#never doing a challenge again xx

[skzstarl0ver]

One Bed, Two Problems

Jeongin x reader / enemies to lovers / only one bed / smut / possessive!Jeongin

**involves!!** sex, dirty talk, cursing, rough sex, Insulting / pain kink, cursing

enjoy xx (open for request)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

You don’t remember when exactly it started — this thing between you and Jeongin.

Maybe it was that first time he rolled his eyes at something you said during a game night, or the way he’d always challenge you on the most mundane things. What movie to watch. Who made the best ramen. The right way to fold laundry. Every moment between you turned into a petty argument — but the weird part?

It never really pissed you off. It exhilarated you. You craved it.

Which is why this trip with the friend group was already risky. You didn’t need to be around Jeongin for seven straight days, sharing vans and meals and long stares across group dinners. But you never expected this.

“We have a little mix-up in the booking,” the hotel receptionist said sweetly. “Looks like… one bed in the room for you two.”

Jeongin laughed. Actually laughed. And that smug little dimple popped.

“Perfect,” he said. “Y/N snores anyway. I’ll suffer through it.”

You spun toward him. “I do not snore.”

“Sure, baby. Whatever gets you through the night.”

You could’ve punched him right there. Instead, you grabbed the key and stormed off.

Now it’s 12:37 a.m. and you're lying as close to the edge of the bed as humanly possible, gripping your phone like it’s a lifeline.

Jeongin is on the other side — same position. Same tension. Same awareness.

Every rustle of the sheets feels like an earthquake.

You toss onto your back and exhale sharply. “Can you stop moving?”

“I’m not moving.”

“You’re breathing loud.”

“It’s called being alive, princess.”

You groan, covering your face with your arm. “I hate this.”

He chuckles under his breath, voice low and far too hot in the dark. “No you don’t.”

You peek at him. “Excuse me?”

“You love fighting with me,” he says lazily, one arm tucked behind his head. “You’d be bored if I stopped.”

You roll your eyes. “Trust me, I dream of silence.”

He hums. “Do you dream of me too?”

That silences you.

For a full beat, neither of you says a word.

“…You wish,” you finally murmur.

But it comes out too soft. Too shaky. And he hears it.

He shifts, and you feel the bed dip as he turns onto his side to face you.

“You know what I think?” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You don’t breathe.

“I think you hate me because you can’t stand how badly you want me.”

Your chest tightens. Your heart is racing, hammering. You can’t look at him.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice brushing the shell of your ear, “if I was flattering myself, you’d be begging already.”

You turn, ready to throw another insult, but the words die the second you meet his eyes.

God. His face is so close. Lips parted. Eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. That cocky confidence is still there, but it’s coated with something else now.

Desire.

Raw and real and hungry.

“You want me to shut up?” he whispers.

You swallow hard.

“Then make me.”

You don’t know who moves first — maybe both of you. Maybe the universe finally snapped and said enough — but your lips crash like a storm.

It’s not sweet. It’s heat. Tongues, teeth, years of teasing and tension unraveling all at once. His hands tangle in your hair, your fingers clutch his hoodie like you need something to anchor you. Every kiss is a battle and a surrender all at once.

When you break apart, breathless, his forehead presses to yours.

“I knew it,” he whispers.

“You’re so cocky,” you pant.

“You like it.”

You kiss him again just to shut him up. This time slower. More desperate. You feel his hand slide under your shirt, warm against your skin, and your breath catches.

“I should hate you,” you whisper.

He smirks against your throat. “You do.”

“But I want you.”

“I know.”

You don’t remember who yanked whose shirt off first.

All you know is that one second you were clawing at each other’s clothes like animals, and the next he had you pinned to the mattress, body heavy over yours, lips swollen from kissing you stupid.

“You gonna whine the whole time?” he growls, dragging his mouth along your jaw.

You squirm beneath him. “Depends. You gonna fuck like you argue?”

His smirk is pure sin. “You want me to be nice?”

“God, no.”

He grins — but it’s feral now. Dangerous.

“Good,” he mutters, “because I don’t do nice with brats like you.”

His hand wraps around your throat — not tight, just enough to make you freeze. To make your breath hitch.

“Always mouthing off,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “Always so fucking annoying. You need to be put in your place.”

And then his mouth is on yours again, biting, claiming, owning.

You gasp as he flips you over, chest to the bed now, his weight pressing you down. You feel his teeth scrape your shoulder, and you moan — loud, shameless.

“You like that?” he whispers, fingers sliding between your legs. “Didn’t think a stuck-up princess like you could be so wet for someone she ‘hates.’”

“I do hate you,” you breathe.

He laughs against your skin, nipping your ear.

“Liar.”

You feel him rutting against your ass, hard through his boxers, and you push back just to feel him groan.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So desperate. So cocky all day, and now you’re just begging for it.”

You try to turn your head but he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking it back — just enough to make you moan again.

“Say it,” he growls.

You shiver. “Say what?”

“That you want me. That you need me.”

You grit your teeth. “Never.”

He laughs again — dark and low and absolutely wrecking you.

“Fine,” he mutters, lining himself up behind you. “I’ll fuck the truth out of you.”

And when he thrusts in, hard and deep, your brain short-circuits.

You cry out into the pillow, hands clawing at the sheets. He doesn't give you time to adjust — and you don’t want it. You want it raw. You want it rough. You want him.

Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs. He leans down, chest to your back, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

“You take me so well,” he growls. “Bet you’ve thought about this every night after we argued, huh? Bet you played with yourself thinking about how good I’d fuck you.”

You moan, helpless.

“Oh my god—”

“What was that?” he taunts. “No more snarky comebacks now?”

He reaches down, fingers circling your clit while he keeps thrusting. You arch like a live wire, crying out for him. Your entire body trembles.

“You close already, baby?” he whispers in your ear. “I’m not even close to done.”

You choke on a moan, tears pricking your eyes.

“Fuck, Jeongin—!”

“Say it,” he demands again, voice sharp.

Your pride is barely holding on — but your body? Your body is screaming for him.

“I need you,” you finally cry. “F-fuck—please—Jeongin—”

He groans at that, slamming into you harder, relentless. You’re so close it’s painful.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, watching your body quake beneath him. “My bratty little problem. So fucking perfect like this.”

His hand grabs your jaw, turning your face toward him just enough so he can kiss you while you fall apart.

And when you do, it’s earth-shattering.

You moan his name like a prayer, like a curse, and he follows with a low growl of your name, burying himself deep, shaking against you as he loses control.

The room is filled with panting, sweat, tangled sheets, and the aftershock of a storm you both saw coming — but still couldn’t prepare for.

You're still catching your breath when he pulls out, breath heavy, hand sliding slowly down your back. You're both slick with sweat, clothes tossed somewhere across the room, and your thighs are still trembling.

You don’t speak — you can’t. Your brain is fogged with pleasure and chaos and something dangerous that tastes a lot like need.

Jeongin lies beside you, propped on one elbow, staring. His skin is flushed, hair a mess, lips red from kissing — and biting.

“Didn’t think you’d actually say it,” he says finally, voice rough.

You blink at him.

“Say what?”

“That you needed me.”

You scoff, rolling to your side, back to him. “Shut up.”

He smirks — you can hear it.

“You’re such a brat.”

You’re about to shoot back something petty — “At least I’m not obsessed with me.” — but then he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you effortlessly onto your back.

You yelp. “Jeongin—!”

“I’m not done with you,” he growls.

Your breath catches. Your legs fall open without permission.

“You came so pretty for me,” he mutters, dragging his fingers down your inner thigh. “But I want to see you fall apart again. I wanna see how messy I can make you.”

You swallow hard. “Again?”

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, “you started this.”

And then he’s kissing you again — deeper this time. Less anger, more claiming. Like he needs to remind you who you just begged for.

His tongue slides into your mouth as his fingers slip between your legs — still so sensitive, so soaked — and you whimper instantly.

“Still wet for me?” he teases.

“I hate you,” you breathe.

He smiles darkly. “No you don’t.”

Two fingers push in deep. Your back arches. You gasp.

“You love this,” he says, voice like gravel. “Love being split open by the guy you pretend to hate.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

“You like when I treat you like a toy, don’t you?”

You whine.

“You like it when I ruin you.”

You don’t answer — can’t — because his mouth is moving lower now, trailing kisses down your chest, nipping a path along your ribs, licking the sensitive spot just beneath your breast.

Then lower.

And lower.

And you already know what’s coming.

But when his tongue touches you — slow, deliberate, possessive — your hips jerk off the bed.

“Fuck—Jeongin—!”

His hands grip your thighs tight, holding you in place.

“Don’t run,” he murmurs. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He eats you like he’s starving — like he’s addicted. Like every moan out of your mouth makes him harder.

And god, he’s relentless.

He flattens his tongue, circles your clit, then sucks — and you almost scream.

“Jeongin—oh my god—”

Your fingers knot in his hair, pulling — but he just groans into you, the vibration making your vision blur.

“You’re gonna come again,” he growls. “Right on my face. Like the needy little problem you are.”

You do. Harder than the first time. Writhing, sobbing, wrecked.

But before you can even come down, he’s crawling back up, lips shiny, eyes dark.

“You’re not done,” he says.

You blink. “I—”

He kisses you, slow and filthy. “I’m not done.”

You feel him line up again, and this time, he doesn’t ease in. He slams into you in one long stroke, and your mouth drops open in a silent moan.

“Jeongin—please—”

“Yeah?” he pants. “What do you want?”

“You—fuck—you—harder—”

He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, and starts pounding.

The bed creaks.

Your cries echo.

