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snghnlvr · 2 months

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hope they caught us. / sim jaeyun

jake x fem reader

synopsis: you knew that an academic girl like you shouldn’t be involved with a mischievous boy like jake, but both of you hide it well…right?

extra: hey bffs i’m back from my own grave 👯‍♀️ i lost motivation for a moment but it’s fine, ill try to post more~ | i’ve watched anne with an e so the language here is kind of similar to that style bc i love that fucking show and it inspired me 🤷‍♀️ | enhypen 🔛🔝 | jake has been so fine lately omfg | jake is a fucking simp!!!

likes, comments, and reposts are very much appreciated <3

[below the cut]

“j-jake-“ you pulled away from his grasp, heaving for air after that short yet everlasting kiss both of you shared secretly.

“you know we can’t be seen together.” as your flushed cheeks were on display in front of him, despise all of it, your mind was full of worries and anxiety of being caught by one of your family members or risking into a more intense situation in your bedroom.

“god, you’re so pretty whenever i look at you.” you scrunched your nose at your boyfriend’s compliment as he had a small smug smirk from your shy, silent reaction. you quickly turned your head towards the door, eyeing the hallway like a hawk to check if there was anyone near by and to your fortune, you can still hear the laughter and voices from the adults downstairs. you felt relieved, sighing softly.

your pondering thoughts became interrupted when you felt jake’s hand slither around your waist and pull you back again closer to him. you gasped, having both of your palms being in placed of his chest. he raised an eyebrow as you were taken aback from his gesture that was normal for him to do.

you were a blushing mess, however jake was smiling like a trickster- not giving a damn about what he’s doing to you, rather amused. you stared at him, observing how obnoxiously handsome he is with his hair being slightly disheveled up from your hands a few seconds ago, his hooded eyes gazing to yours and his lips being stained from your favorite shade of red from forbidden exchange that was yet mutual. the sight was scandalous but breathtaking.

you wanted to stare at him for hours, like a painting from a museum, trying to analyze every beautiful feature that earth has offered.

as the moonlight reflected your bodies from your small window, jake felt a breeze from it. the window’s open a tad bit. he sat down on the little space your window offered for sitting. he admired your wavy locks being swayed by the night air and your crimson cheeks being glowed from the radiance of the moon.

both of you smiled in delight, contented with each other’s presences.

jake. sim jake. adventurous yet devilish. elegant yet charming. sincere yet … complicated to deal with.

as you met the rebellious individual, you had no intentions of befriending jake. you didn’t like his trickster behavior in front of his friends, spreading unhumorous jokes, say the meanest things about teachers and most of all having an egotistical mind that one cannot top.

especially jake, for he is not only annoyingly attractive but naturally intelligent in his studies. maybe that’s why you didn’t entirely hate his guts.

your parents warned you about jake ever since he became not only your new classmate but your new neighbor. how innocent looks can cover their sinful stunts.

the way he showed himself to you at a family dinner at your place, he wore all black clothings including black ripped jeans along with multiple rings on his slim fingers and a lip piercing being proudly displayed on the right side of his face. in spite of it, you were surprised how someone your age can look daunting to look at. it somehow concerned your parents how one can allow their child to have piercings.

you would rather be the opposite. your closet would be filled with soft pastel colors. you have two piercings - the lobes. the ones where you would get at a young age and you never recall as you grow older but yet looking at jake’s, you thrived the curiosity of one.

but somehow, it ease your parents’ tension against him when he became a smooth talker and how he was gonna major engineering in college. you gawked at him, comparing how you were gonna take pre-med in college. just wondering how smart can he be?

and of course, as a shy girl you would always stray away in making new friends as if you wanted to be friends with jake. at a family gathering, you were the first one finished with your meal and went upstairs to do your unfinished homework. as a result, jake’s parents admired you for your hard work and dedication, wishing that their son can do the same instead of partying and socializing. not that there’s something wrong with having an extroverted personality, but something to prioritize with studies.

perhaps you did do it on purpose for the sake of your ego against jake and to maintain a good reputation as a daughter in your family.

unlucky enough, jake caught your act rather quickly. he would always scan you whenever you would converse with someone, how your lovely smile would appear, your glowy brown eyes shining under the gleaming light, how he had noticed you have small dimples on both sides of your cheek if your lips curved, how you scrunch your face when you receive a compliment, and your hair look looking smooth. he wonders what it’s like to touch it with his fingers and smell the scent that your hair obtains. there’s many more observations jake silently took note of.

all of his thoughts are genuine. about you. everything he thought about you are genuine.

he noticed whenever you would quickly glance at him and immediately look down at your plate as if you were scared. you would nibble your bottom lip and fiddle with your fingers on your lap whenever the adults mentioned jake to you.

needlessly to say as he took interest upon your first impression, he wanted you to be on his mind as well. in a way that makes him be stuck in your head for days and let curiosity rise to know him better.

the first step in his plan, to offer you to be his tutor. it surprised his parents, amazed at seeing a drastic change in their son after being in your house for one night. although he might in a higher level than you are, he wanted to find a way to know you better.

the night he was supposed to be partying with his friends, it was with books and you.

it was awkward. you felt awkward. your mind had awkward thoughts. the two of you in your room together in the midday of an autumn day. although your window was closed, your body was cold as you were cuddling yourself with a fluffy blanket of yours while sitting down.

next to you was jake, his uniform was a bit crumpled and his tie loosen up a bit after saying, “hope you don’t mind.” to you.

you noticed how his hair was a bit out of place, having the urge to fix it as the perfectionist you are.

however, despite looking tired from his classes, he seemed curiosity and his eyes would sparkle whenever something in your room caught his eye. like noticing your piano medals spread across in a shelf or picture you’ve kept when you were in art class in second grade pinned in your walls.

“so… what subject are you struggling with?” you were the first to break the awkward silence, eyes glancing at the emptiness of your desk table hoping that it would be filled with a textbook of any subject.

“statistics.” jake replied after, gulping in nervousness to make any wrong move on you. you raised an eyebrow.

“oh!” you straightened yourself in your chair, making your blanket slowly fall down. your shoulders from your cami top were exposed to jake, making him take into admiration of your beauty from your single lamp open.

you looked at jake. “the test scores were given back today right? can i see your test score so i can have an idea in what to teach you?” you smiled at jake as a reassurance message.

jake’s eyes widened a bit, taken aback from your sudden request. you noticed the moment of silence, thinking that jake is embarrassed to show you but jake was thinking of something else. he didn’t except nor imagine this scenario taking place. it was something that might make you mad.

“it’s okay, i’m here to teach you not to make fun of you, you can be honest with me.” you nodded at jake, seeing him zip his back bag open behind him. he scooted his chair closer to you.

now you were taken aback from the sudden gesture that he wasn’t even fazed. his eyes were glued onto his folder but your eyes were glued onto his side profile. under the luminous light, it complimented his features well that you questioned how handsome can this boy get?

“whatever you do, please don’t get mad.” he spoke in a low tone. you distracted yourself with another thoughts, nodding quickly so you wouldn’t get caught doing the unforgiven, staring.

you gawked once he opened his folder, with the numbers written in red marker. a big fat 100 smacks you on the face.

“w-what..” you were in disbelief at what you were saying. you were confused as to why he needed tutoring when he got a perfect score. you studied so hard he night before the exam to get a passing grade of 100, but it only resulted in an 80. even worse, jake’s grade wasn’t curved.

it made you be in a lost of thoughts as you glanced at jake. you noticed how his shoulders crouching down and avoiding eye contact like a guilty kid caught in the act.

maybe he can be your tutor instead which is humiliating to accept.

“you lied?” jake whined mentally at how devastated you sound. he was trying to quickly find a way to defend himself but what would he say instead of, i just wanted to know you better? sounds like a psychopath.

his lips trembled, “i-i .. okay look y/n..” you softened when you said your name with such delicacy and softness that it slowly made you forget being disappointed at him. “i just wanted to know you better, not as a neighbor but perhaps a friend since we will be often seeing each other a lot.. and i couldn’t find a way to approach to you without being weird..”

jake rambled with his words, slowly breathing in a fast pace after his chest was relieved from all of the stress he endured of defending himself. he looked at you with sad eyes, knowing that he disappointed you, that you probably never want to ever see him again and how you will snitch to him to your parents and they will forbid you to ever go near him again. but instead of crying your heart out and running away as he imagined, you instead chuckled. you were amused at his creative idea that you wonder how can he have such an idea like this one?

“you wanted to know me better?” you asked again, appreciating the thought that he wanted to be your friend but in an unusual way.

“yeah..” jake lowered his shoulder, whispering his reply to you. he looked at you chuckling at him.

“we can be friends jake, you didn’t have to do all of this.” you slightly rubbed your eye with your index finger, tired of giggling from jake. “i know.. i guess i was scared that i might look like a weird guy to you.” he embarrassingly scratched the back of his hair with his hand. his hair bounced against his flustered head.

“well you seem weird from the first impression but other than that, you seem harmless.. i hope.” you scrunched your nose unconsciously, making jake’s heart fluttered from the dimples appearing on your face whenever you do it.

the more days spent with jake under the act of “tutoring him”, it was him tutoring you instead since he told you that he enjoyed math and physics.

you thought he was a crazy scientist planning to ban away society from earth but the more time you witnessed him enjoy doing homework, you couldn’t help but think about him from time to time in appreciation that there’s someone who’s sincere as him. effortless and a natural.

during those moments, he did nothing but make you laugh and somehow make your heart flutter from his doings. it influenced your heart to be a mess. moments such as pulling your back bag from behind so there’s less weight and it’s lighter to walk with it while going home together from school, raise your blanket higher whenever it lowered from your body whenever both of you studied, and making your body electrocuted from the constant coincidental touches both of you share unknowingly.

although there would be times where jake pulled out his witty jokes and random comments to gravitate your focus onto him, he never forced anything onto you. he keeps his boundaries on alert and respected your feelings.

for instance, if he tried to make a conversation with you while you were studying and you tell him to be quiet, he would. immediately. he would slide the chair away from you, slightly sulking and try to find ways to occupy his bored self.

playing games on his phone is one thing but another would be exploring your room. jake found your art journal from middle school while snooping your drawers next to your bed.

or that one time he unfortunately came across your polka dot underwear lying freely on the floor when he eagerly and abruptly came upstairs after school as you tried beating him first to your room after screaming that you didn’t clean your room.

yeah that was the first time you yelled at him.

besides that, there would be times where you found jake adorable such as trying not to sleep whenever both of you were alone in one of each other’s room, whining in how a certain teacher sucks at their teaching job, and the crazy story times he experienced in his life. it made you realize how such a human can have so much impact in your life in less than a year?

nevertheless, you had to avoid each other at school to not let any rumours about the two of you knowing each other be spread across. jake completely understood as you didn’t want any drama from occurring in your final year of high school. there would be times where the both of you spared glances and smile at each other, missing each other’s presences deeply.

there was a moment where both of you laid in jake’s bed after studying, taking a small break before you return home for supper.

“y/n i’ve been thinking..” your heart thumped after hearing jake’s deep voice while closing your eyes. you never heard jake with this tone so it felt new and exciting.

you opened your eyes, turning your head to your right to face him as his stare was focused on the ceiling above him.

“i really like being with you. you made me realize how there’s always good in a bad place. and i really want to continue to be with you…” you sharped a breath when his picky was interlocking with yours.

he finally turned at you and for once you were grateful that he didn’t witness how red your cheeks were becoming. you were become a mess at how sparkly his eyes were and beautiful his lips can be. especially with that piercing of his.

this feeling was brand new to you. you’ve never been close to a boy before as you were merely focused in your education. boys weren’t prioritizing your mind.

“do you like being with me too?” jake asked, softly as if you were gonna be broken glass. he was being fragile in case he will do something wrong to you. he spoke with hesitation.

your mind was filled with memories that you spent with him from the past few months and you can’t but wanting to spend more memories with him.

“of course i do jake. every moment i spent with you, i feel free against the world that my parents created from me. you make me feel like it’s okay to step out of the comfort zone.” you smiled against your lips.

jake soon did the same as you continued to stare at each other with silence, having a significant spark in each other’s hearts for the first time.

“can i court you then?” jake’s hand slowly creep to yours, softly grasping it. you looked down, your heart pounding as if it was gonna explode from your rib cage.

god you never felt more in love than before. “i would like that jake..” you sheepishly smiled, letting go of his grasp to hide your shy smile but jake didn’t allow that.

jake slowly took the hand that was covering your beautiful smile, taking his hand with it. you were silent, eyeing his every action as jake kept staring at you.

your fingers were lingering the cold metal against his lips and it made your body shivered.

it was like he was having a different emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t identify but you felt safe when you were with him.

jake pecked your palm and held it against his cheek. he closed his eyes, processing the fact that you’re now his and he’s yours.

and the fact that you have to hide it from your parents for now.

and here you are currently, “a penny for your thoughts pretty girl?” jake swept a strain of hair behind your ear. you shook your head, lowering your head in his neck to hide your flushed cheeks.

you would always do this whenever you were feeling bashful from jake’s bold behavior and he loved it. that he was the only boy that made you be like this.

“it’s just you’re so beautiful when you look like that..” you whispered against his neck. jake raised both of his eyebrows, surprise at the sudden change in your usual personality. the position you were in, where jake was sitting down and you were standing above him.

his legs being comfortably spread out so each of his leg is next to yours it made you be in a pit of nervousness and jake took note of it. jake always love how expressive you are with your own eyes as if it was telling a story if your mouth goes mute upon seeing his figure wherever, whenever.

seeing him below you caused a spark in your heart as his eyes stared at you with devotion and attentiveness. jake noticed how your eyes changed when you kept staring at him with a specific look. a look that makes him even more whipped for you.

“really?” jake’s hands slowly crept towards your hips, lightly massaging it before he pulled you closer to him, causing you stumble lightly and sit on his lap thanks to jake’s strength in holding you still. your legs straddled his each side of his hip.

you looked down, realizing the situation you were in but jake kept holding his signature smirk as he was loving your reaction. he kept staring at you, swallowing the beauty you are in front of him. he didn’t want to get you go, thinking you are a dedicate feather ready to disappear if let go.

“well uhm,” you scoffed lightly, keeping a wide grin to disguise the apprehension from your face. as you were at a loss of words - not having a quick way to reply to jake, he took it as an opportunity to steal a kiss from your soft lips.

the sound echoed in your head, making your heart flutter listening to it. you closed your eyes again when jake stole another one.

you looked at him, filled with fond and passion. the silence aura, it spoke louder than words of how much you two love it each other.

you lightly placed your hand against jake’s resting on your hip comfortably with a small smile on your lips. you rubbed his fingers lightly.

“i love you.” as fragile as you sounded whispering the truth spilled from your lips, your heart never felt any less warmer with any other guy besides your secret boyfriend in front of you.

jake’s other hand, cradled your jaw. his thumb was slowly rubbing your cheek as his thoughts were filled of the words “i love you” multiple times. he swore he was gonna be a psychopath with you.

he didn’t say, but you felt it.

“i love you too my y/n.” both of your lips collided with a deep kiss after jake exchanged his romantic confession to you.

“y/n!” you immediately pulled out of the kiss, mentally whining that it ended too quick due to your mother calling you.

“yes?” you yelled back back as jake didn’t stop kissing you. he continued showcasing his love for you when his lips touched your neck, having little pecks as he was attached from your perfume scent you sprayed on before jake’s parents arrived to your home.

you were squirming on his lap as his lips kept going places on your neck. the sounds of his lips touching your skin made your head be distracted from your mother’s voice.

you tried stopping jake, pushing your palms against his chest to pull him off but jake insisted, grabbing both of your wrists with his one hand. you felt jake’s smirk onto your neck as you felt the tip of his tongue on your hot skin, making you gasp.

“jake’s parents are going home now! please send jake downstairs.” your mother yelled out. you sighed after you replied with okay to her, ignoring your heart trying to escape from your ribcage.

“jake..” you called him before he gets distracted with his desirable thoughts of wanting to continue in kissing you. you ruffled his hair to awake his senses but he has beat you to it.

“what a shame..” he scrunched his nose. “i’ll go now, i’ll definitely miss you.” jake pressed his lips one last time to your cheek before you removed yourself from him to get his things.

jake grabbed his black, round glasses from your table and the flannel he tossed in your bed the moment he entered to your room.

this time, you were observing your boyfriend picking up his possession, especially with the gray sweatpants and a white plain tank top. simple yet still handsome in every way and form. you can’t believe that jake is yours.

before jake left, his hand wrapped around your door knob indicating his hesitation. “hm?” you hummed in confusion when you turned your head to see jake stand still. you were curious of what was holding him back.

“i’ll be at your window in 10 minutes.” jake looked back. his eyes were gazing your figure in your bed. you looked up at him and his heart still flutters just as he first saw you.

you taken aback with this new gesture of his that you didn’t know what to say. “i-ill see you then.” you let out a smile. jake smiled back before quickly heading downstairs. you heard the mixture of his voice and you the adults downstairs as you fell sideways in your bed, making your head bounce on your pillow.

with his mischievous and brave acts with you, you’re certain that one day both of you will be caught but you never objected the idea of doing so.

taglist ; @iraisswiftie @s00buwu

#enhypen drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enha imagines #enha scenarios #enha x reader #enhypen x female reader #enha smau #enhypen fluff #enhypen jake drabble #enhypen jake fluff #jaeyun fluff #sim jake #simjakefluff #enhypen jake #jake drabble

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myfictionaldreams · 6 months

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Day 17: Hate Sex - Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: You were in Slytherin, it was in your blood to hate Sirius Orion Black, so why can’t you stop thinking about his stupid, handsome face?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, hate sex, arguing, mocking, teasing, sexual tension, enemies with benefits, alcohol, size difference, praise kink, choking, dom/sub, slight degrading, rough sex, edging,

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“Fuck my life; why the hell is he in here?” you exclaim as Sirius Black saunters into the library with all the swagger and arrogance of someone ready to cause a riot.

“Here we go”, another student mutters under their breath from across the room. You weren’t sure who, but you glared in the general direction of whoever had said it.

It was infamous that you absolutely loathed Sirius, and he, in return, hated you with just as much passion. You were natural enemies; he was in prideful Gryffindor, and you a cunning Slytherin, but the hatred delved deeper than just this. You thought he was a pompous, arrogant prick who bullied Slytherins - mostly you - and seemed to always get away with it every single time. He had directed his pranks towards you more times than you’d care to count. You were constantly on high alert, paranoid that another attack was coming from the Gryffindors. Seeing any shade of red filled your heart with dread every single day.

Today, you were having a relatively good morning, mostly spent revising in the library with a towering pile of books beside you. It was a warm summer’s day, so most students were outside, which was always your favourite time to study, not having to fight with the others for specific books or for an area of the library to work.

Another reason you preferred to stay in the castle was that the Marauders were likelier to be out, causing havoc where the crowds were formed. You cursed loudly at seeing them in the library, instantly ruining your calm day.

“Well, well, look what dirt turned up in the library. I’m surprised you even know how to read, Sunshine”, Sirius taunts as he immediately struts over to your table, picking up one of the books in your pile and idly flicking through it whilst leaning his weight against the table.

You sigh heavily through your nose at the nickname, loathing it more than any other pet name that he decided to call you, mainly as it originated from a prank in your first year where he’d stained your hair bright luminous yellow and thus, Sunshine was his favourite taunt. “Please fuck off, I’m only going to warn you the once Black, and give me the book back!”

“Why would I leave? These books all seem highly intelligent for your silly little mind. Maybe I should help read to you, see here, this is what they call the ‘title’, it means what the book is called-”

“Sirius, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t shut the fuck up-”

“What’s going on here?” the librarian rushes over, interrupting your seething threat with her stern face, glancing between you and Sirius, who was grinning, ready to woo the teacher.

“Oh, nothing at all, Professor. I was just asking if I could borrow this book when she started to shout at me”, Sirius explained with surprisingly good acting skills that had your eyes widening and mouth gaping open with anger.

Before you could even begin to justify Sirius’ lies, the librarian turned to you, her lips pursed and eyes sharp. “Please leave the library. I won’t have you causing a commotion like this”.

She leaves before you can stand up for yourself, your cheeks flooding with heat as your blood boils with anger. Especially as your enemy begins to laugh tauntingly, head tipping back as he obnoxiously laughs, throwing the book back onto your pile.

“Thank god for that; I might be able to concentrate without a slithering snake like you here”.

You stand abruptly, wand in your shaking hand as you rage angrily, “I fucking hate you!”

He steps closer, invading your personal space as he smirks down at you, “The feeling is mutual, Sunshine. Now, do you want me to help you pack up your crap, or can you manage that all by yourself?”

Before you can answer, you’re both interrupted by a calm voice, “Sirius, leave her alone, will you?” Remus tried to convince his friend to step away. With Sirius distracted, you start roughly shoving your items into your school bag before turning back to them both, especially Sirius.

“I hope you choke”. With one last glare, you purposefully bashed your shoulder into Sirius, knocking his balance slightly as you stormed off.

However, as you passed a couple of Hufflepuffs, you overheard one whispering to another, “They probably just need to fuck, and they’d get over this stupid tension”.

“What the fuck did you just say?!” you demand, stopping in front of them, looking between them as their heads dropped to hide their faces. “That’s disgusting. How dare you even say something like that-” you begin to chastise, your wand returning to your hand as a reflex to defend yourself.

“Excuse me!” the Librarian returns to your side, which only makes you more frustrated as you’re stopped from doing what you really want.

“I’M LEAVING!” you scream, gathering the attention of everyone; you promptly scowl at them all, specifically Sirius, who you expected to see grinning at you getting into trouble, but instead, he was only a step behind you with an odd, wondering expression on his face.

You don’t stay to ponder what he was looking at as you grip your bag closer to your body and storm off. How could someone even think something so disgusting!? You and Sirius fucking?! Absolutely not. You’d rather walk around Hogwarts naked than go anywhere near Sirius fucking Black.

A few hours later, you’d found your friend lounging beside the lake, where you promptly joined her with a huff. “Oh no, what did Sirius do now?” she says, knowing your sour mood could only be caused by one person.

You explain with increasing agitation, “And then, you’ll never guess what some Hufflepuffs said! They said that me and Sirius Black,” You shiver for emphasis, “Need to shag, and we’d stop arguing! I mean, can you believe it? That’s disgusting; I can’t think of anything worse!” You’d expected your friend to look disgusted, just like how you felt, but instead, she raised one eyebrow with an unphased expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well, I mean… He’s not that bad to look at, and from what I’ve heard, he’s very much a people-pleaser in the bedroom. Anyway, you know what they say, if you’re being teased by someone it’s most likely because they have a crush on them and I must say… You’re both always teasing each other”.

Even though your friend grins and mocks you, you still find it offensive that she would even say such a thing. “Are you kissing me? Sirius Black is a self-centred, arrogant asshole who only thinks about himself. There is no way I would ever go anywhere near him!”

“Yeah, but you can’t deny that he’s handsome. Even though he’s a Gryffindor, he's from the Black lineage, with his long hair, dreamy eyes, and stunning smile. There’s also the fact that he plays quidditch, so I bet those thighs of his are scrummy”.

Shaking your head at her words, you sigh, “That doesn't matter, he’s still-”

“So you admit it?” She cuts you off with a knowing smile.

“Admit what?” you question innocently.

