I’m already here.”

Then he released you; the mark went black as he successfully dodged your punch before giving him a menacing glare, marching down at the sports car.

As you went your back to the car—Vhagar—Aemond began with, “So, what are you going to do now, Miss President? Are you going to let yourself fall, or are you going to give them hell?”

You didn’t look at him in the eye. “I want to go back to my apartment and rest. And don’t you dare talk inside my head! It’s creepy enough as it is. It makes me think you’re Voldemort instead of Prince Aemond of House Targaryen.”

His brow flicked. “Who’s Voldemort?”

“Your twin!”

“I don’t have a twin. Besides, I’d rather be the eldest child in the family.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, just take me back to my apartment.”

Aemond hummed. “As you wish, Miss President. When an angel is there, a devil also is present. Never forget.”

“Never forget also the you’re my bitch.”

“On the contrary, my dear,” he sneered. “A Devil is no slave to anyone.”

“And I’m an Heiress to the AURORA company. Therefore you’re my bitch—Heiress’s Bitch.”

Huffing, both you and Aemond then mounted inside the sports vehicle, Aemond geared his shift and stirred the wheel to a sharp turn, maneuvering right then swerved on the road.

A first step to hell has commenced.

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