And Jeongin just keeps going.

“Mine,” he grits. “You’re mine tonight. Say it.”

You sob, body barely holding on.

“*Yours—*fuck—I’m yours—”

“Good fucking girl.”

And that’s when you snap.

You fall apart beneath him — again — tighter, messier, more ruined than before. He curses, stutters a breath, and follows, hips jerking, burying himself deep.

You both collapse in silence.

Breathless.

Shaking.

Destroyed.

_

You wake up to the worst sound imaginable.

Knocking. Loud. Rapid. Too damn early.

“Rise and shine, lovebirds!” Chan’s voice calls from the hallway, sing-songy and unforgiving.

Jeongin groans from behind you, burying his face between your shoulder blades. “I hate him.”

You whisper, “He doesn’t know—right?”

“Not unless you screamed really loud.”

You punch his arm. He just laughs.

But panic is very real now. You sit up, immediately clutching the blanket to your chest.

“Jeongin. What if someone heard us? What if they know?”

He props himself up on one elbow, messy hair, lips swollen, the faintest bite mark still on his neck.

“Then let them.”

You gape at him. “What happened to keeping it lowkey?!”

He grins, stretching. “You’re the one who said ‘Jeongin, harder, please—’”

“JEONGIN.” You throw a pillow at his face, shrieking.

He catches it, laughing as he drags you back into the sheets.

“I’m kidding. Relax,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss behind your ear. “We’re cool.”

Spoiler alert: You are NOT cool.

20 Minutes Later — Downstairs at Breakfast

You walk into the hotel café like you’ve never sinned a day in your life.

You are showered, dressed, dead-eyed, and pretending like Jeongin didn’t have you folded in half against a headboard exactly eight hours ago.

But the second you slide into the booth with the rest of the group, all conversation stops.

Chan stares at you.

Felix blinks.

Hyunjin looks between you and Jeongin like he’s watching a reality show finale.

“So,” Minho says, sipping his coffee, eyes sharp. “Sleep well?”

You almost choke on your orange juice.

Jeongin clears his throat and starts buttering a croissant like it’s a weapon.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Normal. Totally average.”

Seungmin raises a brow. “Right. Because totally average sleep ends with you wearing his hoodie to breakfast.”

You glance down. Shit.

Jeongin looks up with the fakest innocence you’ve ever seen. “Oops.”

Felix leans in, chin resting on his hands. “You guys were fighting so much yesterday. But now you’re all…” he gestures vaguely between you, “glowy.”

“Did you guys…” Hyunjin pauses. “Work out your tension?”

Minho: “With communication? Or—”

Jeongin: “—Body language.”

You whip your head around. “OH MY GOD.”

The entire table bursts into screaming laughter.

“You guys totally fucked!” Chan yells, slapping the table. “I knew it!”

“I heard moaning,” Hyunjin gasps.

“I thought someone was being murdered,” Seungmin adds casually.

You hide your face in your hands. “I am never showing my face again.”

But then you feel it — Jeongin’s hand slipping under the table, resting on your thigh. Quiet. Comforting. Yours.

And you peek at him. He’s smiling down at his plate, cheeks a little red, but eyes only on you.

He squeezes your leg gently.

And suddenly?

The shame melts away.

Because this isn’t just about last night anymore.

This is about what’s next. (pt.2??)

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while working on the case and watching a certain profiler with pretty eyes and a well-tailored coat, you overhear some local cops badmouthing him — and before you know it, you decide to put them in their place.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, unpleasant comments about spencer’s looks and behavior, diva is so diva he should marry her right now fr and hold my hand while i say this and don’t panic joke about morgan's baldness...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.8k

𝐚/𝐧: request | i was too much of a lazy bitch to make a header sorry i hope his pretty face makes up for it xx

“How are you feeling out in the field?”

Morgan addressed you with his arms loosely crossed over his chest and a slightly teasing expression on his face. You slowly shifted your gaze to him.

“Absolutely fantastic,” you replied flatly, adjusting your grip on the handle of the umbrella resting against your side. Through the tree canopies spreading above your heads, patches of gray clouds broke through, now and then releasing a few drops as a warning of the real downpour to come. “I love nature.”

He nodded ironically, clearly unconvinced.

“Of course,” he said. “Do you love the mud on your boots too?”

Almost exactly as those words left his mouth, several large raindrops tapped against his FBI jacket, followed immediately by more, falling with even greater intensity. Your friend raised his eyes to the sky, pressing his lips together in displeasure. Rainy weather always made working at a crime scene harder—securing the body and protecting biological and chemical evidence. And collecting the latter was already challenging given the location: a truly remote, densely overgrown spot in the forest, impossible to access by police vehicles. Those had been left at the end of the forest path, as far in as they could get, and you’d been led to the exact place where the latest victim of the serial killer had been found by local officers.

“I’m about to have mud on my boots,” you remarked, already imagining what would happen to the already damp ground after even just a few minutes of such heavy rain. The conditions you encountered had been predictable, so you had chosen footwear suited to them—stylish boots that also perfectly complemented the rest of your outfit. But then again, that was nothing unusual. Even if you had to evacuate during a volcanic eruption, you’d grab something you wouldn’t be ashamed to have melted into your skin by lava.

You opened the umbrella, which had until then been resting with its tip on the ground. Derek took a step toward you, premature gratitude written all over his face—so you stepped back instead, the corners of your mouth curling up mischievously.

“What? Worried about your hair?”

Morgan shook his bald head from side to side, sighing.

“You little witch—”

“Morgan!”

Hotch’s voice called out to you from a not particularly great distance. Even he—who normally never parted with his suit—was now wearing a brown fleece with a high collar and was currently overseeing the setup of a police tent over the recovered body to protect it from the rain.

Derek gave you a nod in farewell, ending the brief chat, but you didn’t even follow him with your eyes. Your gaze remained fixed in Hotch’s direction—or more precisely, on the member of his team who had just approached him. What immediately caught your attention was that Reid was wearing a very well-tailored coat (a detail that made you purse your lower lip in approval, because well tailored coats did have something about them), and he had just begun explaining something, as usual gesturing animatedly with his hands—now covered in blue rubber gloves, lightly dusted with dark soil.

Focused on whatever fascinating theory or analysis he was sharing, he seemed completely unaware of at least half of his gestures, absentmindedly rubbing his chin with the dirty glove in concentration—naturally leaving a mark on his skin.

You rolled your eyes at the sight, but there was something surprisingly gentle in that gesture. You turned the handle of the umbrella in your hand, which also rested on your shoulder—and then the corner of your ear caught a scrap of conversation happening behind your back. Even without turning your head, just by slightly focusing your hearing, you could tell it was coming from two of the local officers also present at the scene.

“Where do you think they even dug him up from?” asked the first male voice mockingly.

“Which one?” the second sounded confused, but a moment later let out a derisive snort. “Alright, don’t even tell me. I already know who you mean.”

Laughter. Real kings of comedy, truly.

“I wonder what he’s even doing in the FBI. I mean, they’ve got to have some kind of fitness tests, right? What’s a beanpole like that even good for?”

“I’ll tell you what he’s good for—pissing everyone off with his babbling. Just look at the other guy’s face.”

Following the suggestion, you looked at the other guy’s face. That, of course, meant Hotch’s face—there was no doubt who the first part of that pathetic, taxpayer-funded conversation had been about. You studied the BAU chief’s expression more closely and didn’t detect a hint of irritation or weariness at whatever Spencer was explaining to him. Hotch simply looked like Hotch.

Your observation was interrupted by the approach of one of your team members, the hood of her raincoat pulled tightly around her head and her glasses nearly completely covered in rain.

“We’re going to have to go back to the car for the equipment,” she informed you, adjusting her glasses on her nose with a sigh the moment she looked toward the path you had come from earlier. That meant quite a bit of walking through muddy terrain, carrying rather heavy items—always packed in sturdy cases for safety reasons.

A certain thought popped into your head, and with a smile creeping onto your lips, you calmed Olivia with a wave of your hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. The woman frowned suspiciously as you turned over your shoulder toward the two men behind you. “Gentlemen, could I ask you for a favor?”

They stared at you for a beat too long, then at each other—and then eagerly stepped forward to fulfill the favor, whatever it was.

“Of course...”

“Anything you wish...”

You cleared your throat.

“You’ll go and bring back the case with number two on it,” you instructed.

Olivia furrowed her brows and parted her lips to protest, but you silenced her with just a look.

“But you need to be extremely careful,” you continued smoothly, “so, very slowly. Ideally, carry it together—for stability.”

The men listened with rapt attention and visible determination to follow your directions. Which, of course, were nonsense—one person could easily carry it alone. But trying to do it as a pair would stretch the trip out nicely in all that rain and mud. Then, well, they were gone, like children you’d promised candy to.

It was so very typical of the kind of men you made use of—just as typical as their pitiful little sense of being useful, irreplaceable.

You watched them vanish between the trees, and when your gaze met Olivia's again, her face showed both surprise and a certain intrigue.

“But we need case number three,” she pointed out, correctly.

You opened your mouth in exaggerated disbelief.

“Really…? Oh, Olivia, why didn’t you say so earlier,” you sighed, making it clear that the whole thing had been a game from the start.

The woman stayed silent for a moment, genuinely trying to figure out your intentions. She gave up shortly after, shaking her head with a sigh.

“And what kind of sadist are you playing today?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” you assured her.

The officers returned, lugging the wrong case and looking like wet dogs, their hair plastered to their foreheads from the rain, which had only intensified since they’d left. They set it down in front of you and Olivia, both sheltered under the umbrella you were holding, visibly relieved they hadn’t dropped it.