“That you think he’s handsome”, she states confidently with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m not saying that, I mean- Uh… I don’t know!” You throw your hands into the air, exacerbated, “I guess he’s handsome, but that doesn’t change what an asshole he is”.

Your friend shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe this answers all the tension. The two of you need to fuck, and maybe all the arguments will stop”.

“If you ever say that again, I promise I’ll curse you. Right, I’m changing the subject. I don’t want to think about him anymore. Are you still going to the party later in the Ravenclaw's common room?”

“Definitely! I can’t wait. Are you going?”

“Yes! I need a drink after today”.

As the moon came out to play, so did all of the older students throughout Hogwarts, as it seemed everyone was going to the party. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you sighed in frustration as you couldn’t style your hair correctly, too distracted thinking about that good-for-nothing, long-haired, handsome idiot.

There was that word again. Handsome. ‘Was he handsome?’ you thought to yourself. Of course, he was, with his grey sparkling eyes, he was one of the tallest in the year, lean from all of his quidditch playing, and his hair was always clean and effortlessly styled, and his clothes were always smart and expensive looking, the only part of him that you could tell was from his pure-blood status.

You hated that you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Undoubtedly, you hated him, but would it be the worst to shag him? You shivered at the thought, internally demanding that the idea needed to leave your mind immediately, ignoring the pulsing between your legs as an image flashed into your head of his face between your legs.

You shouted in frustration, giving up with your hair and deciding that it would have to do. At least your dress was beautiful, a Slytherin-green floor-length gown with silky smooth material accentuating your body and a long slit up the right side revealing your thigh. It was lavish and probably over the top for a common room party, but it was so rare that you could dress up, so you seized the opportunity. You’d applied a generous amount of make-up and silver high heels to match the dress, adding a couple of inches to your height.

The problematic part was sneaking up to the Ravenclaw common room, but thankfully, there was a system of students on the watch to lead the way there. Once inside, you poured yourself a drink of whatever was in the cauldron and found a couple of your friends already there.

Ten glorious minutes of happiness passed before it all came crashing down around you as James Potter shouted, “The party has arrived!” Not only him but the other Gryffindors had entered, making you roll your eyes and drink a hefty glug of the alcohol in your cup, savouring the burn as it rushed down your throat.

You couldn’t see him immediately, and you hate that you searched the crowd looking for him; you pretended that it was because you wanted to be prepared if he walked over to you and no other reasons whatsoever. There he was, standing with his back to you as he poured his drink with Remus.

‘Fuck’, you cursed to yourself, quickly looking away as your cheeks warmed. Why did he have to look so good? It seemed his surname was his favourite colour today as he wore all-black, well-worn combat boots paired with baggy black jeans and a tight t-shirt that seemed to stretch over the well-toned muscles of his arms and shoulders. It wasn’t just this that had your thighs clenching together to try and relieve some building tension. Still, for once, he’d decided to tie his hair up in a loose bun, some strays of hair already loosening, but for some reason, that only made him more attractive, and did he always have an earring?

You finished the rest of your drink as you realised just how much attention you gave Sirius. You need to get him out of your head, so dancing with your friends would be the best distraction for now, but you fully anticipated that he would come over and ruin your night sometime soon.

However, Sirius stayed on the other side of the party, which even your friends commented was odd, considering he always loved making your life miserable. You continued to shrug it off, saying you were having a great time because of it; however, your eyes wandered over to him occasionally, and it seemed he always had the same idea as you would catch each other's eye and then quickly look away embarrassed.

The night continued, the music increasing in volume, and now that you weren’t worried about Sirius interrupting, you slowed down with the alcohol, not wanting a hangover in the morning.

“SOMEONE SNITCHED TO FILCH, HE’S GETTING THE PROFESSORS! EVERYONE RUN!” A second later, the entire party was shoving and pushing each other to get out of the door, running in different directions.

Some teachers were already in the corridors, catching students, giving them detentions and taking away house points. You followed a small crowd, struggling to keep up with your heels, which you now severely regretted; however, it was a small blessing when Professor McGonagall caught the group at the end of the corridor, so you quickly turned down a deserted corridor, breathing heavily and beginning to sweat from the exercise and fear.

Just as you turned down a corridor dimly lit by fires on the wall, someone from behind grabbed your arm, forcefully pulling you in another direction. Before you can comprehend what is happening, you’re engulfed in darkness, and a broad hand is shoved over your mouth as you’re pushed against the door to the store cupboard you were just pulled into.

“Shhh, someone was behind us, " Sirius whispered from the darkness; even though you couldn’t see him, you knew his face was in front of yours because you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

Your instinct was to try and shove him off, but then there were echoing footsteps in the corridor outside. You both freeze, not even daring to breathe in case you’re caught. Both of you listened intently until there was only silence on the other side of the door as you slammed your elbow into his stomach.

His hand drops from your mouth, allowing you to whisper, “Get the fuck off me, don’t ever touch me again”.

Now that you had a moment to calm down, as he moved back into a space, you could see a slither of him from the gap around the door that allowed the light to seep in. Sirius chuckles lowly, rubbing his stomach from where you’d elbowed him. The deep laugh seemed to affect you straight between the legs as, for some reason, you found the noise mildly erotic.

“Why? You never know; you might like it when I touch you”, Sirius taunted, his voice soft and yet husky at the same time.

Your entire body seemed to buzz with anticipation and excitement at his words because there was no way Sirius Black had just flirted with you in some capacity.

“Shut up”, you say bashfully, folding your arms over your middle.

In the crack of light seeping in, Sirius' head tilted to the side, “What, no comeback, oh my witty little snake, have you lost your tongue?”

It seemed you had no air left in your body at his words, but you forced yourself to move away from the door, turning with the intention of leaving. However, he hears something you don’t as he’s pushing you flush against the door; even with your heels, he’s towering over you.

Before you could question what he was doing, he rested his index finger across your lips and whispered into your ear, “There’s someone outside the door”.

You can’t hear that, though, as there’s only the pounding of your heart rattling in your ears with how close he is to you. He was inhumanly warm, and this close, you could smell his addicting aftershave that reminded you of citrus and oak, but lingering in the background was vanilla from his shampoo as a couple of strands of his hair fell into your face. In this position, you couldn’t see him; even as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you had to rely on your other senses.

You swallow audibly, causing your lips to press harder against his finger until the cool metal of his ring is indented into your chin. His breath is just as warm as his chest against yours, and this close, you could smell that he’d been drinking fire whiskey.

The pressure on your lips lightens as whoever is inspecting the corridor disappears again. Sirius doesn’t remove himself, though; instead, he allows his finger to do its exploration in the darkness, skimming across your cheek, over the shell of your ear, which causes you to shiver and your nipples to harden beneath the dress however the fabric was so thin that Sirius could feel them against his chest.

His finger continues to move down your jaw until it is at the point of your chin, pushing it up so you're forced to tip your head back further against the door.

“Sirius”, you whisper in a pleading tone, and he moves, fast and brutal as his mouth connects with yours. The kiss was fiery, full of passion and need. The hand under your chin desperately moves into your hair to hold your head in place while the other grips your hip, pulling your body closer to his. Your hands were just as grabby as one reached for his shirt, feeling the hard muscle beneath, and another moved to his jaw, feeling the softness of his recently shaved face.

You both moved as one, tilting your heads to the side to deepen the kiss further, mouths opening to allow the exploration of your tongues, tasting and wanting more. You weren’t thinking clearly, and neither was he but damn with the consequences.

Sirius bit into your bottom lip gently, tugging it back until it was snapping back to normal, but he didn’t stop there as his mouth began to move down your throat as he moved your head back. Open mouth, hot kisses were pushed into your skin until your toes curled in your high-heeled shoes.

You needed more of him, all of him, feeling so pathetically desperate that sweet little whines kept spilling from your lips as he sucked just below your ear like he knew that was your special spot.

Reaching behind his head, you roughly pulled the hairband out of his hair so, at long last, you could run your fingers through his soft locks. Sirius seemed to enjoy the touch as his hips thrust into yours, and you could feel the evidence of his arousal, rock hard in his jeans. Your arousal was currently ruining your underwear, clit throbbing and pussy begging to be touched in some way.

This could be a sign to stop and reason that this was your enemy. It had been since day one at Hogwarts, and now you’re ready to rip each other's clothes off.

As Sirius’ mouth moved lower, teeth scraping over your collar bones, you decided to be brave and lift your right leg, wrapping it around his hip to hold him closer. Sirius instantly gripped your thigh, groaning to himself when he was met with bare skin as he’d forgotten this was the side with the slit in the material.

“This god-damns dress”, he praised against your skin, which made you laugh lightly at how desperate he sounded. The heat of his palm against your naked thigh only made you want to feel him closer as he kissed you again. Higher and higher, his hand creepy, gripping your thigh until he pushed the silky material further up your body until you could feel your underwear was on show. This only encouraged you to pull his hips closer with your heel until his jean-covered cock was pressing against your panty-covered cunt.

Sirius shuddered, his hands tightening on your thigh and in your hair, as his tongue devoured your mouth, capturing every little moan you released as his hips thrust forward. It was your turn to tremble as the roughness of his jeans was felt through your thin underwear, nudging your clit and causing more moisture to gather in your underwear.

Everywhere felt like it was burning: your skin, core, and head. Everywhere that Sirius touched left a scolding mark as you couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t fathom waiting a moment longer.

Pulling your face away from his, with a harsh pull on his hair to snap his head back, you roughly demanded, ��Just fuck me already, Sirius”.

He grinned in the darkness as he rutted his hips harder against yours, knowing what you truly wanted. Sirius’ mouth returned to your through as he darkly said, “Say please”.

It was an effort not to roll your eyes, but you did huff as you, in turn, pressed your pussy against his crotch. “I’m not saying-”

Any sassy remark you were thinking of saying was cut off by the giant hand now wrapped around your throat, not hard enough that you couldn’t breathe but enough to draw your attention as his mouth hovered over yours. You could feel from the shape of his lips that he was smirking as he repeated with more emphasis and slowing of the words, “Say. Please”.

Your mouth dried of any saliva at the tone of his voice, instantly falling into submission as you quietly asked, “Please fuck me, Sirius”.

“Good girl”, he praises against your lips, making your knees buckle slightly, having never been praised like this before.

A hand wrapped around your ankle as he moved it back to the floor, and suddenly, you were holding onto the door as his body dropped to his knees, and you didn’t realise until now just how much you were relying on his body to keep you upright.

Sirius’ hands were underneath your dress, grasping the edges of your underwear and sliding them down your thighs. As you stepped out of them, he moved your dress back again, your bare pussy on display to him, and even though it was too dark for him to see, you could still feel the warmth of the flush on your face.

“We haven’t got time for that, just fuck me already”, you snapped at him. Of course, you would love for your earlier thought of his face between your legs to be a reality, but right now, you needed his cock inside you before you combusted on the spot.

Thankfully, Sirius didn’t argue or get you to beg for his cock any more as he stood back up, towering over you again as the rustle of his belt being undone was like music to your ears. “Always so fucking demanding”, he scolded light-heartedly under his breath.

Reaching for his waist in the darkness, you were planning on helping him undo his jeans to free his cock, and you wanted to feel what you were dealing with. Like every other time you’d known him, Sirius had other plans.

Your hands were pushed away as he grabbed your hips instead, but only so that he could turn you around. Your face was unglamourlessly shoved against the wooden door as Sirius rushed to gather the material of your dress until it was bunched around your waist. Clinging onto what he had planned, you pushed your arse out from him and were greeted with the pleasant sensation of something hot and hard against your cheeks.

“Spit”, Sirius demanded into your ear as he pressed his fingers into your chin. It felt filthy and slightly degrading to spit into his hand, but as you could hear him wiping the slickness onto his cock, you didn’t care anymore. In fact, it only added more eroticism to your thoughts.

Neither of you said a word as he adjusted the height of his hips, pressing into your arse cheeks to spread them slightly as suddenly something knocked against your hole. Sirius helped to guide his cock as he slid it into your pussy, your walls burning from the stretch of the sheer size of him.

“Fuck! You could have warned me you’re so big!” you chastised him. Inch after inch opened you up wider until his hips were flush with yours, and his hand rested back in your hair, pulling your head back against his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sunshine”, he chuckled, kissing your cheek with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. You couldn’t help but hear that stupid nickname in his sultry deep voice, and with his entire dick pressed into your cunt, you couldn’t help but squeeze him tighter. Sirius ground his hips in harder, smiling against your face, “I fucking knew you liked it when I called you that”.

You wanted to retort back to him, hating when he had the upper hand, but as he began to withdraw his cock, any coherent thought disappeared from your mind entirely. As he pushed back in, you couldn’t help but rise to your tiptoes, following the lead of his body fucking into you.

Sirius made sure you were accustomed to his size before beginning to properly fuck you. All the tension, the bullying back and forth, the teasing and times of losing your mind at the idiot that was Sirius Black had all been worth it as he fucked you unlike anyone before. He was toweringly tall when you were face to face, but when his chest brushed over your back, you felt much smaller as he seemed to crowd around you everywhere.

He breathed heavily into your ear, occasionally biting your lobe or sloppily kissing the junction between your shoulder and neck. However, it was the pounding of his cock that had you completely and utterly at his mercy. His strokes were deep and long, his entire length disappearing into your sopping-wet hole. It felt so unbelievably good that you didn’t even care that you were near enough to scream out your moans for anyone in the corridor to hear.

Your hand reached behind your head to find him, your fingers slipping into his hair again to hold them. Harder and harder, he pushed the two of you into the door; it was a surprise that the barricade didn’t break with the force he was putting into fucking you.

Then you felt the deep coiling in your core, like everything inside of you was tightening, all pleasure amplifying as your orgasm teetered on the very edge. It seemed Sirius could feel this too, with how tightly your spongey walls were suffocating him as he grunted louder into your neck.

“Wait, don’t cum yet; I’m so close, don’t cum”, you begged, not entirely wanting it to end just yet. Sirius gasped, his mouth opening wide as his eyes did the opposite as they clenched shut as he concentrated on fucking you and not orgasming.

It doesn’t take long to feel the first flutterings of that eye-wateringly beautiful sensation between your legs as you quickly stammer, “I’m cumming! Fuck- You can cum, please cum with me”. Sirius’ legs nearly gave out underneath him, hearing your sweet words.

As your pussy contracted in wet bursts around him, Sirius released every drop of cum inside of his body, deep into your walls so that you could feel yourself becoming full and it beginning to drip out as it became too much. His thrusts slowed to a stop as you both slumped against the door, catching your breath for a moment, the tiny store cupboard now becoming suffocating.

The after-orgasm guilt hit you like a tonne. What had you done? You’d just fucked your worst enemy, and his cock was still inside you.

You couldn’t help yourself; you needed to ruin the moment, need to get free and cry into your pillow over what an idiot you are, so with hate and distaste, you turned your head further over your shoulder. “This changes nothing between us”.

Sirius took a moment to process the words before his mouth was hovering over your ear, his breath tickling your skin, “Not at all, Sunshine, I still hate you”.

Good, you think. That’s what you’d hoped because you still hated him too… right?

With a grunt, you elbow his stomach again but with less force, just needing him to back away from you. Thankfully he did without any arguments, his softening cock slipping out of you and globs of his cum following this.

With trembling knees, you shoved your dress back down. Reaching around in the darkness, you found the door handle and turned, neither of you saying another word as you walked out of the door, hair a mess, make-up running down your cheeks, dress creased, lips swollen and cum still dripping down your thighs.

You walk with as much confidence as possible, keeping your head high as you try not to turn around and see if he is watching you walk away. It was only as you turned the corner that you realised you’d left your underwear in there with him; cursing to yourself, you turned back, not wanting another student or someone to find them. You weren’t sure if you were happy or sad when you returned to the cupboard to find Sirius gone, but not only that, but your underwear was too.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x slytherin reader #sirius black smut #sirius black one shot #harry potter smut #harry potter one shot #mine*#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #THIS GIF HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD

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justblades · 1 year

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⌕ FLIMSY FEELINGS, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : blade x afab! reader WC : 1.4k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. dubcon, somno, voyeur! blade, oral (fem receiving), sadistic masochistic themes, mutual masturb#tion, cunnilingus

⟢ A/N : we don't have much info abt his character rn but i tried my best with the available provided info as of the moment !! enjoy <3

raven hair ripples from the bitter cold winds blowing, the glint of crisp solferino hues show a reflection of an unknown person - someone the stellaron hunters just happened to pick up as they tread upon weaving the threads of fate, just how the screen play director foretold.

it was just blade and you alone, encompassed by the archaic, gunmetal gray walls. blade watches your slumbering figure as he wears a solemn face, lips pressed into a thin line, not showing any kind of expression at all except for a stoic mask.

is it really a mask? no one could tell. blade just proceeds to stride towards your body, feeling an aching sensation he needed to tend to. it's a feeling he'd come to despise - but it's still a part of his bodily function. even though he abandoned his old way of living and is now in a pursuit of his path to vengeance, there are trivial things he must fulfill at once.

blade slowly descends to your position, vision still not anchoring away from your dozing shape. humans truly are fragile, he thought to himself— to see someone in their vulnerable state, it feels quite intimate. it was an epiphany blade had for a long time ago he forgot when, but all he knows right now is there's just one thing that must be done.

he feels his pants grow tighter by the minute, the flickering light bulb casts a darker shade of monochrome gray on the crotch part. the navy haired doesn't delay any further and proceeds to get it done. blade unbuckles his belt swiftly, letting the item crash against the concrete flooring; followed suit is an act of self pleasure, he gradually wraps his dominant around his throbbing girth, reveling the wamrth he had to offer to himself in dead silence.

the stellaron hunter may not show it but gratification already courses through his system. at a slow pace, he continues to lean more towards your figure, his cock now at its full glory. its head twitches, itching for a sensation for it to be enveloped in; something warm, something tight and something alive. three qualifications that his mere hands could not satisfy.

perhaps that was your sole purpose for you being brought here in the stellaron hunters' temporary hideout. he rips your clothes with one clean cut from the cracked sword he brandishes, one of the many ways he showcases his astonishing swordsmanship. steadily positioning himself from your slit, a hot, rock hard feeling rubs on your lower lips.

blade's heart begins to pulsate against his rib cage, each beat becoming louder and faster in such an irregular manner. the more he got to feel your slippery cunt, the more eager he only got. and with one powerful thrust, he successfully makes his entrance inside you, his cock lavishing the comfort of your velvet walls clamping around his length.

he huffs a deep breath and only realizes it late as he catches a quick whiff of your scent— for some reason, he was drawn on. the male inches forward your neck, his hands tightly clasped on yours to make sure there would be no attempt of escape. presently atop you while you laid on your stomach, you could feel some faint but added pressure on your limbs plus a somewhat familiar presence from above.

blade was only detached from what you were feeling and only carried on with his own intentions. he rams inside you with no forewarnings, his tip fills you all the way up to the very brim. a breathy, whiny moan erupts in the vicinity that undoubtedly came from you but he heeds no mind to it— continuing to pound into your walls, intruding with such an abrupt pace and not in gradual motions.

in anything that he does, he emanates of destruction. a polar opposite of care, tenderness and love; it shows in his rough, vertiginious thrusts, his firm tight touch, and lastly, in his facial expression. you were not one bit shocked, if anything, you just accepted what is happening as of the present. being used as a cocksleeve for a passing feeling, it rips at your heartstrings but you were powerless before him.

you continued to pretend as if you were still dozing off in spite the mewl that you tried so hard to bite back, stifling more noises threatening to slip out. it would be far more awkward if you're awake as you weren't one bit acquainted with blade. not even shared glances, all the information you have is an overheard conversation from the hunters, only knowing his sole name : blade.

the swordsman eventually begins to drop his guard down, becoming more lax at letting his guttural groans come undone from his mouth. his bandaged hand wanders on your naked, exposed skin, traveling to places where he finds the most appealing. aside from the sound of skin slapping, clothes shifting and his jagged breathing were accompanied by the chime of his dangling scarlet earring.

a sharp pang of pain follows from a loud smack sound. it was his slender hand coming into harsh contact against the plush of your ass, leaving darker imprints from your complexion - it was no doubt, his spanking's seal. you could no longer play pretend as you wince from the pain, your eyes shot open and you turn your head.

your vision was then graced by the indigo haired, he took notice that you were awoken but as usual, he's cold as a gelid ice. he did not care.

when suddenly, he withdraws his cock from your pussy and flips your body around— thus making you meet his face, catching you off guard from your current dazed state. you slowly look up to meet his sharp gaze to the point that you could see your own image from his vivid cerise eyes. your very first locked gaze with blade, and mayhaps the last. his hand clasps on yours once again but only to bring it down to your cunt, he proceeds to uncurl your balled up fist.

he guides your fingers to stroke and pleasure yourself, your own digits prodding through your wet entrance. your breathing quickens, a foreign sensation brewing in the pits of your abdomen; meanwhile blade doesn't do anything but to watch on your expressions. "continue." blade commands ; his raspy, deep voice resounds into your ears.

you were struck with both of shock and nervousness, his tone laced with authority and coldness to it yet again. as embarrassing as it is to do it in front of a man you've never met in your lifetime, you obey his order, continuing to pump your fingers in and out of your coiling walls before his predatory naked eyes.

the navy haired pleasures himself at present, along with you - matching your rhythm. your legs spread open in front of him to feast upon that no man has ever tasted, an unfamiliar sensation wells in his heart. he groans and picks up the pace of him stroking his own erection, a feeling of release immediately dawning upon him.

with blurry vision, for a moment, you could see a hint of sadness and regret behind the vermillion windows of his soul. although the actions he's committing currently are lascivious and of lust, you swear to yourself there was something more than what meets the eye.

as quickly time flashes, strings of muddy white spring out from his cock, the liquids spilling into your exposed tits and your panic stricken face. he catches his breath in the midst of it, heavy panting echoes inside the enclosed vicinity. "i didn't order you to stop."

his words pierces your perturbed mind, he pertains to your masturbation ending just as when he reached his climax. the male swiftly gathers all the cum littering your skin with one hand and one movement, cupping the liquids carefully only to insert all of it into your pussy.

a moan bubbles from your throat, feeling his long fingers curl inside your sticky walls. blade, even though a stoic man most of the time, he's also full of surprises. he flicks his tongue over your clit, the pointy tip rubbing viscules and in circular motions on the specific spot.

your back arches, waves of pleasure crashing upon your lethargic self. blade doesn't halt and carries on to suck your walls out, margins of his sticky lips perfectly fitting with your lower ones. his tongue once again skillfully glides over your sensitive parts— earning him your climax as it spills out from your hole, adorning his sharp, masculine features as if your ejaculation was an accessory.

it felt ecstatic, as if your body drifts into the seventh heaven from blade's cold touches. in spite of the overwhelming gratification pooling in your body, hundreds of questions start to flare up in your mind, mainly about blade's identity. naturally, it rolls from your lips, a question he didn't see coming.

"what are you really?"

among the many blank faces blade shows you this night, he finally unravels a different one upon encountering your question. "are you really that fervent to know?" he rhetorically asks as a sneering smile creeps on his lips.

my masterlist !

#blade x reader #blade honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #blade smut #blade x reader smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut

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hearts4chriss · 1 month

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Spoiled rotten.

boyfriend!Chris! + spoiled!black fem gf

Prompt: in which in all ur relationships prior to Chris, they’ve never treated you right or made you feel appreciated, as ur bestfriend, he couldn’t stand that anymore he made a move and he changes all that for you, and better. He spoils you Rotten.

Part 9

Contains: lots of kissing, hella money spent, fast/rough fingering in the car, recently established relationship ( like 4ish months ), fem!oral, modeling all the new things he bought you turns into👀, overstimulation, Chris has his drivers license in this, fluff towards the end

Chris and I had been together for around 4 months and I swear he’s the best boyfriend I could’ve ever asked for.

Prior to him I had been treated like shit, guys not taking me out, name calling never getting flowers just bare minimum. And Chris hated seeing that so he confessed his feelings which were mutual too mine and we’ve been together ever since.

Chris is the youngest of the sturniolo triplets who are all my bestfriends, they’ve made a lot of progress and money on YouTube and I’m so proud of them. I told Chris not to spend any of his money on me but that didn’t end well.

Ever since we’ve started dating he’d taken me to the nicest restaurants in LA, always buying me flowers randomly not just special dates, always buying me things ( not that I’ve asked ), and just treating me like a princess.

I’ve loved every second of it, and it’s not even just that, whenever we have sex I don’t feel like shit after, he takes care of me, treats me good and praises me.

Today Chris insisted on taking me on a shopping spree because I’ve had a really rough week with modeling and mentally just been exhausted even when I told he didn’t have to but he wanted to do it for me.

“babyyy you ready?” Chris calls from upstairs

I walk out of our shared room wearing a long fitted grey skims body-con dress hugging my curves really showing off my figure, along with my new different shades of cream coloured Jordan’s that Chris and I have too match and my new 30 inch bussdown that I had installed last week he insisted on paying for even though I told him I got it.

Chris licked his lips hungrily as I walked down the stairs and approached him immediately gravitating his hands to my waist.

“God princess ur so fucking pretty yk that?” He placed a kiss on my lips and I smiled widely at his compliment.

“Thank you baby.” I chuckle and smile at the way he’s looking at me.

“Like- really good- like “we might not make it too the mall” good.” Chris pressed himself into me already feeling his dick pressed against my thigh.

“Chrisss, come on you said I get too go shopping.” I teased walking towards the car and he smacks my ass and I shriek letting a chuckle slip from his lips.

“Ur a freak.” I giggle as he opened the door for me and I got in.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, I’m tempted to do something to you right now ma.” He smirked climbing in the car beginning to drive.

The drive was pretty smooth but always LA traffic hits and Chris’s hand had slowly been creeping up my thigh and it had me soaked, the way his hands felt through the thin fabric made me desperate for his fingers.

I began to shift in my seat anxiously waiting to see if he’d notice this.

he chuckled immediately sliding my dress up carefully pressing his middle and ring finger to my panties already feeling how soaked they were with arousal.

“already so fucking wet.” He mutters and I spread my legs giving him easier access and he clearly liked that.

“Such a good girl.” Chris smiled as I slid my panties off and his fingers get to work at my needy core.

I moaned softly feeling him circle my clit as I shuddered biting my lip waiting for him to move faster.

“don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good I promise.” He kissed me again deeply as we were in traffic allowing this too distract as he inserted his fingers into my pussy immediately closing around him.

“fuckk chris.” I moan out softly rolling my eyes back as I tried to make sure none of my wetness dripped on his seat.

He sighed and laughed a bit when he noticed.

“relax princess I want it on my seat, ur the only one allowed in this seat.” He pressed a kiss to my ear as he says this still knuckles deep inside me hitting my g-spot repeatedly now making me cry out.

“can’t wait till you cum all over my fingers so I can taste you.” He said almost in a growl like tone as a moan slipped from my glossy lips not letting up his fingers perfectly going against my walls.

“shit-“ I groan throwing my head on the seats when he curved his fingers into my pussy more desperate to make me cum quicker then normal.

“fuck Chris!” I yelp gripping onto the console of the car and he grabs my hand placing a kiss too it sending warmth too the rest of my body.

“your almost there pretty girl just hold my hand yeah?”Chris placed a loving kiss on my cheek and I nodded holding his hand loving how the tattood initials of my name in cursive rested on the middle finger.

“Mmph Fuckk I’m cumming!” And with that alone and his every dirty word made me squirt all over his fingers letting it drip out onto my seat letting me catch my breath.

“Lift up for me baby.” He said softly placing a pink towel down for me and wiping off the seat with cleaning wipes before sitting me back down fixing my dress.

“Fuck you now my legs are sore-“ I roll my eyes playfully he chuckles pulling into the mall parking lot.

“Well lucky for you, we are here, ready to get spoiled rotten sweetheart? Because that’s exactly what im gonna do.”

I sighed giving a smile and nod as he held my hand and we walked into the mall

Chris was not fucking kidding

whenever I touched something in each store he would put it in the cart and buy it which resulted in WELL over 5000 spent on me which he didn’t have to do but hell I’m never turning down free shit from this man.

We went too Victoria secret, prada, footlocker and dior. He kept reassuring me.

“go ahead baby whatever you want it’s yours”

“Don’t worry about me this is all for you princess you deserve it”

“Can’t wait to see how pretty my girl looks in all these clothes”

It was honestly bringing tears to my eyes from how sweet and thoughtful he was.

Eventuallyyy we did make it back to the house carrying allll the bags in upstairs too our shared bedroom.

Chris sat eagerly on the bed as he could not wait to see me try on these clothes, specifically the lingerie.

now I’d never worn lingerie for anyone before but I wanted to give it a try and Chris convinced me so I bought a few ( 21 ) sets.

I was now in our bathroom slipping on one of the sets that I really liked

it was a one piece thong body suit and it hugged my curves which I really liked and pushed my tits up a bit and I felt like it was definitely a lot and I was nervous to show him.

Nonetheless I sucked in a breath and opened the bathroom door meeting a very shocked and turned on Chris.

his eyes wandered my body as I smiled giving him a small spin he lets out a faint “fuck” and I felt wetness immediately shoot to my core.

“Do you like it? I was a little nervous that-“ I was cut off by Chris’s hands on my waist kissing my lips.

“Of course I like it, you look fucking perfect you have such a beautiful body baby.” He says softly with those blue predator eyes as I drowned in them.

Chris’s eyes wandered towards my thighs biting his bottom lip slightly making me flush inside a bit since I’d always been told my thighs were too big.

“What’s wrong mama? There’s nothing wrong with ur thighs, I was just thinking- well picturing what it’d be like to have my head buried between them.”

my pussy throbs when Chris says this, his breath lingering on my neck and I gulp.

“You don’t wanna see the other sets?” I manage to get out no matter how badly his words flustered me and he smirked grabbing me by the back of my thigh setting me on our soft bed.

“mmm maybe in a bit.” He chuckles slowing pulling down the thin material letting it slide all the way past my ankles leaving me bare for him.

“shit- ur so pretty like this ma.” Chris said kissing my lips again allowing our tongues to meet moaning sloppily into each others mouths.

I didn’t even realize his fingers beginning too play with my wetness and I began to close my legs.

“Aw baby don’t hide from me, I’ll make you feel like a fucking princess I promise.” He says positioning my hands on my legs pulling them back as if we were doing missionary but that wasn’t the case he was about to fuck my shit up

Chris licked his lips hungrily waiting to taste me.

“ur pussys so pretty a shame nobody treated you right.” He says softly before his tongue presses against my clit and I whimper in response, his plump lips wrap around my clit and begin to suck as if it’s a suction cup and I moan out loudly.

“Oh shit chris!” I cry out throwing my head back as he laps up my pussy like it’s his last meal.

“fuck fuck fuckkk!” I curse out when he shakes his head allowing his nose to brush against my bud making me squeal at the way he’s eating me out, it felt so good.

Chris’s tongues plunges inside my hole occasionally making my legs nearly tremble down.

“Mmm taste so fucking good”- his hot breath on my sensitive cunt makes it pulsate and I moan out at his words crying out making sure my legs are spread enough for him.

“Chris o-oh god”- i whimper my legs begin to shake already since I’ve never felt this much pleasure at once, I only imagine what his cock would feel like.

“fuck mama your gonna cum- cum for me want it all over my face. He hand rubbing my clit before lapping again and I shudder under his touch.

“Fuck Chris I’m cumming I’m cumming!” I scream loudly curling my toes as I cream all over his face and he doesn’t stop.

“Fuck princess- squeeze ur thighs around my head yeah?” He groans and I set my legs on the bed and close them in on his head and he moans into my swollen pussy licking and sucking every last drop of my orgasm.

“Shit shit Chris I’m-I’m gonna cum again-“ I cry out and his pace doesn’t slow as he moves his head once again allowing his nose to hit that sensitive bud again feeling my stomach knot burst again almost too quickly squirting on him my legs trembling around his head.

Chris pulls away, a string of his split and my cum leaving his lips.

“god I could eat you out for hours if you let me.” He smiles and I look at him mirroring his face.

“Told you I’d make you feel like a princess.” Chris says leaning in too kiss my lips softly.

@mattsleftnipple03 @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @worldlxvlys @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing @trickywritters @hearts4chris

@nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @mattsnymphette @hoesformatt @luv4kozume @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @ratatioulle @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @kqyslyho3 @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @stqrnstars @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @leah-loves-lilies @luhsexcbihh @nicksmainbitch

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #hearts4chriss #sturniolo smut

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kaicubus · 1 year

Text

Distraction | Xavier T.

warnings ✩° : mutual pining, angry(?) confession, teasing, competition, cursing, rivals to lovers, both reader and xavier are 17-18 years old, fluff but also a tad spice.

pairing ✩° : xavier thorpe x fem!reader

premise ✩° : on the day of the annual poe cup, you're put against your academic rival, xavier thorpe, and you don't want to lose. however, he has other plans of getting the upper hand with you and knows exactly how to get his way. hes knocking out two birds with one stone, if you will.

word count ✩° : 3.4k

authors note ✩° : this was done in literally a few hours bc i’m obsessed and it needs to be addressed.

The rules were simple.

They always have been. Follow what the people in charge told you and don't disappoint. If you disappoint them then you disappoint the whole community and what good are you if you're a disappointment. It was hard not to see school, ground zero for being the best, as a competition. In fact, you thrived working towards a goal of being superior than everyone else; maybe it was due to the fact that no matter what was put in front of you, you could understand it and write it off as done as soon as you wrote your name. However, there were some things you didn't get at times and that frustrated you.

Over the time you’ve known him, it’s been test after test, assignment after assignment, obscure experiment after obscure experiment to prove to this seemingly effortlessly perfect creature that you’re better than him, only for you to miss his mark by one. point.

“Maybe you should think less about being better than me and more about the material, Y/n.” Xavier would say, “But don’t worry, you ALMOST got the same score as me.”

It wasn't his snarky comments or obviously stronger memory than you that made you over the top angry, no, it was the fact that you couldn't understand how he was doing it. Nothing made sense and the feeling of not knowing made looking into his stupid hazel eyes, gazing at his sharp and defined side profile, and wispy long hair all the more annoying. Everything has to have answers. So why did he make your throat tighten every time you spoke to him? Or your face flush with dark shades of pink and red? It had to be anger. There was no other explanation.

All of the rivalry would eventually lead you both up to the annual Poe Cup. A boat race amongst four teams, five members from each house all stuck together on their respective hand crafted boats each representing a different Edgar Allen Poe poem.

You're on The Black Cat team while Xavier’s on The Amontillado team. For a whole week you spend with your team, preparing for the race and to utterly destroy Xavier because this will finally prove to yourself that you’re good at him at something.

“You ready to beat the shit out of Xavier, Y/n?” Your friend who knows your rivalry with the guy smiles at you, “Once WE have that cup he has to realize that all he is to you, is dirt.” She was right.

“Relax, F/n, why ruin my chances with excitement when I can take all of that and shove it in his face at the very end.”

Your other team mate taps you both on your shoulders, “You guys ready? It’s almost time.” With that, you watch everyone file into their boats, Xavier included, and so you and your friend make your way into your own seats. However, just before you adjust your headband on your head, you decide to catch a glimpse of the destined losers on each side of you. Though no one else is important right now other than seeing him, so you give a side eyed glance in Xavier’s direction.

To your surprise, not only is he already looking at you, but, “Is he laughing at me?”

Your friend looks towards Xavier as well and scoffs, “Yeah,” She confirms, “Looks like they all are. Fucking clowns.”

As you chew on the inside of your cheek out of anger, a sudden whistle blows from Ms. Weems accompanied by a large megaphone that amplifies her voice as she speaks.

You can tell out of the corner of your eye that ever since your friend had rudely thrusted her middle finger into the sky for all the jesters to see, Xavier hadn't stopped looking at you. His eyes, laser focused, burned into the side of your head and it only made you more anxious for the race. You bite your lip ever so slightly and fight back the urge to look at him too.

Thankfully, you're saved by a gunshot that explodes into the air and suddenly your team gets pushed into the water.

Of all things, why should you be thinking about Xavier Thorpe and what he has to say or look at you for? All this time, you've convinced yourself that you could care less what he thinks of you. After all, the reason you're trying so hard to be better than him is the very reason that motivates you every day to get up and face him. Otherwise, you'd be locked away in your dorm with nothing to do but attend class and repeat the cycle. In a way, he was your reason to wake up.

“Y/N! Duck!” Your friend suddenly snaps you out of your mechanical like motions of rowing as hard as possible. Wasting no time, you dodge the flying axe coming your way by a hair. “What the hell?! Y/n, focus!”

“I am focused, F/n.”

“No, you're not. You got that lost look in your eyes. Stop thinking about Xavier and maybe pay attention to all the objects being thrown around at us? So you don't die, and most importantly, so we can win this for our hall?”

For the rest of the distance from the starting line to the other end of the lake, you try not to look behind you as looking behind you would only distract you from the prize. All of your team puts in their all in rowing as fast as they can together in sync, each arm pushing at the exact same second as everyone else to really glide through the water. Despite nets being tossed, siren students diving under boats and tipping them over, and very small fire crackers being thrown into other boats, three teams are left remaining to the next stage of the race. Getting the flag.

“Go go go!” F/n pushes you up, “Get the black flag. We’ll be waiting here to look out for anybody.”

Not wanting to waste anymore time, you nod and start sprinting directly into the old, creaky forest. Dry leaves crunch under your feet in threes, making their crinkles the only noise in the entire forest. That’s good, you think, that means no one else came yet. Quickly jumping over logs and rocks, you make your way to the flag destination, only to see that your black flag is missing.

“What the—”

“Hey,” a voice calls out from behind you, “Looking for something?”

The cheesy line doesn't go without an eye roll as you turn around, “Xavier.”

“You don't seem too happy to see me.” Your rival stands with a shit eating grin on his face, comically extenuated with crimson, drippy paint.

You're quick to reply, “I'm not. You took my flag which I need to win this. So hand it over, Thorpe.”

He raises his hands and allows you to charge up to him just close enough so that you're barely touching the tips of his pointed shoes with your jet black boots. “What? Who says I have your flag? I JUST got here in case you hadn't noticed.”

“I actually haven't noticed. Because why would I stop to care about where you are?”

“You seemed to care when we first started.” Xavier leans down and twists his head slightly, just enough for you to be caught off guard and step back, “I saw you looking at me.” His tone makes you shrink back.

Heat rushes to your face in a fleeting panic and almost immediately, your chest twists your rib cage hard enough to squeak out, “I WASN'T LOOKING AT YOU! YOU were looking at ME!”

Xavier raises his brows and chuckles, “I remember differently.”

Of course he has to be cocky now. “Look, Xavier. Just forget this and let me go. Your gross sweat is getting all over me.”

“Oh is that so?”

“YESNOWLETGO.”

He snickers at your flustered nature but decides to go the extra mile and tease you further, “You do realize that we all have to get back, Y/n, its kinda the whole reason why we made it here. Though it looks like its just the two of us.” He turns to both of his sides and then directs his attention back to you, “I’d say we have a little time.”

Again, you emphasize, “WE don't have time. Unlike you, I actually WANT to win. Xavier, I don't know what your deal is or why you're so obsessed with me and making me look like a complete and utter fool, but once I win this for my team, it ends. Do you understand me?”

Xavier exhales deeply, “You know, for someone who’s so high strung and smart, you're really dumb, aren't you?”

“What?”

He steps forward, causing you to back into a tree. You can feel the roughness of the tree bark as it etches its way across the backside of your suit, causing a mildly discomforting feeling that shivers throughout your skin. Before you can move forward, Xavier steps closer, basically eliminating any means of escaping.

“Why am I so obsessed with you? Is that what you think this is? Obsession?”

You look up at him to find his naturally tall stature hunched over to be at eye level with you. Surely, if anyone to walk into the scene, they’d think you two were stopping the competition just to make out. Even though Xavier’s hand is firmly pressed just between your ear and shoulder and he was just over an inch close to you so that your noses are barley touching, it’s not like that at all. Yet, at least.

“That’s what I just asked.” Your eyebrows stitch together bitterly, “Can you not hear, clown? You don’t understand how hard it is for me to watch my reputation die because of you and your perfect grades and your perfect art. What makes you think you can just parade yourself around to be better than me?!” The questions leave a burning sensation in your throat.

“Reputation? Grades? Is that what this is about?”

“YES! Are you DENSE?!”

Instead of matching your violent glower, you watch as the clown leans his head to the side in laughter. His lips parting just enough so you can see his sharp teeth laugh at you too, “Y/n, did you just call me dense? What is that? An insult? At least I’m not the one who always scores lower than me.”

Embarrassment? Anger? Nervousness? Why was his laugh the thing to make you feel weak now? Maybe the first two are theories, but the third is a definite fact. Your eyes are quickly drawn in by his hazel pupils, curious and dilated as they stare back at you. For a moment, the silence between you two isnt filled with hate or rivalry, but peace. That is until he lets out a breathy laugh after getting a good look at your calm face for once.

“Y/n, cat got your tongue? Or do you just not have anything else to say to me other than ‘I hate you’ and ‘stop being better than me’?” He points a finger to your feline head accessory.

"Shut up.” You bark, “Dumb isn’t really a good insult either. You are so full of shit—"

Xavier moves closer, now toe to toe with you and just a breath away from your face.

“God, Y/n, cant you see that I like you? All this time I thought it was so obvious. I mean, how are you going to tell people you're the smartest person in the room when you cant even pick up on subtle hints that basically spell it out for you?” He says, “Or are you too busy to notice anyone other than yourself?”

His words cause your heart to pound once, twice, and before you know it you can’t hear anything but the thumping in your chest and the soft winds surrounding you both. Xavier parts his lips again, determined to give you the answers you've been so desperately searching for.

“Do you know how fucking exhausting it is to pretend I hate you back, just to have the opportunity to talk to you?” His tone is exasperated and shallow, but he doesn't break eye contact with you, “You seriously thought all those times we got close was because I wanted to be ‘better’ than you in some subject?” Almost like he doesn't believe you, Xavier shakes his head in disapproval, “The only time Ive wanted to prove to you I'm worth something is now.”

His confession only fills your head with more questions, “That doesn't even make any sense! How can you say you didn't actually want to be better than me when that's all you did?” You feel the heat saturate into a dark pink that settles into your cheeks, “And why are you telling me all this now? Why are you so adamant on telling me that you—”

Xavier doesn't even acknowledge your questions, he just continues to hold a burning tension between you and him, focusing only on one thing.

Fuck.

Maybe its the fact hes so close, or that he told you hes liked you all this time, but right now it feels like nothings stopping you from telling him too. It just feels so right.

Before you know it, your mouth opens on its own, your bottom lip trembling for just a second. Xavier’s eyes trail down to your lips, then back into your eyes, and a small smirk pulls the corner of his ivory painted skin up.

Without another second to lose, Xavier tilts even closer than he thought he’d ever be to you and cups your cheek, finding the courage you both need to pull you into an unexpected kiss.

The pastiness of your rival’s white face paint rubs against your dewy skin as the taste of him spreads across your pallet, rough, warm, and agonizingly slow. With a gentle hand, you bunch the back of Xavier’s thin yet airy suit and fall into him, curving just enough so he can extend his hold on you.

Xavier knew that he wanted to touch you. It’s basically been his dream ever since he got close to you and seemingly hurdled himself into being your rival. But he’d never admit that. Or maybe, now he would. Gently, Xavier clasps onto your hips more carefully, securely rubbing his fingers against the skin tight latex uniform you were forced to wear which gives him enough grip to hook his desperate palms onto your body.

You break away for a second, just long enough to look at his face and how mesmerized he is by you and just how fucked you are in this downward spiral of messy feelings and requited love. Love you are much too afraid to commit to. But, Xavier pulls you back into his lips and makes you forget all of your worries, even the one you're supposed to be most worried about.

The kiss practically captures you for what seems like an eternity, erasing all memory of the Poe Cup and time spent hating Xavier's guts only to now realize that that hate may have been fueled by a painfully simple crush. But you wouldn't admit that either. Though, now there’s no other explanation to the methods behind your madness.

Soon enough, your hands find their rightful place in his long, messy hair, scooting his jester cap off easily. Had you known his hair was this soft before? You always told yourself you didn't care but now it was too hypnotizing not to twirl your fingers in. In fact, it’s practically asking you to grab it and play with it, screaming at you to touch it, touch him.

Xavier’s hips press into yours, giving you the go ahead to adjust your position so that your thigh is comfortably resting atop his hip. The stance feels too natural to be normal, and you're both caught off guard by it. Yet, you continue to taste him and feel him up close without another thought.

Nipping at your bottom lip, you can feel Xavier let out a sigh of relief, as if kissing you has been something on his mind for years. Only half of that could be true. Still, his victory cheer makes you do your own version with a quieter huff.

You give the roots of his hair a tight squeeze before your shoulders relax and another sigh escapes from your now open mouth. The force of his lips smashing against yours pushes you back successfully, leaving each part of your body to surrender to his. For once, you let it and as much as you hate to admit it, whatever he was doing was working.

When he finally pulls away, your breath is harsh and so is his. No matter how hard you could try, looking away from his hazy eyes was not an option. Just like the fog around you both, his gaze is inescapable and suffocating. You knew kissing your rival was a bad idea, but neither one of you want to move your hands from their proper places on each other.

Just then, a distant voice calls out to Xavier that snaps you out of your absentmindedness. “Shit,” Xavier curses softly against your lips, “Thanks for that Y/n,” he pulls away, much to your hidden displeasure, “But...I have a cup to win.”

Suddenly, it all comes hurdling back.

“FUCK! THE RACE!” You tear yourself away from Xavier, breaking the warmth between you both, and scramble to find your flag, “YOU CONNIVING SON OF A BITCH. YOU DISTRACTED ME!”

“I hope you don't mind but I actually sort of hid it.” He grins slyly at you, straightening his suit with a swift rub on his chest, “No rules, remember?” He pulls out a flag from behind him and snickers. Has he had that this entire time?

A flash of surging anger fumes inside of your chest, but Xavier just smiles. In his mind, it’s almost laughable how you fell for his devious yet successful confession slash plan. It was too good to pass up. And judging by the sour pout on your face, it worked!

“Y/n,” He chirps, “Was I a good distraction?” He can’t help but ask.

You avoid his gaze and turn your head to other possible directions your flag can be in, “You're the worst, Xavier.”

He runs a hand through his brown hair and smooths it down, “Right, right. You hate me. But I got you pretty good, didn’t I?” He picks up his jester cap and lazily smashes it onto the top of his head, “I'm gonna go, but, you should totally meet me in my dorm tonight? At 8?”