You waited a few seconds, during which they stood silently, clearly expecting some kind of eternal gratitude, before raising an eyebrow.

“I said case number three.”

They exchanged a look.

“Um, I’m pretty sure you said the one with number two on it.”

“Um, sounds like you’ve got a hearing problem,” you snapped, sharper than you’d intended, the words slipping out before you could stop them

It wasn’t something you’d planned from the start, and for a second, you were secretly surprised at yourself. But since sharpness and spite had apparently chosen you today, you decided to stick with that version of events and made sure your face reflected the proper level of displeasure.

Olivia glanced sideways at you for a long moment, then nodded with faux certainty.

“Yeah, she definitely said case number three. You must’ve misheard. Not your fault, maybe it was the rain,” she offered in a more sympathetic tone, though still fully backing your story.

The men exchanged confused looks, now with a flicker of doubt that maybe it had been their mistake. So, off they went again—to return the wrong case and fetch the correct one. When they finally disappeared, you gave Olivia a small, grateful smile.

Only to immediately wipe it off your face as the dumbasses reappeared, and declare:

“And what about my handbag? I told you to bring that too.”

And what amused you the most was that the two of them only started showing any suspicion or doubt after their third trek through the rain and mud. Frustration flashed in one of their eyes as he handed you your handbag.

“Was this really necessary for working the case?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Unbothered, and with their eyes still on you, you calmly reached into the bag for your compact mirror and lipstick, touching up your makeup with the faintest swipe.

“No,” you replied, snapping the mirror shut. “But at least you were useful for something. There’s no intellectual work here for two such empty heads, so you might as well make use of those muscles.” You gave them a critical once-over with that last word—because honesty, their physiques weren’t all that impressive either.

They stared at you in complete stupefaction before walking off, muttering something under their breath about a crazy bitch. Well, you had no intention of wasting another word on them. Another thing you had no intention of doing was explaining the entire ordeal to the clearly intrigued Olivia. And the main reason for that was the fact that you hadn’t fully rationalized it to yourself. Maybe you were just running on a higher than usual dose of spite that day.

Maybe there was another reason entirely.

Shortly afterward, Reid approached you, preoccupied with peeling off his latex gloves, only glancing at you with brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Is it just me, or did you send these guys to the cars three times?” he asked.

You merely gave a slight shrug.

“That’s what happens when you have trouble following instructions,” you remarked simply.

And before walking off to rejoin your team, you reached up and wiped that smudge of dirt from his chin with your thumb—the one you'd spotted earlier—leaving him, to put it mildly, completely stunned.

[rootedinrevisions]

Terrified to Lose You

Summary: It was supposed to be nothing—just one reckless night to get each other out of their systems before he shipped out. But when cocky, insufferable Jake Seresin lets his guard down, and she lets herself lean in, the lines between want and something deeper start to blur. With the weight of tomorrow pressing in and unspoken feelings lingering between them, neither is ready to admit just how much this night really means. Because once the sun rises, he’s gone and there are no guarantees he’s coming back.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Sexual Content/Smut. Strong Language, Military Themes (Looming Deployments, Uncertainty of Returning from Deployments, etc.)

Word Count: 9,514

Author’s Note: This is a combination of a request I received for enemies to lovers with Jake Seresin. As well as the @elixirfromthestars writing challenge using the song Death Wish Love by Benson Boone from the Twisters soundtrack…but using it for the Top Gun: Maverick Fandom instead. Hope you guys like it! xx

The Hard Deck is buzzing with the usual chatter, but there’s an edge to it tonight. The music is a little too loud, and the pool tables are too noisy, but no one is really having fun. Not tonight.

The squad has gathered, everyone gathered around the bar, half-heartedly pretending to be relaxed. The pitchers of beer on every table are the only thing that seems to lighten the mood, but it’s forced. 

Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow evening Coyote, Hangman, Rooster, Payback, Fanboy, Phoenix, and Bob head out for a mission they’ve been preparing for for weeks. There’s a lingering sense that no one knows exactly what’s waiting for them on that aircraft carrier.

Coyote and Rooster are at the pool table, the clack of cues against balls filling the space. Payback, Fanboy, Phoenix, and Bob are crowded around one of the tables laughing at some half-hearted joke. But even they can’t ignore the quiet weight of what’s coming. The deployment is looming, the jet engines roaring in their minds even as they try to unwind, and everyone knows that tonight could be the last time they are all together.

But you? You’re on the outside looking in. You had been on the shortlist. Had been the key phrase. Your name was in the mix for this mission, and for a moment it felt like you would finally get your shot. Then the final call came, and you weren’t picked. The rejection stings more than it should, but you push it down. You try to drown it in a gulp of your drink.

You shouldn’t be bitter. They chose who they thought was right for the mission, but that doesn’t stop the resentment from bubbling up in your chest.

Then of course there’s Jake. He's sitting at the bar, that cocky smirk never leaving his face. Even as the weight of tomorrow presses on him too. His eyes flicker toward you once in a while, the usual game between you two never stopping. There’s always a silent challenge in the air when the two of you are in the same room.

Even now, with everything so tense, you can feel his gaze like a weight on your back.

“Stop staring, Hangman,” you mutter to yourself, but you know he’s already aware.

You shift on your stool, and a sudden urge to leave this place sweeps over you. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You should be out there with them preparing for the mission. Not stuck watching them go off and do it while you sit on the sidelines.

And yet, every time you turn your head, you catch his eye again. That infuriating, self-assured smirk.

He tipped his beer toward you. "Gonna miss me when I’m gone, sweetheart?"

You scoffed, reaching for your own drink. "I don’t even like you when you’re here, Hangman."

A chorus of groans erupted from the group.

"For the love of God," Phoenix muttered, rubbing her temples like she was developing a headache. "Just fuck already and put us out of our misery."

Bob sipped his drink and shook his head. "I’d rather not have to witness that, actually."

You rolled your eyes. "As if."

Hangman, the smug bastard, winked at you like he knew something you didn’t.

You gasped, feigning outrage, which only made his grin widen. "You are unbelievable."

"And you," he countered, voice dipping just enough to make your pulse skip, "love it."

Your lips parted, ready to fire back, but the weight of everyone’s eyes on you made you hesitate. It wasn’t the first time the team had accused you two of having some kind of unresolved tension, but the last thing you wanted to do was give them more fuel for the fire.

So, instead of acknowledging the warmth creeping up your neck, you simply took another sip of your drink and turned away. Hangman let out a quiet chuckle, low and knowing, and you knew this wasn’t over.

A few hours passed, The Hard Deck was nearly empty now, and the warm hum of conversation long faded. Penny wiped down the bar, occasionally glancing your way, but she knew better than to interfere. Everyone else had trickled out, heading back to base or wherever else they were spending their last night before deployment. 

But you were still here. And so was Hangman.

He leaned against the wall near the back pool tables, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you like he had all the time in the world. That infuriating smirk of his hadn’t wavered, even as exhaustion tugged at the edges of the night.

"You worried about me, darlin’?" he drawled, voice low, lazy like he already knew the answer.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as something inside you twisted tight. "I don’t have the energy to waste worrying about you."

That should have been the end of it. But of course, it never was.

Hangman pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward you. His eyes glinted, sharp and knowing. 

"That’s a lie."

Your jaw clenched. His confidence was insufferable, unbearable even. Because it wasn’t just arrogance. It was accuracy. It was him knowing you better than he should, seeing things you weren’t ready to admit.

The pressure building in your chest needed somewhere to go, so you shoved at him. Hard. Your palms met the solid plane of his chest, and even though he barely budged, it made you feel like you had some kind of control over the situation.

You turned on your heel, needing distance, needing air. Footsteps followed, steady and unhurried. 

"You know what your problem is?"

You didn’t stop walking, didn’t answer. But when you heard him getting closer, and felt the heat of his presence just behind you, you couldn’t stop yourself from turning back around, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Oh, please, enlighten me," you snapped.

He was right there. Close enough that the scent of his cologne curled around you. Close enough that his breath, slow and even, ghosted against your skin. The space between you had evaporated, leaving nothing but heat and the heavy weight of everything unspoken.

"You talk a big game," he murmured, voice low and edged with something that made your stomach tighten. "But you don’t know what to do when someone calls your bluff."

The words hit like a challenge. And for the first time all night, you didn’t have a comeback.

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster than you wanted to admit. He always did this. Pushed you right to the edge, just to see if you’d jump. And God help you, but you always did.

"Fuck you, Seresin."

He grinned, but this time, there was something sharper behind it, something more dangerous. "Yeah? Say that again."

Your teeth clenched as you shoved him, both hands flat against his chest. He barely moved, but the warmth of his body beneath your palms sent a jolt through you, one you refused to acknowledge.

"I swear to God if you don’t back off—"

"Or what?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it, something dark and crackling in the air between you.

You were breathing hard now, but so was he.

"You drive me fucking crazy," you gritted out.

Jake huffed a short laugh, tilting his head. "Likewise, sweetheart."

Silence. Charged. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, and without thinking, you wet them. It was the smallest movement, but he caught it. Of course, he did.

And then he moved.

His hands were on your face, fingers pressing into your jaw as his lips crashed into yours, hard and desperate, like he’d been holding back for way too long. There was nothing soft about it, nothing careful. It was fire and fury, an explosion of everything you’d been choking down for months.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands found his hair, twisting and pulling, nails scratching just to get a reaction. And God, did you get one.