He makes his hasty exit before you can reply, leaving you breathless and weak in the knees—mostly tight fisted and furious, but still, weak in the knees.

“So, Y/n. Do you want to explain why you...left for so long..?” Your teammate asks, kind of scared to ask in the first place but confusion was eating her alive. How fitting.

Instead of answering, you reply with strong and swift robotic motions that quickly thunk your boat along the shore line, taking a good chunk out of the grass and soil. Unfortunately, half way through your synchronized rowing, some water kicked up into the boat and soaked your costume. You didn't care though. All you wanted was Xavier.

And his head on a stick.

Sounds of congratulatory cheers erupt from the crowd as Xavier and the rest of his jester-like teammates hold up the Poe Cup trophy together.

“Bitch.” Is all you can say when all your other teammates wash up next to you, sad, defeated, and soaked with murky lake water.

“Well get them next time, Y/n. Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Your friend smiles happily.

Yeah. Tonight.

#wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday fanfic #wednesday series #wednesday fic #wednesday xavier #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe fanfic #wednesday netflix #kaicubus

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viviennevermillion · 1 year

Text

When you faint because of the heat

notes: new theme. i am speed. set during tamashina-mina and yasamina silk events. there's also no translation out yet at the point of writing this so I apologize if I accidentally fuck something up, i'm piecing this event story together from twitter threads and japanese-speaking mutuals exposing themselves to my annoying questions. varying lengths again because what is consistency?

contains: character x gn!reader, established relationship

characters included: leona, jamil, malleus, lilia

warnings: spoilers for new event, heatstroke

dark content creators & consumers dni

Leona may have acted like he wasn't very keen on going home and bringing anyone from Night Raven College along, but he did care a lot about his homeland and he was feeling a little proud that he got to show it to you. He just wished he wasn't the loathed second prince while doing that. The others? It didn't matter to him if they enjoyed their trip. But you were his significant other and he wanted you to have a good time. So if he already had to go back to the Sunset Savannah? He might as well bring you along. He didn't want to admit it but you brightened up every moment at least enough for it to be tolerable for him. And even though he felt like the trip was going to be quite the hassle, he was looking forward to it at least a little bit in the aspect that he'd get to spend some time with you in his homeland. Maybe he'd even show you the palace. The others could wait outside.

You wandered the plaza with Leona and the others, sneaking your hand into his at one point. "Careful, y/n~", Leona teased and looked at you with his signature smirk, "the people of Sunset Savannah still don't know I have a significant other, we don't want anyone from the royal guard to tackle you for your affection now, do we? They might throw you in jail and then you'll never get to see me again." You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend. "If you weren't the prince, I'd dunk you in the fountain." "So violent, huh?", he said with an uncharacteristically dramatic sigh, "drowning in the fountain built to commemorate my beloved nephew would be a fitting end for me, huh?" You poked his side. "I'd be foolish to believe I could get rid of you by drowning you in a fountain", you joked and now Leona took your hand in his for a moment and squeezed it gently, still smirking at you.

"Could you people stop flirting for two seconds?", Vil looked at you both with a disappointed expression. "This is their version of flirting?", Lilia put a finger to his chin in confusion. "It is and I hate it", Vil replied dryly.

All of you noticed that it had become even hotter in the plaza and none of you were really dressed for the occasion. When Jack fainted, Leona was shocked and needed a moment to process what was happening. "Y/n, could you hand me the water you packed? Y/n...?", Leona turned around to see you unconscious in Vil's arms after he had caught you. "Oh for fucks sake", Leona held his head.

He made his way towards you. "Move, prickly queen", he hissed at Vil and picked you up from the ground bridal style. Vil stared at him like "tf did you just call me?"

"This really isn't the time to get jealous, you know?", Vil sighed and Leona carried you to the shade as the others helped bring Jack there. They could see Leona seemed a little distressed over you fainting though. He put you down on a bench and sat next to you, waiting for you to regain consciousness before he helped you drink some water.

"Ah shit, how are we supposed to win if y'all die on me like a starving gazelle with three broken legs?", Leona growled and rubbed the back of his head. Despite his annoyed expression, anyone who knew him well enough could tell he was worried about the two of you.

"Do you think you two can walk with us or should I call the corpse wagon?", Leona asked about your condition, ignoring Vil's sarcastic commentary of how charming he was yet again.

At the hotel he has you sitting sideways on his lap and resting against his chest. His tail is wrapped around your waist and he holds your cheek with one hand before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He looks up at Vil and Lilia smirking at him in a teasing way and Kalim letting out an "aw" sound.

"Fuck you starin' at?", Leona commented dryly. "I'm sorry", Kalim apologized and looked to the ground.

Jamil was glad you were coming along because not only would he get to show his homeland to you but you would always cheer him up and help him relax when he was feeling too stressed with his responsibilities. When he joined you in the evening after a long day of running after Kalim, you'd sometimes massage his shoulders or kiss the tension away. He'd need that today, he mused. He'd make sure to show you all of his favorite things about the Scalding Sands in return.

What he wasn't expecting was for you to faint from the heat. If anyone was an expert in keeping people safe and comfortable, it was Jamil. He had warned you about the harsh desert heat. Repeatedly. Yet it had still happened.

So now that you had fainted despite him making sure you're hydrated and otherwise protected from the sun, the only thing that was left for him to do was to make sure you'd get back on your feet as soon as possible.

It wouldn't be Jamil if he didn't bring a first-aid kit so he uses anything in there that could possibly help you.

He ignores Kalims worried commentary of the situation and makes sure you're provided with the best possible support.

Kalim orders food for you specifically so you get your energy back.

Jamil has an arm wrapped around you and makes sure you drink enough water. When the food arrives, you enjoy the exquisite meal. "Out of all things, you had to order a gourmet lunch that's more expensive than a street food vendor's entire shop?", Jamil stares at Kalim with his typical half-lidded expression, "you know a wet burger would have been much cheaper and been here earlier right?" You immediately stop eating, still having a bite in your mouth while staring at your boyfriend in shock upon the realization of what Kalim had ordered for you. "Just eat it now, Kalim is just like that", Jamil sighs, gesturing for you not to worry about the cost.

Jamil presses a kiss to your forehead and holds your hand as you continue your trip, urging you to take things slow for now. He stays by your side and keeps you safe. Once you're wearing the outfit Kalim's family had specifically prepared for his friends, Jamil at least doesn't worry anymore about you not being dressed appropriately for the desert climate. "You look beautiful", he squeezes your hand and presses a kiss to your lips, relieved you're safe and seem to be doing well.

Malleus is so hyped when he not only gets to go on a trip to the Scalding Sands without his retainers but gets to be with you on top of it all. It's like Halloween and Birthdays and International Gargoyle Day (something he may or may not have made up) in one.

If he's waiting for three hours in front of the dark mirror before the trip out of sheer excitement you can bet you're waiting with him. "They're not going to forget about us, we don't have to get up at 4am for this, Mal-", you protested as he dragged you out of bed to get ready for the trip.

He wants to share every moment with you. The trip has barely begun and he already feels like these are going to be memories he'd treasure forever.

When you faint because of the heat, he's super worried. He catches you and holds you in his arms with a panicked expression. So terrified he's losing you for a moment. "Viper, y/n is dying", he calls out with noticeable fear in his shaking voice. The people around you are raising an eyebrow and staring at your group. "They're not dying", Jamil corrects Malleus hastily and tries to signal to the concerned spectators that you were going to be fine, "they've just fainted from the heat. Let's get them somewhere in the shade and provide them with water."

Malleus nods and water droplets start forming from thin air everywhere around you. "Not with magic", Jamil gestures wildly and is happy to see the car Kalim called arrive, "we brought bottled water. No. more. magic." Jamil is so stressed out already, he's glad when you wake up again because that makes him avoid more fun surprises from their royal guest out of worry.

The thing is that Malleus getting into a relationship with anyone is not something to be taken lightly and could have a huge impact on the political landscape of Briar Valley so until you're sure you actually want to rule over his kingdom with Malleus, your relationship unfortunately has to stay a secret. Which means none of your classmates except for Lilia, Silver and Sebek are actually aware you two are an item.

"You're all seeing this right? This is not a mirage?", Cater whispers audibly with a shocked expression while in the limousine. The reason for his bafflement is Malleus gently holding you in his arms while you were resting and recovering from your heatstroke. Malleus holds Twisted Wonderland's equivalent of a Capri Sun, letting you drink from the straw while he had an arm wrapped around you. There was still worry in his voice and he would have loved to be alone with you right now to give you some affection in order to cheer you up.

He stays super close to you throughout the rest of your trip to make sure you'll be okay because you really did a number on his poor inexperienced heart.

He's simultaneously so relieved you're okay that he's even more affectionate than usual. He shares one of those melons with you and says it's so your love lasts forever. ❤️

Lilia was so excited to take you on this trip. The last time he visited the capital of Sunset Savannah, it hadn't been urbanized yet so he was looking forward to exploring the modern metropolis with you and being able to provide you with some stories and trivia about the past during the trip.

Lilia himself is pretty sensitive to the sun and he definitely warned you about the heat.

Nevertheless, you faint early on in the trip due to a heatstroke. Did I not pay enough attention to them?, Lilia asks himself as he carries you to the shade.

He thinks it's unlikely anything too bad is going to happen to you but he's still worried. He holds you in his arms the whole time until you wake up. He gently rubs your wrist with his thumb and kisses your forehead gently. You come to your senses not long after, your eyes flickering open and looking into the face of your lover who is giving you a soft smile. True love's kiss, Lilia mused and chuckles.

"We were quite worried about you, dear", he pats your head, hugs you and Kalim hands him the water bottle. Lilia helps you drink if your hand is shaking and you struggle to hold the bottle on your own.

He raised Silver and one overgrown dragon fae, he knows how to take care of someone, so you're in good hands unless he brings up his cooking. Then it's time to hit the bricks.

Lilia has an arm wrapped around you all the way back to the hotel, so you have some support if you're still low on energy or feeling a little dizzy.

He makes sure you get something to eat and drink enough water once you're back at the hotel.

He holds you for a while and kisses your lips gently. "Don't scare me like this again, okay?", he chuckles as you nuzzle his neck and hug him back.

He'd let the medics do a check-up and he'd be really happy if you're in the condition to continue exploring the capital with him and the others but if not he vows to take note of everything that might interest you and show it to you before you go back to Night Raven College.

#twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #jamil viper x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #leona x reader #jamil x reader #malleus x reader #lilia x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #leona kingscholar #jamil viper #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia

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hazelsmirrorball · 3 months

Text

Roses | Oscar Piastri

SUMMARY: After Rumors go around that Oscar was a ghost boyfriend he decides to show up for his ex girlfriend most important night FACE CLAIM: Lola Tung pairings: Actress! Reader x Oscar Piastri

via twitter!

yn via insta stories! oscarpiastri via insta stories

posted five minutes ago deleted five minutes ago

yn via instagram

liked by ybffs_instagram, olivia.rodrigo, landonorris and 1,230,340 others

yourusername Life recently ever since I decided to be happy

tagged: ybffs_instagram, davidiancono

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user101 the shade? mother leaves for six months and comes back in her reputation era. Love that for her.

user10 I feel that lando liking this post means so much more than just a like

user151 Y/n doesn't follow Oscar anymore. Help.

davidiancono TEAM CAM CAMERON

ybffs_instagram girl finally ur back

olivia.rodrigo I missed you so so much.

user590 I'm sorry but this being post not even after an hour of Oscar deleted story makes me go insane.

user191 they are not broken up! Talk to the hand

y/nandoscarupdates via instagram.

liked by by ybffs_instagram,user178 and 1,000 more.

y/nandoscarupdates a close source to the couple informed us that Oscar Piastri and Y/n L/n have called it quits. They've been broken up for around two months now. Sources say that Oscar and Y/n couldn't make time to see each other due to their busy schedules.

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user10 is the close source y/bff/n? because I think she just e3xposed herself by liking this post

user15 im sorry but didn't y-n go to every single race Oscar had last season? I never once saw Oscar showing up to her things.

user192 I think you guys are siding with Oscar because my girl was always alone in premiers while Oscar always had her by his side.

y/nupdates just posted

liked by user101, user15, oscarpiastri and 178,000 others.

y/nupdates what we are not going to do is hate on this poor girl. I'm sorry but I don't think that updates account is correct. Y/n was noting but supportive in the relationship, I truly believe she went to everything she could. Oscar on the other hand....when did we see him in one of her events? Im sorry but the support wasn't mutual.

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user13 touch some grass. you are acting as if you were also in the relationship.

user16 Oscar liked? what does this even mean?

user98 what does this add to their lore

yn via instagram

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 1,345, 569 others

yourusername Opening night for Hadestown! Forever grateful of giving Eurydice life.

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user134 Oscar liking this? guys I need peace

user126 omg! im so so proud of you

user928 our girl is taking broadway by storm

oscarpiastri as they say in theater break a leg

landonorris what is Oscar doing here?

user119 lando wants to start drama

...

Y/n paced back and forth in her dressing room, her nerves taking up her complete body. It was her first show in broadway. She knew they were going to be critics watching her every move. It was different from anything she had ever done before. Yes, she had acted and she did musical theater when she was in highschool but this was something completely different. This wasn’t a school production, this was an actual professional thing that could affect her career. She stopped in front of her dressing room mirror forcing a smile. It was her opening night and sadly none of her close friends were able to show up, different countries or schedules made it hard for them to show up, which she completely understood. But maybe a familiar face in the crowd could ease her nerves. A soft knock on the door stopped her train of thought. She quickly turned her head toward the door watching the assistant manager peak her head through.

“Hi Y/n! Sorry for interrupting, You have a visitor that wanted to see you before the show started. Since you didn’t specifically put anyone in your visitor list, I wanted to see if it was okay.” She said quickly, knowing her duties she had a lot of things on her plate and the thing she least needed to worry about was about her visitors. Y/n quickly shook her head, not even asking who the “surprise visitor" was to cut their conversation short. She quickly left and a few seconds later a familiar face smiled shyly your way. Your eyes wandered over his body failing on the red flowers he was gripping tightly.

“Oscar, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Australia?” She asked furrowing her eyebrows confused as she didn’t want to get closer to him afraid that he was an act of her imagination.

“I couldn’t miss your special day, Y/n. I know we aren’t together anymore but you were always by my side in my important days. Even my less important ones. I wanted to support you, I know how important this is for you. So I wanted to see you on your first ever broadway show but if you want, I can leave.” Oscar replied while extending the flowers as you pulled him closely into a bone crushing hug.

yn via insta stories! oscarpiastri via insta stories

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stvharrngton · 3 months

Note

Alr I got one for u pookie

“That’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl/boy.” But it’s reader saying it to Steve 😏😏

ur wish is my command 🫡

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, mutual masturbation, dom!reader, sub!steve

prompt: “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good boy”

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23

requests are open!

Steve watched you through heavy eyes as you removed the thin, lacy black material that covered your heat. He was already naked, from head to toe, as he sat back against the headboard of your bed, propped up by plump pillows.

It was the only item of clothing you removed. The matching bra was still squeezing your tits together, the suspenders and stockings hugging your hips and legs so perfectly.

Steve’s jaw was slack, his mouth dry and his heart beating outside of his chest as he watched you saunter to the end of the bed. He curled his fingers into the sheets either side of him as you crawled towards him, that devilish look in your eye. The one you always coined when you were in the mood to tease, or rather torture, him.

“What do you want, Stevie?” you asked, all sweetly. Twirling a strand of your hair around your finger, “Use your words, honey.”

His brain took a second to respond. Not that he didn’t know what he wanted, fuck, he wanted you in any which way you would give yourself to him but he was so entranced and captivated by your oozing confidence and sexiness that he didn’t know if he was coming or going.

“Y-you,” he stammered out, the tips of his ears going a deep shade of red, his stiff cock twitching with every move you made, “want you to touch yourself, want you to touch me.”

“Yeah?” you breathed out, inching closer to where his cock sat against his stomach, “Do you think you can watch me make myself cum, baby? Without touching yourself?”

“I—, fuck,” he groaned, the mere thought of it, the image of you playing with yourself when Steve isn’t able to do a damn thing about it turned him on, an insane amount at that.

“No?” you teased, your hand wandering south, skimming over your soft stomach, “I might let you cum if you can keep your hands to yourself, Stevie.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded frantically. Hairs flopping across his forehead as he did so. You smirked in response, leaning in to brush your lips over his ever so softly, whispering a ‘good boy’ into his mouth.

Steve didn’t know how he was going to last. His cock was already rock hard, his length leaking precum from the angry red tip. His balls were heavy and ready to be touched, his cock ready to be milked for everything he had. But he was determined, nonetheless. He wouldn’t want to disappoint you, after all.

You took your position at the end of the bed, your legs spread wide, revealing your pussy to Steve. He groaned loudly at the sight, your slick already coating your lips and arousal leaking from your hole. God, he wishes he could taste you right now.

“Hands on your thighs, baby. Where I can see ‘em.” You instructed and Steve did as he was told. Once satisfied you took your index finger and teased your pussy, collecting your juices and spreading it around your cunt, your middle finger joining soon after.

You let a teasing whimper slip as your fingers brushed over your clit and Steve grunted at the sound, his blunt fingernails digging into the meaty flesh of his thighs. You sped up the pace of your fingers, rubbing circles over the sensitive bud as you watched Steve carefully through your lashes.

“Fuck, Stevie,” you mewled, your bottom lip settling between your teeth as you continued to spread your wetness around your pussy, “feels so good, so hot,” you moaned, slipping a finger inside your hole, “but it’s nothing compared to your long, thick fingers.”

You knew it would rile him up. That it would make his task seem even more impossible now. He whined at your words, his hips canting up to try and catch some friction on his cock from the thin air, his cheeks rosy red.

You chuckled at him sympathetically, bringing the finger that had just been inside of you to your lips. You swirled your tongue around the digit, sucking all your juices from it. Steve was itching to touch himself, itching to touch you. He knew he couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

Bringing your fingers back to your pussy, you slipped two inside your cunt now. Doing your best to curl them and scissor them to stretch you out but more importantly, to give Steve one hell of a show.

Steve whined pathetically at the sight, essentially fucking his cock into nothing as he did. “Baby, please,” he groaned, “fuck—, I can’t, ‘m gonna fuckin’ explode.”

“What’s the matter, Stevie?” you cooed, your fingers never letting up as you continued to fuck yourself with them. You couldn’t help but notice how wet his eyes looked, the boy desperately trying to blink away the tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Please, I can’t—,” he stammered, fingers now pulling at his locks in frustration, “need to touch my cock, please baby, I can’t take much more. I’ll be good.”

You contemplated his request for a moment, debating whether he had ‘suffered’ enough. You loved to dominate Steve, to put him in his place. But you could be sympathetic too.

“Go ahead, baby. Stroke that big cock for me.”

Steve wasted no time in lathering his hand in his spit and wrapped his fingers around his hard cock. He started off gentle, soft teasing strokes, like you would do. But the faster your fingers moved inside your pussy, the faster Steve fisted his cock.

He moaned loudly, a pretty little high pitched whine emanating from his soft pink lips. Your cheeks grew hot at the sound, the way Steve looked so fucked out, his hair wild and all over the place, his eyes glassy, it almost had you drooling.

“That’s it, Stevie. Feels good, huh baby?” You praised him, feeling the pressure in your lower stomach build as you rubbed over your clit harshly. And Steve wasn’t far behind.

You both knew it wouldn’t take much for the spurts of sticky white to shoot from his length, you’d been teasing him for too long and he was ready to see stars.

“Gonna cum, Steve,” you moaned, “fuck, want you to watch me cum all over my fingers.

Steve nodded frantically, his fingers squeezing at his cock as he worked himself to the edge. He was panting, his brow sweaty, beads of sweat working their way into the ringlets of his hair. He watched you with a slack jaw as you came. Your back arching as you tried your best not to squeeze your legs together. Your orgasm washed over you as you cried out Steve’s name.

“Oh, fu-uck,” Stevie whined. His eyes traveled down your body, his pupils blown at the sight of your pussy. Dripping wet and a white creamy ring forming at your hole. As you came down from your high, you made quick work of getting Steve to his.

Plunging your fingers into your spent cunt, you collected your juices as you took your place on Steve’s meaty thigh. He was in awe of you, as he most often was, warm brown eyes blinking up at you as he continued to fist his cock.

“Open wide, honey.” You whispered, breathing softly down his neck. You brought your wet fingers to his pretty pink lips, “Want you to suck on my fingers when you cum.”

Steve’s eyes rolled back as his tongue swirled around your digits, feeling the pressure become too much, he squeezed at his cock as ropes of hot cum shot out from the tip, trickling over his hand and stomach.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s a good boy,” you mewled, stroking at his firm chest with your free hand, “I’ve got you, baby, doing so well for me.” The boys eyes scrunched together as he whined around your fingers, his hips rocking up and fucking his cock into his fist.

You removed your fingers from Steve’s mouth, his eyes still closed as he laid back, spent, against the plump pillows. You pressed soft kisses all over his flush face, “Such a good boy.” you cooed.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #k.fic #request #steveshairspray #asks

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doumadono · 3 months

Text

Warnings: smut, rough p in v, fingering, some handjob, f!reader, spanking, semi-public sex Synopsis: you and Dabi snag an invite to a party Shigaraki's throwing. Realizing your wardrobe lacks the glam, you strong-arm your boyfriend Dabi into a shopping spree. Despite initial reluctance, he tackles things in his own, cocky style A/N: this little fic was written in honor of the birthday of my incredibly gifted mutual - @dabismoon - I hope you'll enjoy this petite one shot ♥

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

The heap of garments had amassed on the bed, growing steadily as you sifted through the wardrobe, discarding outfit after outfit. The frustration bubbled within you, reaching its peak as you bellowed to Dabi in the adjacent room.

"I can't find a single thing to wear for the party tonight!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying the tone of exasperation.

A mumbled response reached your ears, prompting you to traverse the distance and find Dabi, your villainous boyfriend, lounging indifferently with a beer in hand, fixated on the television screen. His nonchalant demeanor was evident as he puffed on a cigarette, seemingly uninterested in your sartorial predicament.

Without much enthusiasm, he nodded in acknowledgment of your complaint, casually remarking that he was sure you could surely find something suitable to adorn yourself for the fucking party Shigaraki had coerced every League member into attending.

Determined, you declared, "Ok. I've decided that you're taking me shopping... no arguments!"

Dabi attempted to dissuade you, gesturing towards the television where news about Endeavor played, as if it held greater significance. "Babe, seriously?"

Disregarding his protests, you seized his lengthy coat, your car keys, and his hand, urging him towards the door despite his low growls, not bothering yourself to turn the TV off.

"Doll, you've got a plethora of clothes, and you still claim to have nothing to choose from? That's utterly ridiculous," Dabi groaned, wresting his hand free, swiftly disposing of his cigarette in a crystal ashtray. With an unhappy grimace etched across his face, he begrudgingly adorned his coat. "I won't be dressing up like a fucking fool just to mingle with those lunatics," he grumbled, his discontent palpable.

After three hours of aimless meandering through a plethora of shops, the details of each one eluding your memory, you stumbled upon a dress that tickled your fancy. Amidst the sea of countless dresses tried on in pursuit of the perfect ensemble, you finally discovered one that resonated with your taste. Eager to see how it would adorn you, you headed for the changing rooms. En route to the fitting room, you deftly accumulated a selection of lingerie as well.

Thoughts of acquiring alluring lingerie danced in your mind, contemplating the ways you could model them for Dabi — whether in person or through the lens - to keep him company during those prolonged missions with the League. A stack of lingerie, featuring neon shades, delicate baby pinks, and enticing black lace, awaited your scrutiny.

As you boldly pulled back the curtain, Dabi made a move to follow you inside. A quick about-face, a dismissive shake of your head, and a pointed indication toward a chair stationed just beyond the dressing area thwarted his entry.

Dabi complained, "So I don't even get the fun bit of watching you change to brighten up this fucking unnecessary trip?"

However, it was futile - you insisted he wait over there. With the realization that he couldn't join in the fashion spectacle, you swiftly snapped pictures of each lingerie piece as you were trying them on. Seeking Dabi's discerning opinion, you bombarded him with inquiries regarding your sartorial choices. After the final snapshot found its way to your boyfriend's inbox, an air of suspense hung in the digital ether. Yet, as the seconds ticked away, there was no immediate response from Dabi, leaving you with a frown crossing your forehead.

As you cautiously peeked outside to ensure he hadn't ventured too far, the thick curtain was unceremoniously thrust aside. And there he stood – Dabi, eyeing you with a hunger akin to a starving predator, meticulously taking in the alluring contours of your body adorned in a provocative lingerie set. The fabric, a blend of black sheer lace with a hint of hot pink trimming, clung enticingly to your form.

The bra, designed with a daring split in the cups, left your nipples exposed, proudly making their presence known in response to the sight before you as they instantly stiffened. An instinctive reaction led you to subtly rub your thighs together, a silent attempt to quell the burgeoning heat within you. Your boyfriend, tall and commanding, exuding an air of nonchalance, leaned casually against the changing room wall, his gaze fixed on you.

Without uttering a single word, Dabi seized the moment, propelling you further into the confines of the changing room. With a deft motion, he drew the curtain close, creating an intimate space.

Dabi deftly took hold of your left nipple, his slender forefinger and thumb teasingly tweaking it.

The heat rapidly ascended along your neck, and your breaths quickened as he leaned in, delivering a fierce kiss and an ardent suck on your pulse point. Lowering his head, his warm mouth enveloped the other nipple with a determination, unleashing a sweet yet sharp sensation at its base. The overwhelming pleasure threatened to elicit sounds of ecstasy, but you fought to maintain composure as delicious waves of sensation cascaded over you. "Handsome," you whispered, barely moving your lips as you slipped one hand into his soft, black hair.

Dabi's free hand, not content with just teasing, boldly tugged aside the lacy panties you had on, inspecting how wet you were getting. His verdict: dripping wet. With a forceful motion, the elastic was yanked down your legs, severing all of his contact from your eager nipples as his attention fell on the panties. In one swift move, they were stripped from your hips and deftly retrieved from the floor.

As though it were the most ordinary sequence of events, Dabi casually unzipped the fly of his black, fitted jeans, revealing a semi-hardened cock. Nonchalantly, he wiped the pre-cum off its reddened tip with the lacy panties, and thrust the fabric into your partially opened mouth. The mingling taste of both yourself and him on the fabric elicited a lascivious moan that escaped your lips.

Dabi's gaze lingered on you for a moment before he smoothly retrieved his own phone, swiftly capturing an image of your aroused state. "Sorry, doll, but you look adorable, all fired up like a cheap whore you secretly are," he remarked, seamlessly sliding his phone back into the rear pocket of his pants. With a sly grin, he pulled the panties out of your mouth, raising them to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Mmmm, absolutely perfect," he growled, stashing the intoxicating garment into the same back pocket. "Guess we're gonna take 'em."

Dabi slipped his hand between your thighs, and you willingly parted them further in anticipation. A dark giggle escaped him at your eagerness. "Look at you, princess, so eager to help me touch that pretty little pussy. What? Is my doll all needy? Moments ago, you didn't want to let me watch you, but look at ya now, eager as never before."

Staring intensely into your captivating eyes, Dabi smoothly slid his long middle finger deep inside your slick pussy, eliciting an immediate moan and causing you to instinctively shut your eyes in response.

"No, no, princess, we ain't gonna play like that. Look at me, I want your eyes on me, now," he commanded, leaning forward to place a tender peck on your forehead.

Complying with his directive, you followed his lead, biting down on your lower lip with enough force to draw a bead of blood after opening your eyes again, looking into his turquoise ones.

For a span of a good minute or two, Dabi expertly fingered you, exploring every millimeter of your pussy until your spongy walls began to clench rhythmically around his finger, a clear indication of your impending climax.

"You ain't gonna get off so easily, doll," he declared, withdrawing his digit and lifting it to your lips. With a deliberate motion, he parted your lips with his thumb, prompting you to accept his finger into your mouth.

You sucked your own juices off his digit, moaning quietly without breaking the eye contact.

Dabi seized a generous handful of your supple ass, drawing you closer to him in a forceful manner, engaging in a passionate make-out session with you, pushing his pierced tongue down your throat.

Unabashedly, you dared to extend your hand, wrapping it around his now fully-erect cock, expertly jerking it while rising onto your tiptoes for a more comfortable angle.

Your actions proved successful as Dabi moaned into your mouth, punctuating the moment with a couple of spanks on your ass before tenderly squeezing the supple flesh, indulging in a thorough massage.

In the next instant, he decisively detached your hand from his throbbing cock and pivoted you around, urging you forward until you were facing a lengthy mirror.

Dabi positioned your hands high on either side of the mirror, granting you a comprehensive view of your entire form and his presence looming behind you in the reflective surface.

In a hushed tone, he murmured, "Now, we don't have much time, baby. You wasted too much time already wandering throughout all those stupid stores and teasing me like a bitch you are. I'm going to fuck you hard and cum deep inside you. Do you understand?"

Meeting his gaze in the mirror's reflection, you nodded in affirmation.

"Good," he declared, punctuating his words with another firm spank on your ass. His hand deftly secured your left cheek, spreading it as he gripped his throbbing member. With the tip of his cock, Dabi traced an enticing path up and down your exposed entrance, your juices already glistening and trickling down your thigh.

Without delay, he forced your cunt open with his rigid shaft, delivering a single, powerful thrust that brought him to the hilt inside you. "Fffuuuuccckkk," Dabi breathed out through gritted teeth.

Any potential scream was mercifully muffled by his hand wrapping around your neck, applying a tight squeeze that momentarily restricted your airflow. "Don't you dare moan like you do back home. Our neighbors are accustomed to your bitchy moans and whines, but here people are not, yeah? And the last thing I need today is getting caught with my dick stuffed in your tight cunt," he warned, nibbling your earlobe.

You were relentlessly slammed into, the force akin to a piston driving into your pussy again and again and again.

Dabi's hands greedily explored your soft flesh - your breasts, hips, belly, occasionally slipping between your thighs to playfully tease your swollen clitoris.

Little moans escaped your lips as you pressed your cheek against the cold glass, the surface already fogging up from the intensity of your heavy breathing.

Dabi, panting with an intensity akin to a dog in heat, delivered hard spanks to your ass and the back of your thighs. "You enjoy it when I take you rough like this, don't ya, doll? Hmm? Oh yeah, ya love it. You're quite the dirty whore," he chuckled into your ear. "Don't worry, daddy will fuck you the way you crave the most, princess."

Dabi intensified his rhythm, a firm grip on your hips as he relentlessly thrust into your slippery cunt.

The only sounds resonating within the confines of the changing room were a harmonious blend of your mixed gasps and moans, accompanied by the resonating slap of flesh against flesh, each time his weighty balls hit the curve of your supple ass.

"Dabi..." you whined, already breathless.

Smack, smack, smack! A sequence of forceful spanks landed on your ass. "Address me properly, princess, or I'll have to think of a punishment, and trust me, you won't want that," Dabi growled, sinking his teeth into the column of your neck.

"Daddy," you whispered, your mouth parched from moans and panting, the act of swallowing causing a sweet ache. "Harder," you pleaded. "Harder."

"Mmmm," Dabi slowed his thrusts, his cock reaching deep within you, the tip delicately grazing your cervix as he came to a complete stop. "I knew you had a wild side, little whore, but now you've surprised me. Daddy's going to fulfill your wish," he declared with a sultry promise.

And thus, it commenced. Without delay, he placed a hand on your head, pressing you more firmly against the mirror. The intensity escalated, his hips snapping with relentless determination.

"Oh my God," you managed to utter as you slid a hand between your legs, tracing delicate circles over your slick-covered folds.

Slap, slap, slap! Each thrust felt harder and deeper than the last. His strong hand seized a handful of your hair, pulling you further onto his pulsating dick as he forewarned, "Princess, I'm gonna cum. Daddy's going to coat your sweet cunt with his seed."

Bracing yourself, you endured a final series of sloppy thrusts as Dabi's grunts reverberated down your ear. Rising on your tiptoes, you attempted to accommodate the force emanating from his groin. "Cumming, cumming, fuck," Dabi aggressively grunted, and came deep inside of you, his warm, thick semen spurting from the slit of his tip, painting your spongy walls until they were all adorned in a coating of white.

After withdrawing, Dabi took a moment to appreciate his job, observing the mix of his cum and your juices as they dribbled from your well-used hole.

Depleted and breathless, you whimpered, "I need to drink something, my mouth's dry, Dabi…"

"I'll get you water," he responded casually, extracting panties from his back pocket to once again clean himself off. "You were such a filthy whore, doll. Just the way I like ya the most," he added, punctuating his words with a playful spank that made you yelp as he seemingly heated up his palm, leaving a vivid red mark on your ass cheek. "Get fucking dressed now, we only have an hour to get back home and get ready for that fucking party."

Dabi gathered a few bras and panties before leaving you in the changing room.

As you slid your knickers back on, you smeared the cream of your mixed fluids between your puffy cunt lips. You bit down on your knuckle to stifle a reaction to coldness brought forth by the slick wetness.

You haven't cum so hard such in a good two days, you thought to yourself.

Once dressed, you exited the fitting room only to spot Dabi at the checkout, purchasing every item you had tried on. A self-satisfied grin played on your lips, met with a nod from him. Ah, you already had a plan in mind for how you'd repay him.

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luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. [13k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining (and hatred), slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, kissing / heavy petting, hickeys, sexual tension, eventual hate-fucking, some misogyny (not eddie), TW readers bandmate is a bully, TW drugs/alc/smoking, disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Indianapolis International Airport, Indiana, Late 1988.

There's a really sweet-looking boy sitting in the chair across from you. The airport is blotted out by both your headphones —huge chunky cans, the best you could afford— and your sunglasses. He's a shade of sepia from the lenses, dark hair darker still where it's tucked into the hood of his hoodie.

There's no way he could possibly know you're staring at him while you're facing your lap, scribbling lyrics for a song that'll never get made with your body curled inwards, and yet he looks up from the novel in his. He smiles, his cheeks pulled up, and he looks younger. He isn't old by any means but something about his smile is transformative.

You don't mean to give yourself away. You smile back just a little.

He says something. You push your headphones around your neck and break the seal, soft 70's rock replaced by the sounds of the airport, footsteps and clicking and children laughing somewhere behind you.

"I'm sorry," you say, covering the cans of your headphones to cut their weak buzzing, "what did you say?"

"I said you have good taste."

He nods toward your guitar case patterned in overlapping band stickers.

You notice his own case on the seat next to him. It's more conspicuous than your own with only one sticker, a band you've never heard of.

"I wish I could say the same, but I don't know who that is, 'Corroded Coffin'?" you ask, purely curious.

He sits forward, a picture of casual confidence as he drops his face into his palm, elbow digging into the ripped jeans covering his knee. "I'm offended, sweetheart. They're only the best sound to come out of Indiana in the last ten years."

"The Stacey's?" you offer, scandalised by his suggestion. "Doorway to Cooperstown? The Cats?"

He blinks at you. "You know the scene."

"It's my scene," you say.

You don't mean to sound pretentious, and hopefully you don't, but music is your life.

"It's mine, too," he says. He leans forward and scrubs a hand through his hair, scratching absentmindedly. "Where are you going? Must be pretty important to tear you away."

"New York. I'm– I'm a techie for Godless. I will be, once I get there." You sound smug and nervous at the same time.

"Holy shit," he says. He smiles a gorgeous, awful kind of smile, like you've been friends for years, and your good news is his. "No fucking way. Go you."

Godless have been compared to loads of bands but the one you favour is a heavier, feminine The Clash. It's an emerging sound, punk rock stolen, repurposed, and remade. Reborn by girlhood rage. You love their sound (though you have some notes), you love their statement, and you're probably the happiest you've ever been knowing you'll be behind the scenes of a new era of music.

"And you're taking her?" he asks, gesturing to your guitar case.

Inside is a beat up old bass guitar you got for nothing. You're self-taught, you're good, but you don't have any disillusions on what you'll be doing on tour.

"She's worthless," you say, "mostly taking her for company." You reuse his pronouns, though you aren't the type to assign personality to your instruments. "What about you, uh–"

"Eddie," he says, taking his guitar case into two fine hands. Your eyes snag on his ragtag assortment of rings, and he leans over the neck of the case to retake your gaze. "This… is Sweetheart."

—

Hotel Edison, New York, Early 1990.

"We have to go. Why are you guys never ready when I tell you to be?"

You panic slightly. "I need a minute."

"Ananya, could you find, like, a modicum of patience? Fucking annoying."

Sharp, Morgan's unhappiness sounds over the droning drill of your shitty hair dryer. You shift where you're kneeling in front of the floor length mirror to check she isn't talking to you — unusual, but not impossible that her hostility would be aimed at someone who isn't Ananya.

Ananya stands in the middle of the hotel room, thick eyebrows pulled into a familiar scowl.

"Get it together," she says disdainfully, like Morgan's nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

You wish you had her confidence when it comes to Morgan's tantrums. You stand up, clad in nothing more than underwear and a pair of black stockings, your t-shirt in one hand and the hairdryer still humming in the other. You turn it off and let it drop to the floor, worried you're just another rockstar cliche as you take in the state of your room. Your suitcase is open and your clothes are all over the place, laid flat in an attempt to dry your rain-soaked clothes. Your underwear dangle from the lampshade, a mix of pretty lingerie you've yet to wear and full-shaped panties that had made Morgan laugh for a minute, no pauses.

"I can see why you're so desperate," she'd barbed.

You slip your shirt over your head in case you have to act as a human shield. It's honestly not the worst thing they've had you involved in this year.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Morgan asks.

She's a fascinating creature in that she isn't always talking with thinly veiled passive aggression. You genuinely believe she's looking out for you sometimes, or believe that she believes it, at least. She doesn't say it with malice, simply asks.

She's multi-faceted.

"No," you say, though you'd been meaning to.

"Good, skirts really aren't your thing. You look blocky. I have a pair of flares in my bag, wear them."

And Morgan — Morgan's the lead singer of Godless. You don't really have a choice.

You find the pants she'd instructed you to wear and half tuck your shirt, scrabbling for your shoes as Ananya starts lamenting the time, sat on the small table by the TV.

"They have to wait for us, babe, that's the whole point," Morgan says, fussing over her eye make-up.

"No, they don't. And we really don't need the attention right now."

"That's dramatic."

Ananya leans forward and clicks on the TV with a perfect finger. The screen buzzes to life. She clicks through the channels until she gets to the local news station, and then she slumps over the frame on her elbow.

You giggle behind your hand. Onscreen, images of Morgan are blown up and slated, your bandmate sloppy drunk on the steps of Covey Gold. They've caught you red-handed in the background pretending you aren't with her, but luckily Morgan's too obsessed with herself to notice.

"I really don't see the issue," she says breezily, slipping into her tiny heels one foot at a time. "I look sick."

She looks stunning, easily, but that's not the problem.

"You have a fucking snow trail," Ananya says.

Unfortunately, Morgan's left nostril is crusted with coke.

"It's punk rock!" Morgan's moved onto earrings now, and she's jutting her tiny pointed chin toward the door. "Hello? We're late."

You don't roll your eyes, but you could. You slip your shoes onto your feet and tuck the laces inside without tying them while the news anchor on TV continues to relay current events.

"Fletcher isn't the only rockstar making a mess in New York City this week. Members of up and coming heavy metal band Corroded Coffin were sanctioned by Flume Venues Tuesday night for damaging twenty six thousand dollars worth of equipment when their lead guitarist kicked over an amp and caused a quote unquote 'domino effect.'" The anchor laughs. "Their PR has certainly felt some corrosion."

You look up at the joke and are just in time to catch a picture splayed across the screen of the band. You're so close that their faces are made up of red, blue, and green, more colour than photo. Your skin glows with the image. Your eyes widen, perplexed.

"Do we know those guys?" you ask.

Morgan grabs your hand and drags you up. "They know us," she says. "That's what matters."

Ananya turns off the TV.

You're thrilled at being included in the 'us'. You've been an unofficial official member of Godless for four months now. Each one feels more unreal than the first, and each one brings a solidity. In Ananya's words, you're on 'probation, given you can keep up', but you look at her now, her hopeless expression as she closes your room door behind you, and know she's not hoisting you off the stage anytime soon. She'd have to deal with the world's tallest toddler alone.

Your tour manager and assorted personnel meet you in the hotel's lobby, furious and panicky at your being late. Morgan spouts the same spiel as you get shepherded into cars idling outside of the hotel.

"We're the talent. What were you gonna do, throw the gig without us?"

You're both embarrassed by her and impressed. Morgan is pretty and talented and extremely loud — she's not afraid to stick up for herself, even when she's (nearly always) wrong. She sees each hurdle in her life as an unfair disadvantage. Insanity, in your opinion, considering nearly all of those hurdles have been jumped by means of a favour, rather than any expended effort on her part.

Her bad attitude aside, she's a good singer. She's gorgeous, exactly the kind of face that obliterates mainstream reluctance.

She sits between you and Ananya and kicks her feet out over the console, boots between your driver and your tour manager, Angel.

"You guys can't be late like this. You have half the time you need for sound check now, you realise?"

"I don't need practice," Morgan says.

"It's not practice, Morgan, it's–"

Morgan laughs and bursts into song. She does it whenever she doesn't want to listen to Angel, and she sings an apt tune: Angel by Aerosmith. You look out the window rather than watch, eyes snagging on the wet New York streets and taxis and people, so many people despite the weather, black umbrellas like inverse stars lining the sidewalks.

Morgan has a great voice, raw when she wants it to be and full of life when she doesn't. You can't hear Angel's venue instructions under it and are barely paying attention as a lanyard gets tossed into your lap. It sounds stupid, and a few months ago you wouldn't believe it, but you get used to the motions. Ferried from one place to another, all anybody cares about is technicalities, politics, public image, and how you look on stage. All you care about is the music. Your bass guitar in your hands, that familiar weight, the strings as your pick slides across them, and the sea of the crowd. Its waves and ripples, hands and eyes and mouths like poppies, red-pink tongues and black throats at the centre as they scream. When you throw your pick people want to catch it. They fight over it. You throw a few. There's always more in a box in some poor techies bag.

The cushy car you're in pulls up and parks outside of the venue's main entrance. You climb onto a wet curb and shield the top of your hand with your head, dirty rain splashing down in fat, sparse drops that chill your scalp. Morgan blitzes inside and Ananya tags behind her. You go slower, eyes following down the sidewalk where, in a couple of hours, fans will wait to see you, shivering in the cold.

—

Every breath Gareth takes sucks in Eddie's short sleeved t-shirt. Eddie scowls at the top of his bandmate's head and tries to shift away.

"Seriously, man? There's a whole fucking couch," Eddie grouches.

Gareth sits up with bleary eyes furrowed into a scowl of his own. He's pale and missing his glasses, giving him the appearance of a concerned zombie.

"Shithead."

Eddie has a lot of emotions he wants to express and none he feels he can properly articulate. The injustice of his current situation, for one, is a burning irritant. How the fuck can you get grounded by your manager? And why did his warden have to be the most boring member of the band? Sorry Gareth.

"Can't you sleep in your bed?" Eddie asks.

"You'll sneak out."

Eddie will sneak out. He's a fledgling rockstar in New York. Suddenly, there are a hundred colourful boozy doors wide open to him, and he intends on haunting the threshold of each one accordingly.

But you kick one amp and boom, you're the antichrist.

"You know this is stupid."

Gareth rubs his eyes. "I mean, do I know that?" He reaches behind the couch armrest for the two-litre bottle of soda stashed there, and he talks as he brings the lip to his mouth. "You've been a real pissant lately, Munson."

"You're a pissant, pissant," Eddie says, really scowling now.

Gareth kicks him across the sofa. Eddie kicks back, foot jamming into the side of Gareth's knees. Soda spills in a shoot over the carpet. Gareth is a know-it-all with a predisposition for being as unpleasant as he can possibly be at all times, in Eddie's opinion, and Eddie knows the second the soda lands what he's going to say.

"Nice going, hotshot. This is why you're fucking grounded."

Eddie's halfway across the sofa when the door opens, an unimpressed Jamison standing with the light behind him. He flicks on the main switch and glares, brown skin golden in the resulting yellow light.

"What are you losers doing?"

"I prefer the term 'freak'," Gareth says, glare softening. "I'm fending off Munson's advances, what does it look like? No means no, asshole."

"You're disgusting," Eddie says.

"You look disgusting," Jamison echoes. "I don't know who forgot to tell you, but they invented running water a century ago. Go shower. I'll watch baby boy."

Eddie thinks Jamison is hot in the freaky way — Jamison is conventionally attractive, and Eddie would let him get freaky if he asked. He has a perfect complexion, the most attractive of the band by far, medium brown skin and a broad-shouldered frame. He's the eye-candy, literally; they'd admitted him into the fold based one parts on his talent, two parts his image.

He can play piano, guitar, bass guitar, violin, all that shit. He's a musician, and he's better than Eddie at everything but the guitar.

Nobody's better than Eddie on guitar. At least, not anybody running in his circles.

"I can't shower, I'm watching him."

"I'll watch him," Jamison says, like this is extremely obvious and Gareth is an idiot.

Eddie pulls a couch cushion over his face and drags himself onto his back, whining into the fabric unhappily. "This is fucking bullshit," he mutters

"This is due diligence," Gareth says. Eddie feels his weight lift off the couch and lets his legs slide into the empty space.

"This is fucking bullshit," he repeats.

There's a silence. He sulks. Gareth collects toiletries and the bathroom door clicks open and closed. The shower spray begins to sputter, and then the pillow is being tugged out of Eddie's hands and tossed aside.

"Jame," he protests.

"Shut up." Jamison stares down at Eddie. "Are you done being a child?"

"I already told you, it was an accident. Yeah, I kicked the amp, because my fucking string snapped and nobody would listen to me. I didn't know it was gonna actually move."

"If we go out, can you behave?" Jamison asks quietly.

Eddie sits up ramrod straight. "Absolutely… Why? What's so important?"

"Jeff's asleep, I'm bored, and-" He shrugs offhandedly. "If you got 'em, flaunt 'em?"

Jamison holds up a silver pair of car keys. They clink together, the sound music to Eddie's ears.

—

So you and Eddie meet for the second time like this.

“Does it have to be this loud?” you shout over the music, pleading gaze on Ananya, who shrugs.