Jake groaned into your mouth, deep and raw, before spinning you, pushing you back against the wooden wall of the bar. The impact sent a shockwave through your body, but you barely noticed. Not when his knee slipped between your thighs, pressing just enough to make you gasp.

"I hate you," you breathed, head tipping back as his mouth dragged along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

He grinned against your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. "You love this, though."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because the way you pulled him closer, nails digging into his shoulders, said everything.

His teeth scraped against your throat, and your grip on his shirt tightened like you were trying to ground yourself, trying to remember why this was a terrible idea. But then his hands slid down your sides, rough and unrelenting, and suddenly, thinking wasn’t an option anymore.

Jake pulled back just enough to catch your gaze, green eyes dark and wicked under the dim light of the bar’s exterior. His lips were swollen, his breath coming just as fast as yours. 

"We should get out of here," he murmured, voice rough with something you refused to name.

You scoffed, even as your body betrayed you, already aching to follow him wherever he was about to lead. "Oh, and I suppose you just happen to have a place in mind?"

His smirk was immediate, cocky as ever. "Darlin’, I always have a plan."

The arrogance sent a fresh spark of irritation through you, tamping down the heat pooling low in your stomach. You pushed against his chest, though it wasn’t nearly as forceful as it should have been. 

"Jesus, Hangman, do you ever turn it off?"

"Not when I’m winning," he shot back, and that stupidly cocky grin widening.

Your eyes narrowed. "This isn’t a game."

Jake tilted his head, taking his sweet time looking you up and down, his hands still resting on your hips like he had every right to touch you. 

"Then why," he murmured, voice low and smooth as honey, "does it feel like you’re losing?"

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. He was insufferable. Absolutely unbearable.

And you were going home with him.

God help you.

The drive to Jake’s place was tense, thick with something neither of you was willing to name. You sat in the passenger seat of his truck, arms crossed tight over your chest, gaze fixed on the road ahead as if you weren’t acutely aware of him beside you. As if every nerve in your body wasn’t tuned to him. The way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel, the way he shifted gears with that effortless, cocky ease, the way his tongue flicked over his bottom lip like he was savoring the anticipation.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It was loaded.

You exhaled sharply, shifting in your seat. "Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna keep glancing at me like a damn creep?"

Jake huffed a laugh, glancing at you sideways. "Oh, sweetheart, I was gonna let you sit there and stew, but since you’re practically begging me to talk…"

Your head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. "I am not—"

"Admit it," he cut in smoothly, lips curving into a smirk. "You like this. You like me."

You let out a bark of laughter, turning back toward the windshield. "You’re delusional."

Jake clicked his tongue, shifting gears again. "That so?"

"Yes," you snapped, but it lacked bite. 

Maybe because his hand had just settled on your thigh, warm and heavy, his thumb brushing idly against your jeans.

It was infuriating how casual he was about it, like he did this all the time like he knew you wouldn’t push him away. And the worst part? He was right.

You glared down at his hand but didn’t move it. 

"I hate you," you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Jake chuckled, squeezing your thigh just slightly, sending a slow wave of heat curling up your spine. 

"Sure, sweetheart," he drawled. "Keep tellin’ yourself that."

You clenched your jaw, staring straight ahead, determined not to react. You could not let him win this round.

But then he leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur, right against your ear. 

"I bet," he said, his breath fanning warm over your skin, "that by the time we get to my place, you’re gonna be begging me to ruin you."

Your stomach clenched. Your breath caught.

You turned sharply toward him, ready to rip into him, to tell him exactly where he could shove his ego. But one look at his smug, knowing expression, and suddenly, the only thing you wanted more than to slap him was to kiss him.

Jake barely had the truck in park before you were unbuckling your seatbelt, ready to throw the door open and escape the suffocating tension between you. But before you could make your move, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

"Uh-uh," he murmured, voice like silk and sin. "Not so fast, sweetheart."

You turned, mouth already open to argue, but whatever insult you had locked and loaded died in your throat when you saw his face.

Jake looked at you like he was savoring every second of your frustration, drinking in the flush creeping up your neck, the way your lips parted just slightly as you struggled for a retort. His grip on your wrist was firm but not tight, thumb ghosting over your pulse, which, much to your horror, was racing.

You swallowed hard, yanking your arm free. "Are we going inside, or are you just gonna sit here looking smug all night?"

Jake grinned, slow and cocky, before pushing open his door. 

"Oh, we’re goin’ inside," he said, stepping out like he had all the time in the world.

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself to get a grip, then followed suit, slamming the truck door a little harder than necessary. You stomped up the walkway behind him, practically vibrating with the need to do something. You didn’t even care what. Punch him, kiss him, you just needed something.

Jake reached the door first, unlocking it with ease, but instead of stepping aside to let you in, he turned, leaning against the doorframe.

"Last chance to back out, darlin’," he murmured, voice low, teasing.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as your body screamed at you to get closer. "Like you would let me live that down."

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I’d never let you live it down," he agreed, then tilted his head, eyes dark and burning with something that made your stomach twist. "But we both know you don’t want to back out."

And just like that, you snapped.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, you yanked him down, crashing your mouth against his.

Jake groaned, deep and satisfied, as if he’d known this was coming. He let you take control for a split second before flipping the script, crowding you into the door, hands gripping your hips like he was staking a claim.

The kiss was fire and fury, all teeth and tongue. His hands roamed, rough and sure, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

You pulled back just enough to gasp, "God, I hate you."

Jake grinned against your lips, fingers curling into your waistband. "Yeah?" His voice was pure arrogance. "Show me, then."

The door had barely clicked shut before Jake had you backed against it, his body flush against yours, heat radiating off him in waves. His lips found yours again, just as greedy, just as needy as before, like he’d been starving for this and now that he had a taste, he wasn’t letting go.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, and he groaned against your mouth, low and rough, before yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it aside like it was offending him.

"Jesus, Hangman," you muttered, taking in the broad planes of his chest, the way his muscles flexed as he ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

He smirked, stepping back into your space, hands finding your waist again. "Was wonderin’ when you’d finally admit you liked lookin’ at me, sweetheart."

You scoffed, shoving at his chest. "I don’t."

Jake caught your wrist mid-shove, his grip firm, the heat of his palm branding against your skin. "Liar," he murmured, and then he spun you, pressing you against the door, his chest flush against your back.

Your breath hitched.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "You know what I think?"

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jake chuckled, feeling your stubborn silence. "I think you like it when I get under your skin," he continued, voice thick as honey, hand sliding along your arm before settling at your hip. "I think you like fightin’ me ‘cause it makes this—" he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, biting down just enough to make your fingers twitch—"so much better."

You shivered.

"Tell me I’m wrong," he murmured, lips trailing lower.

You hated him. You hated how right he was. How much you wanted this, wanted him.

So instead of answering, you turned, grabbing his face and pulling him into another kiss, swallowing his smug little chuckle as you pushed him backward.

Jake let you lead—at least for a few steps—until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he took advantage of your forward momentum, twisting you both so you tumbled down with him.

You gasped as you landed in his lap, his hands immediately finding your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to make you ache.

"Well, would you look at that," he drawled, looking up at you with pure, unfiltered arrogance. "Right where you wanna be."

Your glare was instant, but whatever insult you were about to hurl at him got lost in the way his hands slid up, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin at your hips, his gaze dark and knowing.

"Say it," he murmured, voice softer this time. "Say you want this."

You exhaled sharply, fingers threading into his hair, pulling just enough to make him grunt.

"Jake—"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

You clenched your jaw, breath coming short and fast.

"I hate you," you whispered, leaning down, lips brushing against his.

Jake grinned. "That so?"

You nodded, eyes locked on his.

"Good," he murmured, tilting his head up to kiss you again, all teeth and heat. "Hate me all you want." His fingers dug into your hips, his voice dropping to a growl. "Just don’t stop."

His hands, hot and steady against your hips, didn’t push—didn’t take the way you half-expected him to. Instead, he just looked at you, gaze flickering over your face like he was memorizing the way you looked right then—cheeks flushed, lips kiss bruised, breathing heavy.

You swallowed, suddenly too aware of the weight of his hands, the heat of his body beneath you. "What?" you muttered, shifting slightly in his lap.

Jake’s fingers flexed at your waist, his jaw tightening like he was holding something back. Then his eyes lifted to meet yours.

"Want me to take this off, sweetheart?" he murmured, toying with the hem of your shirt, voice softer than before. More careful.

Your breath caught.

You weren’t sure what surprised you more. The fact that he asked or the fact that it sent a different kind of heat through you. Something deeper. Something that settled low in your stomach, curling tight.

"You don’t have to ask," you muttered, trying to ignore the way your pulse was suddenly hammering against your ribs.

Jake huffed a quiet laugh, one hand leaving your waist to push a strand of hair from your face, thumb grazing your cheek for just a second longer than necessary. "Yeah, I do."

And that? That threw you. Because it wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t teasing. It was real. For a split second, it wasn’t about the fight, the tension, or the way you constantly tried to push each other’s buttons.

It was just him.

Your throat felt tight, and you hated it. Hated that something so simple made your stomach flip.

But you still lifted your arms.

Jake didn’t hesitate after that, peeling your shirt off in one smooth motion and tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. But then he stopped again, and Jesus Christ, the way his eyes raked over you, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, the way his breath shuddered just slightly. It made your skin prickle and made heat lick up your spine.

For the first time that night, you didn’t have some sharp remark ready.

And Jake noticed.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as his hands skimmed up your sides, settling just beneath the band of your bra. 

"Well, would you look at that," he murmured, eyes dragging back up to yours. "Speechless."