She looks better after a show, even drunk. Her lipstick is a pink-red with a darker but incomprehensible outline, leaving her looking kissed sick. Her dark eyebrows are ruffled and thick, their minimal gel sweated off. She has the most heartbreaking expression about her, and you think it isn’t truly fair, how she can look so pretty and be so talented at the same time. A tragedy that other people have time for both. You feel as though you barely have the time for one.

Despite the volume, you love the sound. This is your sound. Small town hatred in a big room — begging to get out and the music proof enough that you did. It’s passionate and anxious, a two-chord progression that’s boggling simplistic but drawing you in anyhow. Wrinkled noses and bored eyes say it’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’d hazard a guess that whoever plugged it into the stereo isn’t the kind of person who worries about public opinion. If Godless worked more on your choices, this is how you’d sound.

“Whose house are we in?” you ask.

“Babe,” Ananya says, “seriously, there’s a whole room of people who want to answer you. Go bother someone.” Else. Go bother someone else.

She dismisses you with little more than that, slinking into the kitchen with a toss of her thick hair. The red of her corset top darkens to a bloodier shade in the mood lighting. She looks as though she’s bleeding out from the back.

You aren’t sure Ananya’s right. You aren’t, in the eyes of the people here, anything impressive. A techie who’s been filling in isn’t anything new, no, you’re only impressive if you get to stay, if you play better than anybody else. You’re never gonna prove that under Morgan’s thumb, and you’ll never prove it without her.

I need a bump, you think. Morgan’s coke nose flashes in your mind and you change your mind. I need something to drink. Something fucking cold, but if Ananya thinks you’ve followed her into the kitchen she’ll throw a pissy fit in front of everybody.

The room is a gaudy yellow, a tobacco stained fingerprint over the lampshade with whorls of dirt in lines, darker patches where shadier reconciliation plays; in one corner, a bag of coke, another something worse. This had been a surprise with age rather than location, the commonplace of cocaine and the bravado of its sufferers from high school and up. You’d die for some of that cocky confidence now, numb gums and a sullen credit card.

I need to get paid.

The heat of a cigarette tip kisses your shoulder. In your ear, the sound of someone taking a long, slow drag, crackling paper. You turn into it slowly, looking up slower, right into the skinny face of your missing-in-action bandmate.

“What’s up?” Morgan asks, blowing her smoke in your face. Your eyes burn.

She’s placing the cigarette between your lips before you can answer. Whether she believes she’s tormenting you or throwing you a life raft, you’re grateful for it, sucking in a blistering breath and wincing as it floods your nose.

You blow it away from her.

“Ashtray?” you ask, pinching the cig between two fingers.

“The floor’s fine.”

You raise your eyebrows, unsurprised at her cavalier suggestion and flick it still smouldering into your cupped palm. The door is perpetually open, guests flicking in and out like the froth of a cresting wave, a rushing entrance and a sluggish recession.

“Can you get me a bag?” you ask her.

“I’m not your daddy,” she murmurs.

“Bored already?”

“I have to be bored?”

To bother bothering you? Yes, Morgan would have to be bored. Bored or wasted, and she doesn’t seem inebriated. You place the cig between your teeth and lean your head back to look at the ceiling rather than give her the attentive watching she desires, the roof of your mouth an uncomfortable heat.

You remove it, blow all your smoke skyward, and drop your head. “How are you gonna fuck with me tonight?” you ask plainly.

You find you aren’t asking Morgan.

In her place stands a much taller, much more handsome face, big eyes set into pale skin. You don't recognise him at first. He wears the uniform well, in company with every other guy in the room, a crumpled shirt you imagine discarded and re-discarded on different floors. Ripped, dark jeans. He could be wearing nothing at all and the air of intimidation surrounding him would survive — there's something behind his eyes that alarms you, a knife's edge. Sweetness bordering cruelty.

"I don't know yet," he says. An insipid smile takes his lips from corner to corner as he eases the cig from your hand. "I'm sure we can think of something… together. Sweetheart."

Boys don't always give you the time of day, not the nice ones, and he doesn't look very nice. He looks like he's trying to calculate what he can get out of you. You're thinking you'll pay just about anything if he can get you a bump of something fun.

He sees your look too, his lips poised to mention it, but you've just realised where you know him from.

"I saw you on TV."

"Yeah? In Madison Square Garden?"

"In court." You give him your best doe eyes, a soft, sweet look, far from mastered and yet effective where it counts. "How much did you have to pay for all the stuff you broke?"

His smile shutters, realigns. A split-second and enough to let you know his cool gaze is nothing more than a parlour trick.

"You look familiar," he says.

You hum. "Rollerboy paid, huh?"

He glares, the idea that his record label might pay for the damages he'd caused laughable and undoubtedly correct. You aren't trying to make enemies, aren't attempting to play someone you're not — you're meek mannered, mollycoddled, too naive to be in the industry for very long. You can see it on his face, exactly what he's thinking, and it's easy to see because everybody else is thinking it too. Even you.

Before you can repair the offence you've caused, he's dropping your stolen cigarette on the ground and grinding out the flame.

"Nice to meet you," he says slowly.

You stare straight ahead and listen to him leave. Smoke tickles your nose. When you look down, the cigarette is smouldering. You squat down, pick up the flattened bud, and drive it into the floor until your fingers are black with soot.

You wrap those same ashy fingers around the neck of a bottle of coke and try not to be too pissy about it. Fucking rockstars and their fucking egos. He did something embarrassing, and you're the villain?

You feel bad halfway through your coke. Maybe he'd had nice intentions, but how could you know? You'd talked for all of two minutes. And even if he was bad news, he likely wouldn't have been any worse than half the jerks here.

He'd have had a handsome face to look up into while said intentions were being acted out, at least.

You frown more. Wishing you'd been nicer to him because you're bored enough to want to get laid isn't strictly kind. Human, maybe.

The feeling worsens when his appearance garners a small crowd. He sits in a nest of dirty couch cushions and a cloud of smoke, the smell of green strong enough to irritate you from here, telling a story with frenetic hands, and despite the cool look he'd given you earlier, he's making a show of it. Cussing, giggling, blunt between his lips as he ushers for a zippo. A pretty girl with surfer curls relights it, an act of flirting in the way she pulls her shoulders in.

He takes the blunt from between his lips and blows the smoke so it misses her completely.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says, voice rough as hewn stone.

You kick one shoe behind the other and squeeze your tired thighs together. You get this feeling like a matchstick, red powdered head flicking against gritty scratchpad but failing to strike. Something is familiar about the way he speaks, his sticky inflection.

Or you're lying to yourself, and you just like the way he talks

The way he would've spoken, thick fingers braceleting your wrists as he forces your hands into the pillow behind your head, the weight of his body on top of yours, the snugness of a knee between your soft thighs. Your hotel light would've kissed his left side, dividing his curls into strands, the individuals glowing like silver thread as they danced over your cheek and temple, as his breath warmed your lips, as he closed the distance.

Joan, you could hit him.

"That's an unfortunate hand. Are you sober?"

Cheeks full of heat at being caught in a fantasy, you lift your eyes and meet light, almond brown eyes almost entirely shielded by darker eyebrows. A man stands in front of you, a comfortable gap between his nondescript skate shoes and your worn boots. He's tall and pretty and surprising: he's smiling at you like you're something worth smiling at.

"I'm–" You brandish the bottle as if that might explain it but harshly set it aside. "No, not sober. I mean, not willingly. Coke's were out here, so…"

"Oh, right," he says, nodding knowledgeably. "Right, I was sorry to hear about that."

You lick your lips. "'Bout what?"

"They banned beautiful women from the kitchen," he says. "Hadn't you heard?"

"No, that one passed me by."

"I'm Jamison," he says, holding out his free hand.

You take it. You tell him your name.

—

Morgan is crying. Big heaping sobs that she attempts to talk through, creating this ringing whining sound that fills you top to toe with anxiety. You lean back in your hotel bed, wondering what it is in the world that could've happened to her as a kid to make her this unsatisfied now. Ananya blows on her freshly painted nails though they've been dry for hours, knee to knee with you atop the squishy hotel sheets.

"I can't fucking do this," Morgan cries, tears dripping down her bare skinned cheeks.

The three of you have been sworn off of makeup, junk food, and unapproved wash products for the next four to five hours. You're happy for this to continue until the end of time. Morgan, less so.

You're trying to decipher exactly why she's crying, feeling a confusion you'd liken to the first modern day archaeologist that laid eyes on ancient hieroglyphics. All these symbols and colours and stories. No clear translation.

If Ananya were an archaeologist, she's the kind who got to see the Rosetta stone. Morgan's moods make sense to her, and while she often doesn't empathise with her, she at least knows what to say to appease the worst of it.

"It'll be alright, Morgs," she says, her faux sympathy unconvincing.

You feel a little sorry for Morgan and clear your throat. "And you're not by yourself. We're here."

"Fucking amazing help you've been," Morgan says. Her voice does a theatrical peak, pure hysterics.

It irks you how good she looks. You think that, maybe, if you could make your problems pretty the way that she does, you'd be a lot happier overall. You've often lamented that you suffer the kind of unhappiness that makes people uncomfortable and unwilling. You cry ugly, and always alone, hands over your mouth to smother the sounds, and that's when you do cry. Mostly, you bounce around inside yourself and feel very afraid that this feeling is forever.

But, you think presently, that isn't Morgan's fault. Not all of it.

Morgan throws her hands out at you and Ananya and spins on her heel, through the bathroom and into her own separate room.

"At least the backdrop of her breakdown is nice," you murmur, hugging the pillow against your stomach, heels digging into the mattress to keep your knees up.

Ananya snorts and flicks to the next page of her magazine. "Right?" She stretches her naked legs out over your sheets. You know she's decided to ruin your bed with her after-waxing oils rather than her own. "Better here than back home."

"Why's she so upset?" you ask.

Already, your thoughts are starting to drift. You take another peek at the phone across the room and will it into ringing.

"She draws them on everyday anyway," Ananya says agreeably.

You summarise that Morgan's eyebrows are the root of the problem. You don't blame her for wanting to look perfect tomorrow night. Your stomach is a weight every time you think about it, solid as petrified wood. This will be your first TV appearance that isn't a recorded concert, a mid-show performance for the Prover Music Awards, and it should further cement your place in the band. If you look good and people like you, public favour might be enough to keep you around. If they don't, there'll be a couple hundred different audience members with industry links. If you play well, and you're certain you will, you might finally prove to Morgan, Ananya, and the rest of the management team that you're worth choosing.

You want it badly. You want lots of things, and being a real part of Godless could hand them all to you on a studded platter. Recognition of your talent, further experience, the chance to perform and be supported, to be adored, and the money isn't something you'll pretend you don't think about. A rockstar's salary is hardly stable, but a lack of stability is almost always supplemented by the amount. Wouldn't that be nice? To buy your own bass, to buy whatever you liked. To go out and have spa treatments like the one you'd had just this morning whenever you please. To get to feel beautiful and limp as this all the time. More than anything, you want the validation, the poster that comes with it.

If Godless decides to keep you, it's a huge, blinking, neon-lit sign that says you're good enough.

They chose me, and you're stupid for letting me go.

They chose me. I'm something worth something. You didn't see it, but it's there in me.

The subtext isn't important.

You're scared shitless at the reality of performing tonight, knowing any fuck up could follow you, or worse ruin your hopefully budding career in rock for the rest of time. You have this body and this name, and if you want to keep your life you have to be good. It has your fingers itching for your piece-of-shit bass guitar where you know she's hiding under the bed. You should be practising, but this entire week has been practising. The dress rehearsal went well, and you'll give yourself a pass for having certain distractions.

Morgan warbles. You glance at the phone.

"Waiting for someone?" Ananya asks. She misses nothing.

You both wince as Morgan screams and throws something across her bedroom, the eventual clattering smash indicative of a fragile target.

"Think room service will send up a sedative?" she asks.

Room service won't send a sedative, nor will they send the single hashbrown Morgan is apparently craving. You're starting to panic when the solution practically jumps at you.

"Morgan," you say gently, standing in the doorway of her room with a tentative smile, "can't offer you something, can I?"

You hold up your little pouch. Morgan doesn't know you well, but she knows it's where you keep anything interesting. She should know, she pilfers it of anything truly exciting within the day.

"Don't be stupid," she scathes. "My eyes will be bloodshot. You know smoking doesn't agree with me."

You hold in a comment on how she'd literally been smoking out of the window last night.

"It's a brownie. It's a couple days old, but… perfectly edible." You offer her the pouch, dropping it at the end of the bed among her things.

She picks at the brownie, timid princess bites that make you want to roll your eyes. You often think the worst thing about Morgan is that you love her, or you could love her more, if only she felt the same way. She isn't all evil and she never will be, she's just a person. But she takes shit out on you and makes your life harder than it needs to be, so even her most endearing moments fall short.

"This tastes awful."

You laugh and kneel down at her dresser to start putting her thrown jewellery box back together. "It wasn't that nice when I got it," you lie.

You clean her room. Morgan never wants to do anything she knows can be done for her, and you know she won't bother here, not when room service will spend the hour it takes themselves. You think of some poor service worker squaring away the impossible amount of stockings and garters for a sad $3.45 an hour and the task suddenly becomes much more enjoyable.

Morgan doesn't say thank you. You don't insult her intelligence by thinking she isn't aware of what you're doing. She sniffles and blows her nose daintily with a balsam tissue.

"I saw you talking to that guy from Corroded Coffin."

You brush off your knees as you stand. "Which one?"

"Eddie. The rhythm guitarist."

"The loud one."

"He's kind of hot. If he calls, you should go out with him."

"That's not–" who I'm waiting for. You squint at her. "Morgan, that would be terrible."

"Can you get me something from the minibar?"

You kick open her minibar and grab a cold can of seltzer. She slides onto her back and accepts it, pressing it to her eyes with a relaxed smile. Eyebrows forgotten, it seems.

"That would be perfect. He can be the cat to your mouse."

"Your definition of perfect–" You cut yourself off again when she starts to laugh. You don't believe it to be genuine.

She lounges in bed for an hour until she's high, reappearing in you and Ananya's suite with a dizzying smile. You don't mind high Morgan. She's smoked enough in her time to bypass the dizzying, giggly kind of stoner. This Morgan is relaxed, almost easygoing. She sits at the end of your bed and watches you pluck out a bass line proposal for one of their current works in progress, head bobbing.

An hour again and the stylists appear to spray you down with smells and oils and make up, and soon you've been strapped into a short shining dress with a cowl neck, dark black stockings that shine like oil, and heels you can't really walk in. You complain about them politely enough that Mel, the man in charge of your 'costuming', swaps them out for shorter ones.

"This fucking corset is a nightmare," Morgan grumbles.

"Sorry, love, that's all we've got."

The commute is over in a blink. You arrive outside of the venue for the Awards, staring up at its imposing silhouette against the skyline, a dark building in the strange blue night. The sun is unseen but light illuminates the wet streets in blinding patches, so white they glow violet behind your eyes.

There's a modest red carpet where you thankfully don't have to pose for many photos. After all, besides being a temporary member of the stage, you aren't truly in Godless. Most casual fans (the majority of their fan base) only know the faces in the magazines and on TV, and you have yet to be in either until tonight.

After a bundle of shy and regretfully nerve-wracking photos, you're drawn inside the building and away from all the flashing hubbub. You sit in your seats, short rows divided by the occasional table for drinks, and you try not to sink into the carpeted floor. It smells insanely like nothing at all. No bleach, no air conditioning cleanliness. Every now and then another guest walks past your row and you get a whiff of perfume.

A familiar scent pricks your attention.

You look up, slightly over your shoulder, and your eyes meet familiar sticky brown.

He drops down in the seat next to you, and you think, No way.

He holds up the placard that had been under his thigh. His name is typed in clear blocked letters.

It's a strange humiliation to have been read for filth like that. You're you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me expression can be pretty telling, evidently.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Matchstick against the box. You tilt your head and try to place him for the tenth time.

"Have we met before?" you ask.

He actually grins like this is the best thing you could've said. "You met my friend," he says, pointing down the aisle.

Jamison stands talking to a woman who is admittedly gorgeous, and, to your sinking horror, much prettier than you. They kiss each other on the cheek and it's the kind of over friendly to make you sick.

Eddie pouts at you. "Better luck next time, sweet thing." He throws one leg over another. "You look different. New haircut?"

"You look exactly the same," you say.

It's surprising how untouched he is. Sure, he's had some makeup applied and his hairs been tousled into life, but his outfit is remarkable in its simplicity. Surely rockstars can wear suits too? He looks neat and dark and tidy, but he also looks effortless. It's irritating.

This phenomena is not self contained, you find, as his bandmates sit down the row with their managerial chaperones and one date. Jamison sits right at the very end. He doesn't look at you.

You avert your eyes and wonder if it's possible to die from embarrassment.

The venue gets increasingly busy as the bigger names and bands flood inside. Soon, you're sitting amongst legends, people who pretty much spearheaded late 80s glam rock, punk, grunge. People you've only ever seen on TV. And it isn't restricted to alternative sound, there are pop stars and their supermodel girlfriends shaking hands and kissing cheeks in the row behind, while producers with names big enough to make your mouth dry up clap each other on the shoulders in front.

"You'll catch flies."

You turn to Eddie. He doesn't sound entirely cruel. He doesn't sound like much of anything. You could almost believe him to be a friend.

There's a smudge of eyeliner on his cheek.

"You have–" You point at your own cheek, a mirror.

His lightness fades. "Nice."

"No, seriously, you have something. Make up, on your cheek. I have a wipe if you want it."

He scrubs at his cheek ineffectually.

You're reaching out to help before you can stop yourself, witnessing your own actions with a strange out-of-body horror as you wipe the small black line gently. It spreads, and you panic and dab at it until it's an unfortunate grey shadow.

"Let me get the wet wipe," you say. You'd been holding your breath, awkwardness stiff between you, and it sounds too much like a laugh.

Eddie flinches away from your touch and covers his cheek. "I got it," he says stonily.

He leaves, stepping over his bandmates feet like stepping stones, earning a cacophony of protests and disparagments.

Dick, you think. Again, that had been a little bit your fault. Not all of it, he seems to be in a perpetual bad mood that can't be your doing, but you can understand why he might think you were laughing at him, and the defensiveness that comes with it. When he comes back you'll apologise.

Or that's what you tell yourself. The lights go down, the curtains open, and the venue erupts with applause. By the time Eddie takes his seat again you're too afraid of disturbing the quiet.

After half an hour you're ushered backstage. You have to move in front of Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin as you go.

He looks up at you in silence. Head tipped back, face barely lit by the lights while you stand in between his legs. His lips part and he's all rockstar, his brown eyes and their edging of straight dark lashes, his pink, pretty lips. He has a distinct line to his nose, a cupid's bow perfectly shaped. His maker must have looked at him and known somebody, somewhere, would want to kiss him right there. His lips twitch.

"Can I help you?" he whispers.

You stammer a response that won't form and Morgan shoves you.

"Fucking move," she says.

His expression flickers.

"Sorry," you say, unsure of who you're talking to. "Sorry." You sound pathetic. A kicked puppy.

You keep your eyes on the floor until you're in the aisle, where a new set of nerves tries to swallow you whole.

—

Eddie knows exactly who you are, and he hates himself for it. He remembers you, the first you, shy and sweet and so excited, sitting pretty in Indianapolis International Airport with your guitar and your huge leaky headphones pounding death metal. While fame has broadened the amount of people who want to sleep with him, it hasn't changed his type, and you'd been a ringer, right there in the middle.

You'd been pretty and maybe you knew it, maybe you didn't, it didn't matter — what he liked most was the way your hands had moved as you spoke, hummingbird thrumming, an energy he'd seen in himself and every other musician desperate for a chance. He loved the passion and your eyelashes and the way you'd smiled as you'd waited for your plane, the two of you destined for New York, where you both seem to have looped back now. Only, he'd been cursed with remembering your every detail, and you either didn't remember him or don't care. Both sting, but he likes the second better. He'll take purposeful cruelty over the casual any day.

Like your thumb pressed to his cheek. The heat, and then your laugh.

"The fuck is this?" Gareth asks, leaning over the space between their two chairs.

Eddie looks up at you on stage and shrugs. While bands made up completely of women aren't new, they aren't as common as bands made up of men, obviously. He likes it, likes your sound, though it's not the kind of thing Corroded Coffin would ever play, and he won't join in on Gareth's doubt. Even if you are, like, a magnanimous shithead. You're good.

"She's hot," he furthers.

"Jesus, Gareth."

"What? She's fucking hot."

He has to squint to see you from this distance, and he can't truly make out many details. Gareth's not wrong. You're pretty, and out of the three members of the band you're the only one who actually looks like they're having a good time.

The lead singer trails around the stage pulling Blond Ambition poses. She can sing well, she has a strong voice that does whatever it is she bends it into, but her propensity to drop the guitar slung around her neck to grab at the microphone stand like it's escaping isn't helping anything.

The girl on drums is arguably given a pass, fighting to keep up with the pace, sweat sticking her thick hair to her neck in glossy spirals and her huge eyes set in concentration. Her messy lipstick sparkles under the stage lights, a party pink that pops against her brown skin.

He thinks you might be trying to cover up the lead singer's sloppy playing. You're good, sure, but it's not the easiest to tell when it's ragtag and rough like this. Only because he's watching does he notice your pick slipping between strings to the floor, and your willingness to strum with the sides of your fingertips. He likes that. The dedication is hot.

"I've never seen a girl on drums who didn't look like a guy," Gareth says. "She's killer. Think I can get her number?"

Eddie groans. "No, you fucking loser."

"I was just asking."

You bounce around and Eddie shifts in his seat, annoyed that he'd assumed you were the one Gareth was talking about.

He claps for you when the song is over and hates how you return to your seat during the break, back in your cute dress and beaming, practically dripping in deodorant and post-show adrenaline.

You apologise again as you step over him, and if there's one thing he doesn't want from you it's a sorry. Twice now you've spoken to him in the last week and twice you've made fun of him like some plaything under your thumb. Eddie isn't in the habit of being under anyone's anything. Apologies feel like salt in the wound, even though he knows you aren't saying sorry for the stuff that's pissing him off.

"What the fuck was that?" Lead girl asks you, sounding about as uptight as she looks as she climbs over your leg. "What were you doing?"

"Morgan, I don't know if you noticed, but you didn't play half of the song," you say defensively, the skirt of your gem-encrusted dress glancing off of his thigh. The gems are tiny, like pinprick stars in country night skies. They shine purple, green, orange.

Morgan holds her hand up for an attendant. When one approaches, she says, "Appletini," and nothing else, waving dismissively. She pulls at her stockings and doesn't notice the ladder she makes near the calf. "You're here to play what you're given."

"I did."

"And only that."

Your silence speaks volumes. What he'd thought to be an edge in Godless' sound may have been an improvisation, something Eddie personally applauds.

"Christ," Morgan says, "you're more trouble than you're worth. I hope you know that."

Eddie believes the sting of her barb to be in the presentation rather than the words themselves, though what she'd said is hardly kind. She looks away from you as she says it, like she's giving instruction far below her station. Factual, concise.

You barely wince. The lights dim, and he watches you contend with how you're feeling from the corner of his eye.

Eddie isn't evil. You may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and he's definitely holding his resentment at being forgotten tight to his chest, but nobody deserves to get shit on like that. You'd played well, you'd had a great time, and that should be commended. What's worse, your lack of a reaction tells him this is a common occurrence.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you say.