Your glare was instant, but before you could snap at him, his grip tightened, pulling you closer, lips brushing against your jaw as he murmured, "And beautiful."

And just like that, he shattered every thought in your head.

Jake's fingers trailed up your spine, slow and deliberate, making you shiver before they settled on the clasp of your bra. He didn’t rush. There was no quick practiced flick like you might have expected. Instead, he lingered, thumbs tracing idle circles against your skin, his breath warm against the hollow of your throat.

"You good?" He murmured, lips brushing against your collarbone, his voice lower now, less teasing, almost gentle.

You swallowed hard. You weren’t used to this side of him, the part that asked, the part that wasn’t all sharp-edged arrogance and cocky smirks.

"Yeah," you muttered, but your voice was quieter now, and that was enough for him to notice.

Jake hummed like he wasn’t quite convinced, but he popped the clasp anyway, dragging the straps down your arms with an almost painful slowness before finally tossing it aside.

Heat bloomed across your chest, your arms twitching with the instinct to cover yourself, but before you could even think about being shy, Jake’s hands were there, skimming up your ribs, curling around your wrists to stop you.

"Nuh uh," he murmured, his grip firm but warm, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, dragged over every inch of you, taking his damn time like he was committing every detail to memory.

"Jake," you started, but your voice wavered, and you hated how small it sounded.

His gaze flicked back to yours immediately, something sharp flashing behind all that heat. "Don’t," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Don’t get shy on me now."

You huffed, shifting slightly in his lap trying to grasp at something. Control, defiance…anything. But then his hands were back tracing up your sides, his thumbs skimming just beneath your breasts. His eyes were locked on yours.

Your stomach flipped, and God you wanted to look away. You wanted to fight the way your heart was hammering against your ribs. But then his hands slid higher, fingers splaying wide across your ribcage holding you there.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he murmured, and it was so genuine and unguarded that it nearly knocked the wind out of you.

Jake Seresin. Cocky, arrogant, never shuts the hell up Jake was looking at you like you like you were the best damn thing he’d ever seen.  Like he’d imagined this a hundred times over but now that you were here, in his lap, chest rising and falling under his hands, he was afraid to blink in case he woke up and it was all gone.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze dragging over every inch of you with a hunger that wasn’t just lust, it was something more, something you didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Fuck,” he muttered almost to himself, his head tipping back against the couch for just a second before he looked at you again. 

His pupils were blown wide, his breath uneven and God you’d never seen him like this. It was like you had him completely undone without even trying.

His hands moved then, fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your waist before sliding up, fingers brushing the undersides of your breasts.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice rough. “How long I’ve wanted you like this.”

A slow, satisfied smirk curled at the corner of your lips as you took him in. You slid your hands into his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers as you gave a firm tug. His breath hitched, his grip tightening instinctively, but he let you guide him, tilting his head back until his chin rested against your sternum.

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling beneath you, the sharp angles of his jaw and throat bathed in the warm glow of the lamp beside the couch. He was completely at your mercy, and fuck, you liked the way that felt.

You leaned down, slow and deliberate, until your breath ghosted over his parted lips, your nose barely brushing his. His hands twitched on your waist, but he didn’t move. He was waiting. Watching. Wanting.

A smug little hum left your lips, and you let your fingers tighten just slightly in his hair as you murmured, “Well, Hangman… you finally got what you wanted.” You dragged your lips down, grazing along the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse jumped beneath your mouth. Then you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, voice turning to a whisper. “What are you gonna do about it?”

His hands flexed against you, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes locked onto yours as if you’d just lit a match and dropped it into a trail of gasoline.

Then he grinned, lazy and sharp, green eyes dark with intent.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with promise as his fingers skimmed higher, teasing along your spine. “You have no idea.”

One second you were in control, straddling his lap with hands in his hair. The next his hands slid down gripping the backs of your thighs as he stood, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

A startled gasp left your lips, hands flying to his shoulders as he adjusted his grip, his fingers pressing firmly into the curve of your ass to keep you steady. His smirk was downright insufferable as he took a few steps toward the hallway, completely unfazed by your sudden shift in position.

“Jesus, Hangman—” you started, but he only chuckled, the sound vibrating against your chest as he carried you with ease.

“What?” he drawled, like this wasn’t affecting him in the slightest. “You wanted to know what I was going to do.”

Your stomach fluttered at the effortless strength in his hold, but you rolled your eyes, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Instead, you crossed your arms loosely around his neck, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You know, you don’t have to carry me.”

Jake slowed just slightly, glancing down at you with something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “You sayin’ you don’t like it?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening against the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like it. If anything, you liked it too much. But there was something about being held like this—about the way he handled you so effortlessly, so casually—that poked at an old insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind.

Guys like Jake Seresin always went for the kind of girls who looked effortless in their arms, who didn’t overthink the way they were being held, who didn’t worry about whether or not they were too heavy or too much.

Your silence must have said more than you intended, because Jake’s hold on you tightened just slightly, his smirk fading into something softer.

His voice dropped, quieter than before. “Darlin’.”

You swallowed, avoiding his gaze. “I just—” You huffed a short breath, shaking your head like you could physically dismiss the thought. “I’m not some dainty little thing, okay? You don’t have to—”

“Stop.” His tone left no room for argument, and before you could protest, he adjusted his grip, bouncing you slightly in his arms as if to prove a point. “You really think I’d be doin’ this if I couldn’t handle it?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head before dipping down just enough to catch your gaze. His eyes were serious now, all teasing gone. “I like carrying you,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “And not just ‘cause I can, but because I want to.”

Your breath caught, a different kind of warmth blooming in your chest, one that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the way he was looking at you.

He tightened his hold, tilting his head with a smirk that was softer than before, but still undeniably him. “Now, you gonna let me take you to my bed, or you wanna keep pretendin’ you don’t like this?”

Your heart stuttered, fingers gripping the back of his neck as you huffed, finally letting your head drop against his shoulder.

“Fine,” you muttered, and you could feel his smirk against your temple.

“That’s my girl.”

And with that, he carried you the rest of the way, leaving no room for argument.

Jake nudged the door open with his foot, the hinges creaking slightly as he carried you inside. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the space. His bed which was big, unmade, and ridiculously inviting was only a few steps away, but he didn’t rush. If anything, he seemed to savor the moment, taking his time as he moved toward it.

You felt the muscles in his arms flex as he shifted his grip, lowering you onto the mattress with deliberate care. His hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary, fingertips trailing lightly along your sides before he straightened to stand over you.

The air between you was thick, charged with something that was no longer just heated banter and reckless tension. This was something else. Something weightier.

Jake’s green eyes raked over you, dark and unreadable, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “You look good like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.

Your stomach clenched, your breath coming a little quicker as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “You just gonna stand there and stare, Seresin?” you teased, but the slight hitch in your voice gave you away.

His lips curled, but there was something softer behind the smirk this time. “You in a hurry?”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “I—”

Before you could finish, Jake was moving. He crawled onto the bed, hands bracing on either side of your hips as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours.

“You got nowhere to be,” he murmured, the words a slow drawl against your lips. “So why don’t you let me take my time?”

A shiver rolled through you, but you forced yourself to keep your expression even. “You always this much of a tease?”

Jake chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. “Only when I got something worth taking my time with.”

Your breath caught, but you refused to let him see how easily he unraveled you. Instead, you reached up, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to earn a soft grunt from him. “Stop talking and do something about it, Hangman.”

Jake’s weight pressed you into the mattress, his hands roaming slowly and deliberately as his lips ghosted over your collarbone. Every touch sent heat curling through your stomach, every kiss stoking the fire that had been burning between you since the second he’d crowded into your space outside The Hard Deck.

His hands drifted lower, skimming the line of your jeans, fingers toying with the button as he watched your face.

He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “You gonna let me take these off, or you wanna fight me on it?”

You huffed a breath, fingers still buried in his hair. “What do you think?”

Jake grinned like he already knew the answer, but he still waited. Waited for the tiny nod you gave him, the permission you offered without hesitation. Only then did he move.

The sound of your zipper being undone was deafening in the quiet of the room, your breath catching as he dragged the denim down, slow enough to make you squirm.

He chuckled, low and knowing. “You always this impatient?”

You lifted your hips, helping him rid you of the last piece of clothing between you, and shot him a look. “You always this slow?”

Jake’s eyes darkened. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you want me rushing this.”

His hands traced up the length of your legs, teasing, exploring, his touch sending little sparks dancing along your skin. And then his fingers dug into your thighs, parting them just enough for him to settle between them.

That cocky smirk never wavered as he leaned in, his breath hot against your jaw. “Told you,” he murmured. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

Jake’s lips found the inside of your knee first. His lips were soft and teasing as they brushed your skin. His hands ran up your thighs, squeezing, but his mouth followed at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Your breath hitched as he kissed higher, his lips trailing a warm path along your skin. Every inch of you was tense with anticipation, waiting, bracing, needing.

He was right there. Right. There.

And then he exhaled a laugh against your skin, his breath warm and taunting, before shifting away to press his mouth to your other thigh instead.

Your hands fisted in the sheets. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Jake looked up at you through his lashes, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?”

Your head fell back against the pillows with an exasperated groan. “You’re insufferable.”

He hummed in agreement, his mouth continuing its slow, torturous exploration. His hands slid under your thighs, gripping tight, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“You love it,” he murmured against your skin, voice dripping with amusement.

You wanted to argue, but then his teeth grazed the soft skin of your inner thigh, just enough to make you gasp, and suddenly, words weren’t coming so easily anymore.