Morgan waves you away like she had the waitress. You stand, and you say, "Excuse me," to every person you pass. Eddie put his hand on the back of his chair to follow you up toward the back of the room where the sign for the bathrooms glows green.

He sets his eyes back on the stage and begs himself to stay sitting. Corroded Coffin's nomination for best up and comer has already passed, a loss, and there's no reason he can't nip to the bathroom himself. There's also no reason he should go after you.

Fuck it, he thinks.

What could go wrong? What could go wrong, outside of the women's bathroom, where he has so obviously followed you, where he waits for you like some creeper trying to paw one off on you. He can't hear anything but the running tap. For a moment he thinks you haven't come here to collect yourself after all, you'd needed to pee, which makes his situation that much awkwarder.

Stuck between indecision, he leans against the wall between the women's and men's and digs for a cigarette. His pockets are empty, a precaution for exactly this moment. You can't smoke in the Prover Theatre, pissant.

You appear and blitz past him.

"Hey," he says before you can go too far, "d'you have a card?"

You turn on your heel. Hands already in your purse, you dig out an unopened box of cigarettes and offer it to him. You don't look as though you've been crying or anything like it, but you don't look him head on, so he keeps his theory.

Eddie peels the plastic off of your box and slaps the end against his chest for good measure.

"I don't think you can smoke in here," you say finally. Your voice is tired.

He raises his eyebrows and peers down into the box, pulling a cigarette free and sliding it between his lips. He holds out his hand for a lighter and you give it to him, already waiting with it between two fingers.

He lights it, inhales sharply, and passes you back your carton and lighter with a clouded, "Thanks."

"Yeah."

He's surprised when you don't move. You stand there and watch him smoke, whorls of pearly smoke dissecting the air between you, spider-webs over your pert face. You're waiting for what he doesn't know, so he'll give you something. He's nice.

"She's a piece of work."

You shift uneasily.

"I'm not the feds," he says, pulling the cig from his lips to talk unfettered.

"Forgive me for wondering if you have my best interests at heart."

He beams at you, really smiles, startled and enamoured by your sharp tongue. "Now why wouldn't I?"

You don't say anything, only pull at the neckline of your dress in what's likely a nervous habit. He gets a flash of the top of your chest and looks away. He thinks you're beautiful in a rather understated way, and he doesn't not want to see what it is you're showing, but he knows you don't actually mean to be so forward. He might be an asshole, but he's not like that.

It's quiet here in the foyer, like standing outside the doors of the movie theatre. You can hear the announcement of a new category, the roaring applause. The hallway and the bathrooms feel cordoned off from it in a strange way, an uncanny energy that has him on internal tenterhooks.

"You always let her treat you like that?"

"Like what?"

He steps toward you because the distance feels unnecessary. "Like that. Like you're a dog."

"Fuck you, I do not."

He pouts, the taste of smoke thick on his tongue.

"What would you know?" you ask.

"Besides hearing it all fucking night, nothing. You must like that shit."

Your eyes go wide. He hadn't meant to say it. There's a light behind them now, some life, something to cover up that shitty wounded despondency you'd been wearing. Your hands bunch in the soft skirt of your dress, shaking. He's touched a nerve.

"I must like it," you quote, strained.

"Woof. Do you do any tricks, or is it just the one?"

He doesn't mean for it to happen this way, he wants it on the record. He's a dick, he's a loser, whatever, he hadn't meant to argue but he will. And, you know, there may be a slight possibility that he isn't as sure in himself as he appears, and that there are nerves he keeps too close to the surface, too.

"You can teach me one of yours, if you want," you offer, voice tight with annoyance, "I'm thinking smug asshole picks easy target, but I'm open to other options."

That's funny. He takes another step toward you, another, your cigarette between his lips smouldering at the tip as he inhales through his smirk.

"Yeah, like what?" he asks, smoke licking your cheeks as he breathes out.

"How you get your head through the door might be a good place to start."

He waits for you to explain, knowing the silence will force you to fill it.

"You know, considering you're in the exact same place as me, only one of us performed tonight and it isn't the one acting like God's gift."

"You think they invited you to play because you're good?" he asks, feigning an earnest tone.

"I know exactly why they didn't ask you." You hike the strap of your purse higher up your shoulder, chin lifted in a snooty superiority that makes his heart pound. "Wannabe rookie who had too much smoke blown up his ass and thinks he's somebody. But you're not," you say. "You're a child. They've seen a hundred guys just like you in the Indiana circuit."

"You're a jumped up fucking groupie that got lucky," he says.

The light behind your eyes dims. He takes that last step, the step that's gonna put you shoe to shoe.

He should stop now, he would, but suddenly his anger is real, this isn't strictly fun anymore. He says what he knows is gonna hurt you.

"You're a stand-in, a temp who's already overstayed her welcome." He flicks the tower of ash between your heels. You follow it down, watch as it settles into the fibres of the carpeting. "You're a burnout waiting to happen."

Your breathing is loud in his ears. Slightly too fast.

"You don't know anything," you murmur.

"If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog," he says, pausing, words coming out thick and slow, "it's a dog."

Your face flares with hurt. You're gone before he can say anything else.

He's glad for it. Honestly, he's not sure what else he would've said, and later, he'll regret this, regret blowing up at you, regret following you out here and making you feel worse when he'd wanted the opposite. But tonight he's lit up from the inside out, your words a reverberation. A hundred guys just like you.

"Yeah, right," he says to himself, scoffing with a surety he doesn't feel.

—

Donington Park, England, August 1990

"I'd be a little more excited if I knew they weren't desperate this year," Jamison's saying, "that's all."

"They're hardly desperate."

"Last time they had KISS, Iron Maiden, Megadeth." Jamison sighs and falls back into the couch, muttering about the stale smell before continuing, "and this year, what do they have? Poison? Thunder? Who cares."

Eddie thinks he might actually have an opponent for biggest ego right now.

"You know they put Godless bigger on the poster," Jeff says with a bright smile.

"Can we not talk about them for one fucking day?" Eddie pleads.

He's a little disappointed at the lineup too, but that doesn't make this entire festival a bust. Monster of Rock may not be the most prestigious event they've ever attended but it's still impressive to be asked to play here, and this is only Corroded Coffin's third festival. Eddie's a smug bastard and even he knows Jamison sounds like a bitch. Besides that, he's so, so tired of talking about Godless.

"They finally stopped stringing that poor girl along. What was her name?" Jeff asks, clicking his fingers. "Eddie, you know, the one who said she didn't know you in the magazines?"

"What?" Eddie asked. "They cut her?"

Jamison sits up, eyes lit with mirth. "What's it matter to you, heartthrob?"

"It doesn't."

He's not being truthful. His bandmates are all unkind, and none extend the generosity of pretending they believe him.

"Nah, she's not cut, she's official. Writing credits on the new album and everything, 'cordin to Rolling Stone."

"You have it?" Eddie asks.

Jeff laughs at him but digs it out of his suitcase, brandishing it all rolled up.

"Shit better not be sticky," Eddie mutters under his breath.

"... Skip the interview with Kim Gordon."

Eddie gags and flicks through the pages until he finds the article on you, or rather the column.

"All female rock band Godless finally welcomed a new bass player this month after the departure of Millyanna Richardson in '89. Y/N L/N, 24, had been with the band for almost a year under a 'touring only' basis, though she performed live with remaining members Morgan Fletcher and Ananya Roy at the Prover Music Awards in early June. Fans have praised her talent and finesse, and are looking forward to her contributions to the band's next album expected this December. Hopefully she has thicker skin than her predecessor, who branded the band's inner politics as 'gruesome' and 'unlivable'."

There's a grainy photograph of you and your bandmates at the Prover Theatre overtop. You look exactly as you had that night, pretty and glitzy. He scowls at your printed face.

He can't fucking stand you, let it be known, and he thinks your frontman is the most spoilt brat he's ever seen. He hadn't seen the article, but he'd heard via word of mouth that you'd both had something to say about him. His approximation goes as follows:

Interviewer: …and you guys will be performing at the Monster of Rock music festival in England this August, right? Any faces you're excited to see?

Morgan: I think I'm better than everyone despite being in a mildly popular band that didn't qualify as hard rock until, like, three months ago, and I totally shit on our bass player for trying to make the change by the way, so I'm not excited to see anyone besides myself in the mirror.

Interviewer: How sophisticated and mature of you. And you, Y/N, are you excited to see anyone? Photos from the Prover Music Awards show you were sitting beside Corroded Coffin's Eddie Munson, did you two hit it off?

Y/N: Who was that, the guitarist? I'm so sorry, I don't really remember getting a chance to talk to him, but I'm excited for the opportunity to meet more people in the scene right now and to get to play for a new audience. Also I suck and I want Eddie sooooo bad.

"I wish I were asleep." Gareth squints at the ceiling. "Asleep or back home."

"Miss mommy?" Jamison asks him.

"And Cindy."

"Oh, god," Eddie groans, "I don't want to hear it, seriously."

"She always had smooth legs, you know?" Gareth says. "Always shiny, soft. Fuck, I miss her legs. Girls on the road never shave their legs."

"Do you shave your legs?" Eddie asks.

"Fuck off, Teddy, you know you like it better when they shave."

"Do I know that?" Eddie asks.

He turns to Jamison, giving him a much-used 'make him stop' expression. Eyebrows raised, lips parted. When Jamison says nothing, and Gareth starts to talk about hair removal in other places, Eddie scrubs his eyes with both hands and stands up.

He's a guy. He has guy thoughts. Yeah, he thinks about girls, and their legs, and everything else, but he also thinks about them as actual people, something Gareth hasn't quite grasped yet.

"Remember why Cindy said she didn't wanna come with you?" Eddie asks.

"Because she was jealous of my success."

Eddie snorts and shrugs on his jacket where he'd left it thrown over the ratty couch. "Because she was going to beauty school," Eddie corrects. "I'm going out."

"We're miles away from anything interesting," Jeff says, magazine crinkling in his hands.

"I'm sure I'll find something," he says, and doesn't add that it should be easy.

What counts as interesting has taken a sharp turn since arriving in Donington. Which isn't to say it's boring, exactly, there's a rich culture Eddie isn't familiar with, and a fucking castle, but he's so used to loud dives and backroom parties that this has been a stark change. Wending had said to think of it like a vacation to get his head screwed on tight. Paula had said to think of it like a punishment, which had been funny at the time. Now he's wondering if she was serious.

He knows there'd been a convenience store somewhere down the road from the hotel. Or rather, the bed and breakfast, a strange cottage situation where the hosts keep an eye on you under the guise of making your dinner. Eddie's first world problems continue.

He could get weed, possibly. He doesn't know where from, but he knows someone who knows someone who must know someone, right?

Then he starts debating with himself about if he should smoke just to escape boredom. That sounds like a terrible idea, life isn't even bad right now, he's just hungry, and—

Eddie turns the corner, wet sidewalk dark as pitch under his feet, and spots the back of your head as you disappear inside of the convenience store. The corner shop, as Wending had informed. Eddie doesn't understand because it isn't on a corner, but he has bigger fish to fry. He considers waiting for you to leave. What are the chances you'll walk back this way? Pretty likely.

Don't be a bitch, he tells himself.

Light rain spots his neck as he hurries inside, the bell above the door ringing to announce his entrance. He's confused as soon as he looks up, because in front of him is an aisle, and to either side is an aisle, and he can't make out where the cashier is. He takes a tentative step in, eyes tracking muddy footprints down the way to the drinks fridge humming loudly at the back of the room.

Claustrophobic, he makes his way through the aisle and stops in front of the drinks. Because luck isn't ever his friend, you're standing toward the leftmost part, where a second fridge hums, filled to bursting with canned beer and litre bottles of cider. Eddie isn't sure it's really you until you turn to the left slightly and reach out for a colourful glass bottle. He should walk away. He doesn't like you, he has no business watching you, but there's something so sweet about it.

You in the humming chill, a coat pulled tightly around you, your chin hidden by the multicolour of a yarn scarf. You turn the bottle in your hand delicately and blink slow as you read the ingredients. Your hair is frizzy from the wind, flyaways surrounding your face in a little wave. His fingers twitch.

You keep the bottle and pick up a second, nails clinking against glass. Your movement pulls like you're moving through jello, and Eddie turns to the fridge in front of him hurriedly.

He can feel your gaze on the side of his face.

He picks up a couple of drinks without thinking, his face burning with heat. When he chances a glance your way, you've moved. He stares at the rainbow of drinks and the gaps where you've taken what you wanted.

He leaves some time between your departure and follows the way you must've gone down an aisle of more alcohol that's unrefrigerated and pet food, wondering how they organise here, and is confronted with you again at the end.

It's a snug building. You're blocking the way past where you're standing in front of the cashier's desk, a plexiglass shielded cube decked out in hanging sweets and cigarettes.

"Do you have Newports?" you ask mildly.

"Sorry."

"That's okay, uh, I'll just take a carton of whatever you think is best?"

The cashier retrieves a light blue box of cigarettes. "Lambert and Butler blues," he says. "Total, sixteen fifty six, and I'll need to see some ID."

You pull your passport from an already opened purse and offer it to him. While the cashier's checking it over, you peek at Eddie, and you don't smile but you don't not smile, a formal quirk of the lips.

"You're American?" the cashier asks.

"I'm visiting for the festival," you say.

Apparently having passed his test, the cashier hands your passport back and accepts your card.

"Are you paying together?" he asks, nodding at Eddie.

Eddie grins unconsciously, worse when you say quickly, "Oh, no, we're not together."

"Your brevity wounds me," Eddie says.

You snort with a similar geniality. "You don't need me to pay for you, do you? I heard you're rich now."

There has been an improvement in Eddie's finances lately. Your album breaking into the Billboard top 100 does that.

"I thought you didn't know who I was?"

"I thought that was kinder than what I really would've said."

He hates how your snark makes him smile. You're not looking at him, waiting for your change with your eyes forward as the cashier clicks a couple of buttons on the till.

"What were you really gonna say?"

The cashier hands over your change. You slip it into your purse, put your purse in the pocket of your coat, and slide your hand through the weak blue handles of your plastic bag.

"Thank you," you say sincerely. You take a step like you're going to leave, but you pause, and you look Eddie in the eye and say, "I would've said you were mean."

His jaw drops. You look hurt, and you leave with a discomforting frown.

He puts the drinks he's carrying down on the cashier's desk and says, "I'll be right back," before following you out.

You've pulled your hood up to defend against the thickening rain, walking with your face angled down. Eddie beats along the wet pathway.

"Hey! Hey, wait, wait a second, princess."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm so serious," he says.

He weaves in front of you and stops. You look cold as he feels with his red-tipped nose and stiff fingers, your arms drawn together over your chest. You look pretty and he's so sick of thinking it and not saying it.

"You're hot when you're mad."

You glare at him. "I wish I could say the same."

"Hey, hey, okay, we had a spat, but we got off on the wrong foot, you know?"

"I thought that too," you say.

He smiles. "See, we're– you're fucking with me. Nice."

You start laughing, edging around him. He moves in front and you shrug, stepping off of the sidewalk and into the leaf litter clogging the gutter.

"Don't be stupid," he says, hands held up in surrender "get back on the sidewalk." You keep walking. "Come on, don't get hit by a car. That would really put a damper on the festival."

You take a step further into the road, the kind that would make a collision unavoidable. He checks both ways for cars and sees none, knowing you're fucking with him and hating it anyway. The two of you are locked into a stand off, grey skies above you and wet ground underneath, your face partially occluded by your scarf and your hood and the dribbling rain. If he listens, he can hear the small sounds of the festival preparations a half a mile away, guitars hooked up up an insane array of speakers and the pounding of a beat through the floor.

You start walking again. He follows, treading backwards to keep your attention.

"Seriously, come on."

"No."

"No?" he asks.

"No. I don't have to listen to you."

"You're being stupid."

"Eddie, I truly, honestly, don't care."

"Sure." The sound of tires on the road draws his eye. A car appears behind you, approaching fast. "It's your funeral."

"What do you get out of this?"

He bites his top lip, shaking his head from one side to the other. "Out of what?"

"Tormenting me."

"Tormenting you? Sweetheart, we hardly know each other."

"Exactly!" You almost trip over your own shoes. "Exactly, you don't know me, but you thought you could say all those things–"

"You started it."

You laugh again and Eddie would be pissed but the car is still coming, headlights beaming through the light downpour. He huffs and grabs your wrist, tugging you up onto the sidewalk with his second hand on your waist. He doesn't mean to rag you about, feeling especially apologetic when your face knocks into his chin. The car spins close and validates his concern. You have enough sense to realise what's happened, watching over your shoulder as the car beeps and whizzes past. Still, you yank your arm out of his.

"Don't touch me," you say quietly.

He dips his head to force you to meet his eyes. "Next time I'll let you get hit by a car. Great idea."

"I wasn't going to get hit by the fucking car."

You're infuriating.

Infuriating, and yet he feels bad for pulling you around. He lowers his voice, softens his tone. "Sorry," he says. "I don't know why this happens, everytime I see you, I…"

You look intensely uncomfortable. "I have one of those faces, I guess." You shrug away from his reach. "Try to play well tomorrow? I don't want to go on to a dead crowd."

His mouth snaps closed. "If you need me to warm them up for you, just say that."

—

You go to watch Eddie's set because you're awful. You want it to suck. You want Corroded Coffin to bomb it and you want it to be his fault, anything to wipe that pretty smile off of his face, smother the electricity of his bouncing steps as he bounds from one side of the stage to the other. He's entranced by the crowd — it's hard not to be. Ananya had told you on the plane that UK festival audiences are a different kind of enthusiastic, eager and loud, and it's obvious now that she was right, and that Corroded Coffin had more than a few loyalists in the sea of people.

The barrier bends under the force of it, thousands of warm bodies throwing themselves against one another despite the terrible weather, mud to the shins and sliding. You've never seen so many people happy to be covered in dirt.

Neither Morgan nor Ananya had wanted to join you so you stick to the shadows with your lanyard pass. You refuse to think about why you've dressed the way you have, a black, stiff corset type top to cinch your chest, exposing the soft hills of your breasts, and the flare pants Morgan had insisted make your thighs acceptable. You're bedecked in pretty jewellery and your hair looks perfect, and it's all for your show, you swear, all for your set straight after his.

Eddie's dripping with sweat and rain at this point, darker curls wet and slick and sweet around his face. His brows are furrowed like he's in pain, and his thumb has split on the strings, blood like cherry juice running down the body of his guitar, a Warlock NJ Series electric with a red and black tortoise shell design. It shines like mother-of-pearl.

You're impressed by him, and worse, there's a heat stirring in your abdomen you despise. He's attractive, you've always thought him pretty, but on stage he's something else entirely. The passion transforms him, makes him a different person. No trace of agitating smugness about him.

And he's good. You're not a critic, an expert, and your opinion hardly matters, but if he's this good now you'd love to see him at Hammet's age, at Hanneman's. He could be one of the greats.

You're riddled with jealousy. Bass and rhythm guitar are not the same, and they're comparable in some ways, incomparable in others, but you know you're not like he is. You want to be the next Entwistle, the next Ian Hill, but practising You've Got Another Thing Comin' until your fingers bleed is never going to give you what Eddie plainly has.

You hide your bandaid covered fingers in your back pockets and shake your head. You can pinpoint the moment Eddie notices you on the side stage despite the small audience they've attained. His neck snaps to the side, and his eyes bore into yours for a split-second.

You could pretend you aren't here. If he ever calls you out on it, you could lie. You want me so bad you're seeing me places, Munson.

You don't do that.

You wave.

You've never been the prettiest girl. You know you aren't model material, people aren't shy about letting you know that, and so, you're practised in the art of quiet flirtation. Your wrist straight, you wiggle your fingers sweetly, a face of fresh make up and your sweetest smile, like he's a guy across the bar and you're trying to get a ride in his passenger seat.

For a split-second you adore him. It's the meanest thing you can do.

You aren't expecting him to fuck up. His hand slips down the neck and that's it, one missed second of sound. He throws himself back into it and doesn't look your way again, a storm of emotions clouding his handsome face.

Not what you'd meant to do, and yet. There's a cruel satisfaction in knowing you'd had any sort of power over him.

There's a ten minute gap between sets, twenty because of the shitty weather. Morgan and Ananya are nowhere to be seen as Corroded Coffin pour off of the stage and down the short stairwell where you're waiting, picking at your clear nail polish absentminded. You don't look up, and the resulting quiet makes you think they've all left.

A wooden board creaks.

You look up.

"Hey, you–"

Eddie takes your shoulder into his warm, big hand and pushes you back. You wobble and rush to correct your posture, hand clamping around the crook of his elbow. Even though he's soaked through, wet to the skin, his hand is a blistering heat.

Your shoulders collide with the wall under the stairwell. It's a snug fit, dark and out of view.

"What gives?" you seethe, pushing at his chest.

"You fucking–" Eddie tucks a lock of wet hair behind his ear, and his hand stays at that height, hovering between you. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"You want to mess with me, is that it?"

His hand takes to your face, index finger following the line of your cheek, his thumb along your jaw. He isn't kind. He isn't cruel. He's touching you, just touching you, and your mouth is bone dry at the sensation, the stuttering beat of your heart.

"I don't want to do anything to you, Munson."

"We both know that's not true." You've never heard his voice like this. It's scratchy– pleading. It's a desperation.

He's breathing hard. Your proximity means you feel each one as it comes, heat fanning over your lips. You look to his, find them parted, the barest hint of pearly teeth between pink dewy skin. They look soft.

You lift your chin.

I dare you.

His hand slides down. He presses his thumb into your bottom lip and inclines his head. You close your eyes, fine stands of his hair drawing lines of wetness against your face as he boxes you in.

"Are you going to–"

"Shut up," he says, crushing his lips to yours.

It his nose you feel more than anything, the force of it as he moves in, bridge sliding down your own. His hands, and how they tighten, fisted in the slope of your shoulder and clutching at the underside of your jaw like you might slip away. His touch brings you in, his hips force you back, wedging your spine tight to the panelled wall behind you.

You let him kiss you, let his lips work over yours, let him take what it is he wants. Your fingers slide softly up the chilled leather of his jacket, coveting the wet mess of his hair. You weave your fingers into it, their tips pressed to his roots, and pull him away.

You steal the gap between you and try to take control. You don't know how to kiss like he is, you don't know where all that meanness comes from. You force his hand from your face and nip at his bottom lip, imprecise, stammering pecks that reveal too much.

Eddie inhales hard, pulls the breath from your mouth.

"Don't play games," he says.

He presses a firm, hard kiss all lopsided into your lips and pulls away, yanking your hand from his hair and setting it against the line of his waist.

"You like games," you argue.

He tilts your head to one side a millimetre at a time, tilting his own to follow you. A teasing light burns behind his eyes, a playful flare of his lashes that worries and excites at once.

His thumb haunts the column of your throat, pressing, releasing, pressing again. Never enough to hurt.

"Stay still."

You stay still. You aren't expecting him to weave the other way, the hot and unapologetic scratch of his teeth against your pulse. You laugh at the feeling, find it gets all clogged up when he starts to bite. The hand that isn't anchoring your head roams down your shoulder, your back, falling into the small of it as though it were made to be there. His fingers spread and pull and your pelvis pushes hard into his own.

"Is that a–" You cough on your murmuring, chastened by his thumb outside your windpipe. "S'that a micronta quartz in your pocket, or are you just," —you hiss as his hickeying turns brutal, hand pawing ar his waist uselessly— "happy– Happy to see me?"