Jake's teasing had you teetering on the edge of frustration and something far more desperate. He knew exactly what he was doing. Drawing it out, making you squirm, feeding off every sharp breath and roll of your hips. But just when you were about to snap at him again, his lips finally ghosted over where you needed him most.

A strangled sound caught in your throat as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against you, his tongue flicking out just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling harder than necessary, but if anything, it only spurred him on.

For once, you were grateful Jake Seresin never shut the hell up because he really knew how to use that mouth.

His tongue worked in slow, devastating strokes, a perfect rhythm that had your back arching off the bed in seconds. He groaned against you, the vibrations sinking deep into your bones, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach.

“Jake—” His name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, breathless and wrecked.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice smug and husky. His grip on your thighs tightened. “Say my name, sweetheart.”

Jake was relentless.

Every time you thought he was going to give you what you needed—really give it to you—he’d slow down, change rhythm, pull back just enough to keep you on the edge but never quite over it.

It was maddening.

Your legs trembled beneath his hands, every nerve in your body burning with frustration. He was drawing it out on purpose, keeping you right where he wanted, his mouth and tongue working you into a fever pitch only to ease up the second your muscles tensed, the moment you got too close.

You let out a frustrated groan, fingers tugging at his hair in a warning. “Jake.”

A hum vibrated against you—satisfied, entertained—but he didn’t relent. He kept up his slow torture, his tongue pressing in firm, deliberate strokes, his lips ghosting over you with just enough pressure to make you crazy.

“Fuck, I swear to—”

But just when you were ready to snap, just when the tension in your stomach coiled tight enough to break, he pulled away.

You gasped, blinking down at him in disbelief, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Are you—”

He grinned, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he settled between your legs, looking so damn smug it made you want to throttle him. “Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?”

Your glare could’ve burned a hole straight through him. “I hate you.”

His hands smoothed up your thighs, fingers kneading into your skin as he leaned up, his lips hovering just over yours. His breath was warm when he spoke. “No, you don’t.”

And then, just to drive the point home, he slid two fingers between your legs, pressing into you with the same slow, torturous precision.

Your breath hitched, your head falling back against the pillows. He chuckled against your jaw, lips brushing your pulse. “See? You love me.”

Your body betrayed you before you even had time to think of a comeback. Your hips rolled instinctively, seeking out more friction, chasing what he’d been cruelly holding just out of reach.

Jake groaned, low and rough, his fingers still deep inside you as he watched, transfixed. His free hand splayed across your hip, feeling the way you moved against him, the way your body took what it wanted.

“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with something dangerously close to awe. “So goddamn greedy for it.”

Heat flooded your face, but embarrassment never stood a chance against the need coursing through you. You didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—even as his eyes dragged over every inch of you, taking in the way you worked yourself against his hand, the soft whimpers slipping past your lips.

Jake fucking loved it.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his fingers curling just right, pressing exactly where you needed. His mouth found your throat, teeth scraping against sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue. “Use me. Get yourself there.”

Your stomach clenched, muscles tightening as that coil in your core wound impossibly tighter. Every stroke of his fingers sent sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, and the way he watched you like he’d never seen anything more stunning only drove you higher.

You were close. Too close.

And Jake knew it.

His lips brushed your ear, his voice a rasped promise.

"That’s it, baby. Come for me."

There was no question in his tone just certainty, confidence, command. Like he already knew you would, like you had no choice but to obey.

His fingers never faltered, his pace steady, relentless, pushing you closer and closer until there was no stopping it. Your body tensed, every nerve lighting up as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, ready to snap.

"Jake—" His name tore from your lips, a desperate, breathless cry as the release hit you, hard and all-consuming.

He groaned, low and satisfied like your pleasure was his own personal victory. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, working you through it, dragging out every last wave, every aftershock, until you were trembling beneath him.

His hands never stopped moving, slow and teasing now, like he was savoring the way you came undone for him. His lips ghosted over your hip, smug but reverent. "Damn, baby," he drawled, watching you with something almost like admiration. "That was real pretty."

Jake made quick work of his jeans and boxers, shedding the last of his clothing without a second thought. His confidence was effortless like he had no doubt in his mind that you'd want him just as much as he wanted you.

Crawling back onto the bed, he took you in, his hands smoothing over your skin, possessive and reverent all at once. Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped you over. You barely had time to react before he was guiding you forward. Instinctively, you pushed up onto your forearms, shifting to all fours, but Jake had other plans.

He let out a low chuckle, running his hands down your spine before gripping your hips and pulling you back against him. 

"Not like that, sweetheart." His voice was rough, heavy with want.

Before you could question him, he slid a firm hand between your shoulder blades and pressed down, guiding you back down to the mattress. Your cheek met the sheets, your back arching instinctively under the pressure of his touch.

"There you go," he murmured, his voice all smug satisfaction. "Much better."

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened as he aligned himself with you, his body hovering just above yours. His breath was shallow, and you could feel the heat of him so close, yet not enough to satisfy the aching tension between you both.

With a slight shift of his weight, he brought his hand down on your ass with a sharp, satisfying slap. The sound of it echoed in the quiet room, making your body jump forward at the contact. You let out a small yelp, the sting sending a rush of heat through your veins, mixing with the desire that had been building all night.

You glanced over your shoulder, your chest rising and falling quickly. "What was that for?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice gave away the sudden, surprised pleasure.

He chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, "Because I can."

You opened your mouth to snap back, to say something, anything to regain some control in this situation, but before you could get a word out, Jake shifted his weight and pushed forward, the feeling of him filling you completely. The words you’d been about to say caught in your throat, replaced by a breathless moan as he stretched you in ways that sent your body reeling.

Your back arched, and your grip on the sheets tightened as you fought to stay composed, but the pleasure of him inside you was too overwhelming. The cocky grin on Jake’s face was evident, even as he moved slowly, savoring the moment just as much as you were.

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he began to increase his pace. The sounds of his breath, sharp and steady, mixed with the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, filling the air between you. Each thrust had you gasping, your body rocked forward with every press, his rhythm pushing you further toward the edge.

With every stroke, you felt him deeper, filling you completely. The intensity of it had you gasping for air, your heart racing in time with the beat of your pulse. And for a split second, amidst the rush of sensation, a thought flashed through your mind—Why the hell hadn’t you done this before?

The idea lingered for a heartbeat, but Jake’s hand moved to your back, pressing you down into the sheets, and that fleeting thought was gone as quickly as it had come. All that was left was the heat, the pressure building inside you, and the undeniable pull of him—his rhythm, his touch, the way he moved inside you, the way his breath caught when he pulled you closer, driving deeper.

Jake could feel the way your body clenched around him, the tightening of your muscles making him groan, his rhythm faltering for just a second. He had been watching you, noticing the way your moans had shifted from his name into breathless nonsense, and he could tell you were on the verge of losing it.

With a smirk curling at the corner of his lips, he leaned down, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “You’re about to come, aren’t you?” His voice was rough, low, and cocky, but there was a softness to it that sent a shiver down your spine. “Damn, baby. You sound so fucking good. I’m gonna make sure you remember this.”

His hand slid down your body, fingers pressing into your lower stomach, feeling the way your muscles tensed and quivered, and that only made him press harder, driving deeper with each thrust.

Jake could feel the way you were unraveling beneath him, and he couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, knowing he was the one pulling these sounds from you. He was the one making you lose control. There was nothing like this—the power, the rush of it—and hell, he fucking loved it.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice rougher now, “I’m not letting you go until I’ve got every last sound out of you.”

Your breath hitched at his words, a soft whimper escaping your lips without meaning to. It was just enough to fuel Jake further, his grip on your hips tightening, his thrusts becoming harder, more determined. He heard the sound you made, felt the way it vibrated in your chest, and that drove him wild.

“God, you like that, don’t you?” Jake murmured the cocky edge to his voice sharper now. He moved faster, his rhythm relentless, as if he was determined to make you fall apart in front of him.

The sound of his name left your lips again, a whimpering gasp this time, and Jake couldn’t help but smile against your back.

“I knew you’d be this responsive,” he said with a breathless chuckle, “Just let go for me, baby. Let me hear it.”

The way your body responded to him, so soft and needy, only made him push harder. Each sound you made, every tremor that ran through you, sent a wave of satisfaction crashing over him. He couldn’t get enough, his need for you only growing as he felt you getting closer, his hands tightening on your hips as he set the pace.

You were almost there, and he knew it. And that, more than anything, was what had him pushing to give you exactly what you needed.

Jake’s movements were growing more erratic, his control slipping as the pressure inside him built. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, every muscle in his body tense and straining with the need to finish. But he wasn’t going to let go just yet. Not without one more from you.

You were a mess beneath him, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, your body trembling as you met each of his thrusts. The way you felt, the sounds you were making…everything about you was driving him wild. 

He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you back against him as he pushed harder, faster. “One more, baby,” he growled. “Give it to me.”

He didn’t ask; he commanded, his voice rough and demanding, as if there was no room for hesitation. His breath was coming in hot, heavy bursts against your skin as he drove you both closer to the edge. 

He needed to hear you. Needed to see you fall apart again.

“Don’t hold back. Let go for me,” he growled, his voice almost a low, possessive growl as he felt the last thread of his restraint snap.

Your body finally gave way, the tension that had been building between you two snapping as you let go. A sharp cry tore from your throat, your body shuddering under him as your release hit. The pressure and pleasure of it all flooded your senses, and you collapsed onto the bed, breathless and spent. Your legs shook, your mind hazy with the aftermath of what he had just pulled from you.

Jake’s movements faltered for a moment, his rhythm becoming more desperate and sloppy as he chased his own release. His grip on your hips tightened, but his breath was heavier, ragged now, his body trembling against you.