Your shuddering makes him smile. He lets your bruised skin slip from between his lips only to scandalise you further, kissing and nipping, licking a humiliating stretch until he's under your ear, speaking into it.

"I'm never happy to see you," he murmurs, hand turned, the back of his index knuckle stroking a tender back and forth. His forehead kisses your temple. "You should know that by now."

A picture of composure but you know what you feel. You roll your hips to revel in his subtle groan.

"You want me to mark up the other side?" he asks.

His question sounds so genuine, you almost say yes. He laughs at your silence and kisses wherever he can reach, crescent moons, spit-damp and branding.

He pauses to speak into the corner of your mouth. "Mess me up again during a set and I won't be this nice."

"You're not nice," you say, lashes skimming the skin under your brows as he stands at full height, widening the gap between you to a safe distance again.

"Exactly…" Eddie squeezes your cheek until it aches. His eyes are unreadable. "Have a good set, sweetheart."

Unreadable turns smug. He pats your panging cheek, gaze dancing over the sore stretch of your neck, and turns without a second glance.

You press the heel of your palm to the cold wall behind you and blink. Once. Twice. In that moment you hate him more than you've ever hated him, hate him like you've never hated anyone, because his retreating figure is unaffected, and you're dizzy with the lingering press of his lips.

You have to hand it to him. He's good at the game.

You'll have to be better.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

I wrote the bulk of this really quickly so please forgive any major errors I missed during editing, I’ll go back again in future and make more corrections! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and if you did please consider reblogging or telling me what you thought, I promise it makes a big difference <3 I was super nervous about this one and I still am lol

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sylasthegrim · 5 months

Text

The Silent Sister ✶ Chapter 1

King!Aemond Targaryen x Septa!Little sister

In an effort to keep her second daughter away from the court's schemes, Alicent sends the young Naerys to Oldtown. Raised to become a Septa, the girl is called back to King's Landing to marry her brother Aemond when he comes out the sole victor of the Dance of the Dragons.

Wordcount: 4,945

Tags: arranged marriage, p. in v. sex, religious themes, mutual yearning, misunderstanding

Masterlist

Chapter 1 ✶ The Veil of Duty

The Throne Room was eerily silent as Naerys stepped through its magnificent doors. She had never thought she would ever cross them again, and yet there she was, stepping under its arch and going down the stone steps that led into the large hall.

It was empty, void of any presence and any noise, and yet she felt as though a shadow was waiting for her as she made her way forward in slow, measured steps. Ahead of her, the Iron Throne loomed, frightening in the tragedy it carried.

Princess Naerys, child of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, their fourth child, born merely a year after the royal couple's second son Aemond, was now their last remaining daughter.

Her mother had sent her to Oldtown was she was barely a girl—she had learned to read and write upon her arrival, her greatest joy since the separation with her mother had been devastating, and her only enjoyment during childhood had been their letters.

As the years passed and she was raised in the Faith of the Seven, she found comfort in the rituals of prayers and good deeds, and the letters became fewer. The Queen had her own troubles to mind, and Naerys made sure to keep them in her prayers. Faith was her calling, as it was the only life she had ever known, and it made perfect sense to her that she would grow up to become a Septa.

It seemed the Gods had had a different plan for her, and as war broke out over the realm, one by one the Stranger came for her siblings, to the point that she became convinced she was next. And yet, as peace finally settled, there was still life in her and she was alone.

Alone, except for one. Her older brother Aemond, barely a year her senior, and now the undisputed King of the Seven Kingdom. From the moment she had learned of his survival, she had been filled with joy and sorrow both, as she knew what it meant for her future.

Naerys, daughter of Viserys and Alicent, would marry her brother Aemond and bring new life to the Targaryen Dynasty.

As the newly crowned king stepped into the Throne Room, he was struck by the sight he found.

It had been nearly a decade and a half since Aemond had set eyes on his younger sister Naerys. The last memory he had of her was that of a little girl dressed in gray, clutching their mother's dress, tears streaking her porcelain cheeks.

Now, she was as still as a statue, wearing the same dull shade of gray and a veil over her white locks, on her knees in front of the throne. Hands crossed over her lap, her head bowed, she seemed deep in prayer as her Sworn Shield was guarding her from an appropriate distance.

"Sister," Aemond called after a minute of silent observation, and he watched as her lashes fluttered before she raised her gaze to him.

Her eyes were clear, so much so that he felt he could gaze into her very soul as she rose gracefully. She took a few quiet steps towards him, and he met her halfway.

To his surprise, she lowered herself into a deep curtsy, her knee grazing the floor , and she held the position for a long second before standing again. She waited another heartbeat before tilting her chin and looking up at him.

Aemond was very much like he had been described to her on the way from Oldtown; tall and lean, with an elegance to the way he held himself, his arms crossed behind his back.

“My King,” Naerys greeted in a melodic tone that flowed through the silence hall, making Aemond shiver.

Despite his grief and his fury, he felt the tension in his bones loosen slightly at the sight of her and the sound of her voice; she was lovely and full of grace. She would make a fine queen, he decided.

Deep inside the pit of rage and sorrow that had taken residence behind his rib, it seemed part of him recognized her as kin even though they were strangers to one another, and it brought him a small amount of comfort.

“There is no need for such formality, Naerys,” he answered, his voice smooth like silk, and it drew a shy smile onto her face. Her eyes settled onto his properly and she nodded timidly. “You may call me Aemond,” he instructed and her smile grew.

“Of course, Aemond,” she replied with warmth and took his arm gratefully as he offered it.

Her guard followed them as he guided her through the hallways and stairways, walking her to her chambers in slow steps, accommodating her short strides and her distracted curiosity as she looked around.

“It must feel like an eternity since you stepped foot in these halls,” he remarked.

“To be honest, I barely remember it,” she confessed, and it made it hard to swallow for a moment.

He allowed her to stop as they arrived upon the first floor and she let go of his arm, walking to the railing of the round staircase and looking down, then up where the smoke of the chandeliers was rising in the air. It was as though she was walking these halls for the first time, although it had been the place of her birth, of her first steps and first words, of her first name days.

As she turned again to face him, Aemond hesitated, finding himself at a loss for words. He was weary these days, the end of the war bringing less peace than he'd have thought, and being back within the red brick walls was less of a comfort than he had anticipated.

The comfort of home was no more, and so had vanished the comfort of family—except for her, if she would allow it. She looked more of a Septa than a young woman, an austere look to her slender face, and Aemond felt guilty as having ordered her to be pulled from this life. She had still been a novice, barely of age, but her duty to the Crown came before her duty to the Starry Sept.

As the doors of her new chambers closed slowly behind her, Aemond's face disappearing behind the dark wood, Naerys released the breath she had been holding.

She reached for her chest, flattening her hand on it in an effort to calm her beating heart.

Looking around the chambers she would now call home, she recognized nothing; not the tapestries that hid the rugged stones, not the rugs that muted her steps, not the carefully arranged furniture.

It was made to be welcoming, as the bed was facing a seating area warmed by a large hearth where a blazing fire cast a glow upon the whole room, and tucked below an arch, a dining table was facing a large window where Blackwater Bay gleamed in the afternoon sun.

The colors were muted but the rooms were tidy and clean, and her trunk was waiting for her at the foot of the bed. Naerys sat upon it and toed off her shoes, heart in her throat—she closed her eyes as she settled her bare feet on the cold stones.

In the silence of her chambers, she prayed in murmurs, losing herself in the comforts of her Faith.

Naerys held onto her certainties all through the fourteen days that led to her wedding. When the day came, she was wed to Aemond according to the plans that had been discussed without her knowledge and the arrangements made without her accord.

Barely a fortnight after her arrival in the Red Keep, Naerys went from estranged siblings to husband and wife, and their whole world narrowed to the bond that now tied them together.

The ceremony was short and simple, but still tears rose to her eyes as she had recited the ancient vows. Her education had been strict and an emphasis on High Valyrian had been made, despite the fate that seemingly awaited her. Even if she had been raised to become a woman of the Faith, she still remained a Targaryen and carried their heritage in her blood.

"You seem preoccupied," Aemond remarked, offering her a cup of a rich, dark wine that permeated her senses for a second as she dipped her head to smell it.

"I have hardly seen you since coming here," she replied, eyes lowered to the deep pool of red.

"Do you lack company?"

"No," she answered simply. "I am accustomed to silence and loneliness, they are agreeable companions to me."

"What troubles you so, then?"

"As I said, I have hardly seen you and—" she trailed, unsure how to voice her concerns.

She knew it to be the lot of many ladies and young wives across the realm, to share little contact with their intended before the wedding; she should have felt fortunate that she knew her husband at all, that he was her brother and not some older lord who had bought her from her father through a handsome dowry.

"I thought it best to allow you space and peace,” Aemond answered, and his face was so contrite she could not find the words to rectify the misunderstanding. “I apologize if I offended you. I will not neglect you again."

"You did not,” she assured, but once again she lacked the words to reassure her husband. Perhaps the warmth of her embrace would serve this purpose better, and in that spirit she reached out to him, curling a hand around his forearm.

Aemond looked down at the touch and she allowed herself a simple caress, her thumb drawing soft circles on the thick material of his doublet. She wondered if he could feel it at all, but she supposed the intent mattered just as much.

"I realize you are as much a stranger to me as I am to you," Aemond said as he looked down, almost intrigued by the gentle gesture she was bestowing upon him. Her wrists and hands were small, thin, almost fragile as a bird.

"Indeed," she answered, her eyes still looking down at her own hand, as though the point of contact was the only thing anchoring her to the present. She appeared lost in thought, no doubt lost in a yearning for the past, or a future she would never have.

"I am sorry fate has brought you here and robbed you of the life you had been destined to," he said sincerely, but there was no reaction on her beautiful face; no smile, no tear, anger.

"The Gods deemed it so, and I go where they lead me," she replied, and Aemond was struck by her certainty. She seemed to find, if not comfort, purpose in her faith.

He sometimes wished he shared that same faith, those same beliefs, but the war had robbed him of every certainty he ever held, along with all the people he had been devoted to. Part of him knew it was his punishment for shedding the first blood—and now he suspected the second aspect of his torture would be to watch his sister be dragged down to his level.

"It is my understanding that you were betrothed to a daughter of house Baratheon, during the war?" she inquired as her hand slid down his arm and grazed his wrist.

"The betrothal could not be honored. Our house needs stronger blood," he replied through his shame.

"Indeed," she trailed again, then her eyes finally rose to his face again, and the neutral expression she always wore only served to push Aemond further into his misfortune.

She was beautiful and graceful, and for that he should have considered himself fortunate, but instead a dull ache that he knew to be the premise of self-loathing was filling his stomach at the thought of defiling such a pure creature.

Or perhaps it was shame at the pleasure he knew he would take in it.

"I am not sorry fate has brought me here," she said with a small smile, a clumsy attempt at reaching out to him with her words, but she instantly saw that they did not have the effect she hoped. "I have often been told that a dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing."

Aemond grew even more austere, his mouth curling unhappily as he brought his cup to his lips again, and Naerys felt her throat tighten again. "I am aware I am not the dragon queen you would have surely wished for yourself, but I will serve you well, you can rest assured of it,” she tried again, but Aemond didn’t answer her smile. Instead, he looked even more forlorn.

"Were you taught about wifely duties?" he asked almost curtly, finishing his wine in one gulp.

"I was taught how to become a teacher for noble ladies. I know what a lady's duties to her husband are," she replied just as curtly, and Aemond felt he had offended her with his question. As she had said, it seemed she preferred silence and tranquility.

As he put his cup down, she mirrored him, and without being prompted, she walked to the nearest dresser and reached up to tug at the pins keeping her veil in place. Her back to him, she unveiled her white hair, which had been styled in a simple braid that reached past her waist.

“Would you help me with my dress?” she asked over her shoulder, and Aemond stepped forward silently.

Without a word, he lifted her braid over her shoulder, and as she caught it, their fingers grazed. He reached for the clasp at the back of her collar, then popped the tight row of buttons until he came to the laces at the middle of her back.

As she reached back and took over, her slim fingers sliding through the laces with practiced ease as he turned his attention to his own clothes—the buckles were loud in the otherwise silent room.

Aemond turned as she reached down to remove her shoes and went to drape his doublet over the back of a chair and unlace his own boots. A steadying breath leaving his parted lips, he found his bare feet rooted to the cold stones as he turned to find Naerys entirely bare.

Standing in the nest of her unlaced clothes, she had draped her arms over her chest in shyness, baring the rest of her body to his gaze. Aemond licked his lip as he looked his fill, unable to tear his gaze off her pale skin, smooth porcelain stretched over thin bones, freckled with dark spots that he wished to follow with his mouth.

His loins stirred and the loneliness of the last two years of war made itself known.

Naerys' belly quivered under his intense gaze, and she swallowed nervously. She hoped Aemond was pleased with her appearance, although she couldn’t bring herself to reveal her breasts.

She shivered and tightened her ankles and knees, hoping to hide as much of her privacy as she could. She had never been taught to care for her body in a way that would keep it pleasing to a husband; it was a vessel for her soul, for her faith, and no more.

Now it had to be a cradle of pleasure, a source of relief for her husband's passions.

She knew it lacked the curves men enjoyed, as she was not one to indulge in luxurious foods, but in only enough to keep her body healthy. Her breasts were small and her hips bony, but she hoped the Gods would have granted her feminine parts pleasing to her husband between her thin thighs.

"You do not have to bare yourself to me," Aemond reassured her as he saw her tremble, aware that his tone was much colder than he had wished to make it, but he could not contain his own tension—he did not want to frighten her with his eagerness, but he was already straining against his trousers. "You may keep your shift."

"Of course," Naerys answered, pink staining her cheeks; she quickly reached down and pulled it back over her body, crossing her arms over her chest again. "How should—" she asked hurriedly, her voice quiet as a whisper.

"You may sit at the foot of the bed, and lay back," Aemond instructed as he unlaced his trousers and she obeyed, heart beating wildly in her chest.

The bed was soft but a bit cold under her as she laid on her back, her breathing deepening as she heard him walk towards her and she closed her eyes, her cheeks flushing. "I will guide you," Aemond said, his voice slightly strangled, and she nodded feebly, grateful for his offer. "You need only be patient, and it will be over soon."

"Thank you," she whispered, inhaling deeply as she felt Aemond part her knees and step between them. She shivered as rough fabric and soft flesh touched the inside of her thighs and one of her hands gripped the sheets at her side.

Naerys focused on her breathing and recited prayers to the Mother in her head, asking for her guidance and blessing as Aemond pressed against her—warm flesh came to rest against her, at her most intimate place and her mouth dropped in a silent gasp. She opened her eyes as she felt the bed dip and Aemond’s silky hair dropped around her like a veil.

He pressed himself closer and Naerys' thighs instinctively rose over his waist. The feeling of being in the cradle of her hips made him throb, and he hummed apologetically when she startled as his fingers grazed the inside of her thigh. She trembled slightly as he touched her most intimate place, searching with his fingers for her entrance.

He found it with surprising ease and she wondered how many women he had bedded before, how many had flushed and sighed in his embrace—she suddenly imagined a dark-haired woman, and her heart rose in her throat as she thought of the possibility that his betrothal with Lady Baratheon had been consummated.

She shook as he followed the crease between her folds and gently parted them—she never touched herself there, aware it was a place of sin and suffering, a place where men came to lose themselves, and a place where children came to the world in great screams.

Aemond grazed his fingers up and down her folds tentatively and Naerys gasped as he pressed gently at the top where they met and where a firm nub laid hidden beneath the thin skin. She angled her hips away, flushing in embarrassment as she shivered, oversensitive; she knew what pleasures her flower could bring, and that it could lead to great passion, but she was his wife and not a common girl brought to his bed to partake in sin.

Naerys pressed her lips together, closing her eyes again and hoping Aemond would not bring her down this path, debasing them both. She thanked the Mother as he abandoned his endeavor, his name passing her lips in a whisper when she felt a great pressure then a burning stretched as he pushed slowly inside.

Aemond groaned as she was tight and tense, and for a second he thought he wouldn't be able to enter her. He took a deep breath and used a bit more force, pushing his hips harder and eventually the pressure eased; he met a small resistance but he pressed on, and after a few shallow thrusts, he was buried completely inside of her.

Her breathing had turned erratic, quiet noises of distress coming from her, and her hand was fisted in the sheets tightly. "I would not hurt you," Aemond murmured, one of his hands coming to rest on hers.

"You're not hurting me," she lied, hoping to make him comfortable and spur him on. "It is merely... new."

She focused on controlling her breathing again, gripping her shift at her hip as he started thrusting into her, bringing his hips down purposefully but gently, mindful not to jostle her too much.

She was almost overwhelmingly tight around him and she made a choked noise every time he thrusted into her; he closed his eye and dropped his head in the crook of her neck, focusing on the tightness and pressure at the pit of his stomach.

To his shame, his need for release took over and he lost himself in the sensation, sparks of heat blooming in his abdomen, pressure building at the base of his spine—it would not take long, he knew. A familiar pull made itself known in the pit of his stomach, like a hook tugging at his lower abdomen, signaling the first waves that lead toward release.

His head spun with it and as her erratic breathing echoed in his ear and he held on to his composure for as long as he could, but the tight drag of her body around him proved to be too much quite quickly.

He warned her with a groan intended to be her name, and within a few seconds he spilled inside her with a quiet grunt followed by low hums as each wave of ecstasy passed through him.

It had happened so suddenly and had been so brief, Naerys could hardly comprehend what had taken place. Her core was throbbing in pain and she felt strangely empty—she would have thought the loss of her virginity would have been a revelation of some sort, or a tragedy, but instead it had been almost unnoticeable, save for the pain.

Quiet settled around them as Aemond focused on retaining his breath, then pushed himself up, slowly pulling out of her body, making her wince.

"The Maester will have brought tea and an ointment for the pain to your chambers," Aemond said as he pushed himself up from the bed, lacing his trousers with quick, practiced movements.

Naerys sat up almost too quickly and her head spun. She pulled her shift back over her legs, tears burning her eyes, although she could not say why.

"May I take my leave?" she pleaded, great sobs making her chest tremble and her throat constrict, but she would not allow herself to cry in front of her husband.

The wife to a king needed to be noble and strong, and she would not shame him with such weakness. To her relief, Aemond nodded his ascent and she forced herself to walk to the door in measured steps, the stones almost freezing under her feet.

"Good night, your grace," she murmured before she opened the door, and as she stepped into the cold hallway, she was relieved to find a young maid waiting with a robe for her.

Upon arriving in her chambers, she collapsed to her knees in front of her bed, and joining her hand in fervent prayer, let the storm of her anguish wrack her body.

As the days passed, the morose atmosphere in the Red Keep did not lift as the lords and councilors had hoped. Instead, a heavy fog seemed to have settled over the hallways, and where the young Naerys and her ladies went, no ray of sun appeared.

"How are the queen's moods?" Tyland Lannister inquired one morning as the Small Council discussed matters of the Targaryen dynasty. They had received word that Baela Velaryon had married to a cousin of hers, and they expected the good news that a child with pure Valyrian blood would be born within the next two years.

"They are stable and she shows no outward sign of distress," the man said politely.

"She still wears a veil and walks the ground as though she is some kind of spirit haunting them," the lion lord said with a mocking edge to his tone.

"Let us not forget that as of a few moons ago, she was a Septa."

"A novice," another councilor corrected.

"A woman of the faith, nonetheless," the Maester insisted, but before he could add anything more to his defense of the queen, the king walked through the large doors of the Council Chambers.

Although they all rose and greeted him with respect, Aemond did not answer and instead walked to his chair and sat down solemnly, his thoughts preoccupied with what his men surely had been discussing.

"Is the Queen settling well?" he inquired, eager to close the topic and move on to graver matters. The lords watched him in silence for a moment, no doubt thinking that as the king, he ought to be privy to his wife's mood.

The obvious failure that was the few days of his marriage burned the back of his throat and he waited for the answer.

"She seems to be struggling," Tyland finally said, almost hesitantly.

"Might I suggest a course of action that will certainly help her grace settle in her new role and environment?" Lord Royce Caron proposed.

"I'm listening," Aemond said.

"The Queen's household is currently composed of Septas. It is my certainty that replacing them with ladies of the court, wives or daughters of prominent lords of the kingdom would lift the young queen's spirits and assist her in her duties.

"See it done," Aemond ordered swiftly and the old lord nodded, and the whole Council seemed relieved that the matter had been resolved, and they could move on to more concrete matters, such as finances.

As the day progressed, Aemond's own mood did not lift. He was still preoccupied by Naerys. From what was reported to him, it seemed the young woman spent her days in prayer and had no interest in duties she could attend to.

Aemond was still struck by the way she had left his chambers hurriedly after the consummation of their union—he had not expected overt warmth or interest in closeness, but the sight of her on the verge of tears had anchored his self-loathing.

Therefore, he had not called upon her again despite the loneliness that tugged at his chest and the deep wish he had of being pleasing to her. She was his wife, and his first duty as husband was ensuring the flourishing of their marriage, a task he seemed particularly unsuited for.

As the hour of supper came to a close and the young king was readying himself for rest, hoping to lose himself in a book of histories before slumber eventually took over his weary bones, a quiet knock was heard at his door.

He called the prospector inside, hoping it was not a lord's squire informing him of unrest or a political matter that required his attention as it had happened in the recent past.

But instead it was the subject of his thoughts that walked through the door, dressed in a pale blue robe, a polite greeting on her lips.

“Naerys,” he said in surprise. “Is there anything the matter?”

“No,” she replied tentatively, crossing her wrists in front of her. “You haven’t called on me once since we wed, but it was my understanding that—”

Her breath lingered in the air as she searched for his words, but Aemond had understood what her intent was. To his shame, pressure tugged between his legs and the day's tensions made themselves known. In that instant, the book seemed like a poor solution for his preoccupied mind, and the softness of her skin called to him.

“I was wondering if you required my presence,” she said with her eyes lowered. “In your bed.”

Heat crawled up his spine and he shivered, arousal curling in the pit of his stomach. He longed for a familiar touch, for proximity with his own blood, but instead of a sister where he could find solace, he was faced with a young woman that bore him no affection nor interest.

Yet he knew what his duty was, and the reason why she had been called to the capital. It was best to get her with child as soon as possible, to spare her the pain and discomfort.

“It’s considerate of you. You may lie on the bed," Aemond instructed, and she repeated the motions she had done on the night of their wedding.

She contemplated the ceiling as Aemond laid atop her, the smell of musk and dragon permeating her sense, and she tried to find comfort in prayers as the act took place.

As she walked back to her rooms after the act was completed, she tried to make sense of her hardships. She had lost her purpose, but holding on to her faith she had hoped this marriage would bring forth another purpose, one that would fill her with pride and joy. Instead she was more alone than ever, bound to a man that had no interest in her.

She was his blood, but nothing more.

In his own chambers, Aemond laid across the sheets that had been soiled by their duty and he wondered whether he had made the right choice in selecting her as his bride. Longing tugged at his chest and so did shame and pain—which he saw reflected on her own face every time he laid eyes on her.

Naerys was seemingly too pious to resent him, but he would still allow her as much quiet and peace as he could.

Perhaps it was the punishment for his sins, to have shackled himself in a marriage where he would never find love and passion—but he would rather spend the rest of his life making amends for his crimes in utter loneliness than see her suffer his company.

Dividers by @saradika

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