“Where do you want it?” He muttered.

It was then that the weight of it all clicked for you.

Your chest heaved with exertion as you finally managed to get your thoughts together, eyes widening slightly. You gasped, the realization dawning. You hadn’t even thought about the condom. You hadn’t talked about it.

“Jake,” you murmured, still breathless, trying to collect yourself enough to speak clearly. “I’m on birth control.”

The words had barely left your mouth before he groaned low and deep, and in the next moment, he surged forward, driving himself all the way into you, his pace finally faltering as he pushed to the brink. His fingers dug into your skin as he stilled, and then he let go with a final, possessive grunt. He filled you, the intensity of his release flooding you both, leaving you both trembling in the aftermath.

His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling as he slowly came back to himself. He stayed there, resting against you for a moment, his forehead resting against your back as the two of you tried to catch your breath. It felt almost like a release for him too. Not just physically but in the tension between you both that had been building for so long.

“Damn,” he muttered against your skin, his voice hoarse. “That was...”

He trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. You both knew exactly what it was.

Still, the weight of the moment hung in the air between you two. Neither of you moved immediately, just feeling each other’s presence, the exhaustion slowly taking over.

You sighed as you sat up, feeling the cool air against your skin as the heat of Jake’s body left you. Your limbs felt heavy, your body spent, but you forced yourself to move, slipping off the bed and padding toward the bathroom.

Jake didn’t say anything as you went, just watched you go, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the room.

Inside the bathroom, you turned on the sink, splashing cool water on your face. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, lips were swollen, the lingering evidence of Jake’s touch still visible on your skin. You exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the counter for a moment before straightening up.

This was…something. Whatever it was. And now, in the quiet of Jake’s bedroom, the weight of what came next started to settle over you.

By the time you emerged, Jake was pulling on a pair of sweats, his movements slower, more languid now. You grabbed your underwear and the oversized shirt he had tossed your way earlier, slipping them on before crawling back into bed beside him.

It was quiet now. The charged energy from before had settled into something softer, something heavier. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling, your mind drifting as the reality of tomorrow pressed in.

Beside you, Jake shifted. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze settling on you. You felt it before you saw it. The weight of his stare, studying you, tracing over your features like he was trying to memorize them.

“What?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kept looking at you, his expression unreadable but intent. Finally, after a beat, he murmured, “You’re worried about tomorrow. About me..”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Your breath caught slightly, but you didn’t respond. You just swallowed, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Jake exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound in the stillness of the room. “You’re gonna tell me to be safe, aren’t you?”

Your throat tightened.

“Just…” you swallowed again, voice barely above a whisper. “Just come back alive, Jake.”

The teasing smirk he had worn all night. Hell, the one he wore all the damn time faded. Something more real passed over his face, something softer, something unspoken.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You finally turned your head to look at him, and for the first time, neither of you had anything smart to say.

You just held each other’s gaze, both thinking the same thing.

Jake’s fingers lingered against yours, his touch warm but tentative. You weren’t sure how long the two of you just lay there like that staring at each other in the dim light of his bedroom, words unspoken but understood.

Then, slowly, he shifted.

He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his lips barely ghosting over yours in a way that wasn’t cocky or teasing or demanding. It was softer. Almost hesitant.

You could feel the way he exhaled against your lips like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Like maybe this, whatever this was, was throwing him off just as much as it was throwing you off.

His lips pressed to yours, just for a second. Just enough to make your breath hitch. And then he pulled back, hovering so close you could still feel him.

The quiet stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. You stared at the ceiling, your mind drifting, already trying to brace for the morning.

You turned your head, glancing at him in the dim light. He looked so at ease, so different from the cocky, sharp-tongued pilot you had spent so much time arguing with. His expression was softer now, the teasing smirk gone, replaced by something quieter.

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your body unraveling as you shifted closer, tucking yourself into his side. His arm draped over you, and you let your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

His free hand rested on his stomach, and without thinking, yours followed, finding it easily in the dark. Your fingers brushed his, tentative at first like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to reach for him. Like you weren’t sure if this was something you were even supposed to want.

But Jake didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled around yours, lacing them together like it was second nature. Like holding your hand was as easy as breathing.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you had to.

The weight of the morning still lingered in the air, but for now, just for this moment, you let yourself have this.

Let yourself have him for just a little longer.

Jake’s breathing evened out long before yours did. His arm was still draped over you, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something that almost felt like peace. Almost. But no matter how hard you tried to ground yourself in the warmth of his skin, in the weight of his hand still tangled with yours, your mind kept drifting.

You stared up at the ceiling, the quiet pressing in.

And I'll ask the stars at night, how I can slow the time…

The words echoed in your head, unspoken but heavy in your chest. The night felt too short, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto it.

Your grip on Jake’s hand tightened just slightly like that alone could keep him here. Keep him safe.

But you knew it wouldn’t.

God, I’m so terrified that I’m gonna lose you.

You turned your head, your gaze tracing the sharp lines of his face softened in sleep. His brows weren’t furrowed for once. His mouth, the same mouth that had spent the night pressing cocky remarks against your skin, was relaxed.

He looked peaceful. Like he didn’t have to wake up in just a few hours and walk into the unknown. Like he wasn’t about to get into a jet and disappear into the sky, leaving you behind to wonder if you’d ever see him again.

And I’ll die if I do.

Your throat tightened, your chest aching under the weight of everything you weren’t saying. Everything you wouldn’t say.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this. Weren’t supposed to want him to stay. Weren’t supposed to feel like the world was tilting beneath you at the thought of him not coming back.

But you did.

And that scared you more than anything else.

So you did the only thing you could. You curled further into him, pressed your face against his shoulder, and let your fingers stay laced with his. Holding onto him for just a little longer.

Just in case.

[exqorcism]

❛ 𝙃𝙊𝙇𝘿 𝙈𝙀 & 𝙀𝙓𝙋𝙇𝙊𝙍𝙀 𝙈𝙀. ⎯ nicholas a. chavez

₊˚⊹౨ৎ 𝓐'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: based on this request !! hope you enjoy! writing this was so much fun xx 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. smoking (weed) ‧ sexual tension ‧ oral (f!receiving) ‧ unprotected piv ‧ size difference ‧ best friends to lovers trope ‧ this one's soft & sweet tbh <3 𝘄𝗰. 4318

"𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗦𝗧 fucking movie I've ever seen", you groaned, squinting your eyes before taking a puff of your shared joint. You heard Nicholas hum in agreement as he reached for the remote to shut the TV down. You let your head fall back against the couch, handing the joint to the man next to you blindly.

"Waste of time", Nick commented, deep groan of satisfaction leaving his throat at the burning sensation in his lungs. "But this... This is some real good shit". Your eyes snapped open at the remark, and you smirked, nodding. "Yeah. It is. Fuck". You let your body relax against the couch, before you heard Nicholas speak again.

"Let's...", You could hear the playful smirk on his lips while not even looking at him ⎯ at which you turned your head to watch him. "Let's play a game".

He threw his arm around the backrest of the couch nonchalantly, tilting his head, as if he was challenging you.

His hair was a mess, eyes glistening and slightly red from the joint. Nicholas' pearly smile seemed to light the whole room up, and you could see the outline of his muscles through the white, tight t-shirt he was wearing. He undeniably looked good ⎯ and if he wasn't your best friend, you'd say he looked like the most dreamy man ever.

"A game? What are we, twelve?", you huffed, rolling your eyes before stealing the joint from between his fingers. Nicholas sent you a glare, though his smirk never flattered, as he moved to take a sip of his Pepsi. "What kind of a game?".

"Truth or dare", he shrugged playfully, and you stubbed out the joint. You already began to roll a new one ⎯ you had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

"But it's just us two", you remarked, putting a strand of hair behind your ear, stealing him a glance.

"And that is what makes it even more fun", Nicholas smirked, and you silently agreed. You huffed, lighting the joint and putting some music on in the background ⎯ a playlist you and Nicholas made of your favourite songs.

"Okay. Let's do this, then". You rested your back against the armrest of the couch, playing with the hem of your shorts mindlessly. Mischievous smirk made its way onto Nick's face as he got comfortable.

"So, Y/N... Truth or dare?", he sipped on his drink, looking up at you challengingly. "Truth".

Nick rolled his eyes. "You're no fun".

"Shut up. We're only getting started", you groaned, hitting him with a pillow ⎯ soft enough not to spill his drink. "Ask away".

He seemed to think for a second, and you blew the smoke from your mouth, getting more and more comfortable against the couch. You drummed your fingers against the backrest, watching your friend with hooded eyes.

"The worst date you've been on", he smirked, leaning down and taking the joint from between your fingers. You huffed, throwing your heavy head back.

"Alan took me to this party once", Nicholas groaned at the name of your ex boyfriend, at which you laughed softly. "He called it a date, but he ended up ignoring me the whole night, getting wasted with his friends. Then he threw up in my car", you winced at the memory, and Nicholas did, too ⎯ the disgust evident on his face, and he didn't even try to hide it.

"He was such a dickhead", Nick laughed, and you couldn't help but stare at his perfect lips while he did so. "Yeah, he was. Truth or dare?".

Nicholas seemed to think for a second, and he hesitatingly replied: "Truth".

"You are such a pussy", you laughed teasingly, deciding to take things a little further. "When was the last time you masturbated?".

Nicholas' eyes widened, and so did yours ⎯ boldness wasn't exactly one of your strongest qualities, but the hazy atmosphere in the room seemed to have awakened something in you.

The air thickened with tension, and you caught a glimpse of Nicholas' stupid smirk ⎯ his confidence never flattering, even though he seemed to hesitate for a second. "Yesterday".

You didn't expect him to answer ⎯ not so directly, at least. You couldn't help but let out a quiet gasp, covering it with yet another puff of your joint. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping Nicholas didn't notice how flustered you suddenly became.

"To what?", you couldn't help but ask, but Nicholas tutted, spreading his legs and resting his hand on his thigh nonchalantly. Your eyes lingered on the veins that popped up on his arms. You always noticed how attractive he was. God, how couldn't you? He was charming, funny, and really fucking hot ⎯ but he was also your best friend. Yet you couldn't help but stare ⎯ the way his hair fell on his forehead messily, dark eyes looking deep into your soul, lips twisted into a little smirk.

Your head suddenly felt very heavy; you grew more and more relaxed with each passing second, yet your newfound confidence only seemed to get stronger.

"Not so fast", Nicholas winked at you, tilting his head. "Your turn. Truth or dare?".

Before you could think it through, you were already replying. "Dare".

You bit your lip, lowering your gaze to rest on your thighs ⎯ the shorts you were seemed to be ridiculously exposing now, every inch of your skin burning with something you couldn't quite name.

"Bold, aren't you?", Nicholas chuckled lowly; his low, teasing voice making your whole body shake. "Hmm. Exchange smoke with me".

You lifted your head from the couch ⎯ it wasn't unusual for the two of you to do it, so you felt pretty confident as you instantly moved closer towards Nick. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you suddenly felt breathless, as he twisted his body to sit perfectly across from you. You took the joint from between Nicholas' fingers, brushing over his hand in the process. Spark of electricity run through you ⎯ you could barely hear the music playing in the background anymore, Nick's smile consuming every part of your body. It was the first time you felt this type of tension lingering in the air ⎯ the one that made it hard to breathe, the smell of your best friend's cologne invading your senses.

You let out a shaky breath before lifting the joint to your lips, taking a deep puff, putting your other hand on Nicholas' cheek to get him closer. You were hypnotised by the look in his eyes; predatory, as if he was seeing right through you, hearing your thoughts.

Nicholas' lips opened, and you leaned down to blow the smoke into his mouth. Your lips brushed in the process, just slightly, but enough to make your heart race. Nicholas' left hand landed on your side, travelling up to brush over your back softly.

You pulled back and he inhaled, closing his eyes for a second before breathing the smoke out. His eyes were dazed, playful smirk playing on his lips; you traced his defined jaw with your pointer finger lightly, feeling his muscles clench under your touch.

You stubbed out whatever was left of the joint, squealing in surprise when you were pulled on Nicholas' lap in one, swift movement. He hid his face in your neck, both of his hands travelling up your body to rest on your hips. You should be surprised, pull him away and ask him what he was doing ⎯ yet, due to the buzzing in your head, how tired you suddenly became, all you could do was press your back against his chest and get comfortable.

"New perfume?", his voice came out low, raspy, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. You shifted on his lap, causing the bulge in his pants to press against your ass tightly. "I like it".

A part of you knew it was wrong ⎯ he was your best friend, you knew each other since forever ⎯ but his touch on your bare skin, the heat radiating off him; all of it was intoxicating, way too good to just let it go.

"Yeah. Cherry⎯ Cherry and almond", you whispered, and Nicholas hummed, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder blade. "But it's your turn now. Truth or dare?".

"Dare", he didn't even hesitate, and you shifted again, earning a soft groan from him ⎯ you bit back a moan at the vibration of his voice against your sensitive skin. His soft, big hands travelled up your rib cage, stopping just below the hem of your top.

"Kiss me, Nicholas", you managed to get out, squeezing your eyes shut, your whole body on fire, and your friend froze behind you.

"I⎯ Are you sure?", he asked, and you rolled your eyes, twisting your body so that you could straddle his lap properly. "Only if you are".

You smiled fondly before pressing a soft, sweet kiss on Nicholas' lips. Your hands found their place on his broad shoulders; his muscles twitching under your touch.

"I don't want to ruin our friendship", he whispered softly, and you hummed, eyes half-closed as you lowered your head to brush your lips against the side of his neck teasingly. Nicholas gripped your hips, grounding you on top of him, his erection now brushing against your inner thighs.

"You drive me crazy", he mumbled, transfixed on the way your soft breath tickled his skin, his eyes threatening to close from the sensation. "Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?".

You couldn't help but laugh at the stupid question; Nicholas' chest vibrated against yours, sweet giggle leaving his mouth, and the atmosphere seemed to lighten just for a second.

"You're talking too much", you grinned, meeting his dark, chocolate eyes, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Nicholas' demeanour switched as he took you in, and, unable to control himself anymore, he pulled you towards him in a soft kiss.

The feeling of his lips, soft, warm and delicate against yours ⎯ it was everything you never thought you needed. Everything you did was in sync, the prolonged, shaky breaths leaving your mouths, or the way your hands tightened on the other's skin ⎯ pulling each other closer as your lips brushed against each other in a slow dance.

Soon enough, you grounded yourself against the tent in his grey sweatpants, inaudibly begging for more. Nicholas' hands travelled down your back, testing the waters as his fingertips grazed over your ass teasingly. You grinded your hips down, causing him to moan; allowing your tongue to enter his mouth swiftly. There was no more softness in the way you moved anymore ⎯ you grew bolder, your tongue rolling over his' with passion, as you tugged on his soft hair playfully.

"I've always wanted to do this", Nicholas whispered, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes ⎯ making sure you knew he was being honest. You smiled, breathing heavily, your heart swelling at the words.

"Only this?", you chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose softly. Your friend bit his lip at the words, his cheeks and neck slightly flushed, at which you smiled softly.

"No. Not only this. I just⎯ I never thought you'd want it, too", he admitted, his fingers tracing circles on your lower back.

"And what if I tell you...", you lowered your voice, brushing your lips against Nicholas' ear teasingly. "I want it just as much as you do? And I don't want you to hold back on me".

Nicholas' hands on your back tightened, and he seemed to hesitate for a second, before he caught your lips with his' again. His demeanour seemed to switch again, as he bit on your lower lip roughly, tugging on it with his teeth before soothing the pain with a bruising kiss. You squealed in surprise when suddenly you were lifted from the couch, Nicholas' hands on your thighs as he walked you both to your bedroom. You giggled into the kiss as he stumbled, causing you to tighten your legs around his hips.

The second you stepped into your bedroom, Nicholas' used his foot to shut the door behind you both, pressing you tightly against the cold surface.

His lips were back on yours in an instant, and he pressed his lower body tightly against yours.

You tugged on his shirt, inaudibly begging him to take it off, and he obeyed. Nicholas dropped you to the floor carefully ⎯ your knees were shaking terribly, and your breath hitched when he took his shirt off.

With all strength you had left, you pushed Nicholas to the bed, and he grinned, moving up until he was resting on your sheets comfortably. You straddled his lap again, licking your lips as you took him in.

It wasn't the first time you saw Nicholas' chest ⎯ he often took his shirt off when the two of you were together, but this time it was different. You run your hands down his abdomen, feeling the strong muscles under your fingertips. The urge to worship every part of him was too strong, now ⎯ you lowered your head, sucking on the soft skin of his collarbone, running your hot tongue over his soft skin. Nicholas' let out a shaky breath as you marked him, and he didn't protest when you left bruises everywhere you could reach.

"You're so hot, Nick", you mumbled, your hands travelling down his abs as you looked up at him, circling your tongue around his nipple teasingly. Nicholas' lips opened in a silent moan, his hands tugging on the sheets tightly. "A fucking work of art".

Your lips closed around the pink nub, and you grazed your teeth over it experimentally, watching as Nicholas' head fell back against the pillows, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You teased his sensitive nipples for a while, before moving down his body, brushing your lips against his hard stomach insatiably. A breathless moan left Nicholas, and his hand was in your hair, pulling you off him as you reached the waistband of his sweatpants.

You were on your back in a second, Nicholas' hands tugging on your shirt greedily. You obeyed, taking the excess material off your body, exposing your bare chest to him.

His eyes widened ⎯ he didn't expect you to not wear a bra; his mouth was slightly agape as he stared at your exposed chest. A small, shy smile appeared on your face as you watched the admiration filling Nicholas' features. "You're so beautiful, baby", he rasped, moving to kneel in between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs as he latched his mouth on your breasts greedily. He licked, bit and kissed your soft skin, and your back arched off the bed at the feeling. You could feel his hardness press against your clothed centre, and a breathless moan left both of you when Nicholas pressed his hips against yours tightly. You tugged on his hair, and he bit on your nipple softly, sucking the nub in between his teeth before pulling away with a pop.

He rutted his hips against yours experimentally, causing a loud, choked sound to leave your mouth.

"You sound so pretty", he groaned hungrily, pressing a wet, bruising kiss on your lips before pulling away.

His hot hands travelled down your chest, roaming over your stomach before lingering just above the waistband of your shorts.

"Are you...", he began, but you were already rolling your eyes before he could finish.

"Fuck, yes, I'm sure. Stop holding back. Please".

His eyes darkened, and you bit back a moan as he practically ripped the shorts off your body, along with your lacy, black thong. He cursed under his breath, before spreading your thighs wide, admiring the sight of your wet, exposed pussy. You clenched around nothing, his gaze so intense, so greedy, it almost had you closing your legs.

"Such a pretty fucking pussy", he groaned, laying down between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs tightly. "Bet she tastes sweet, too".

With these words, he dived in, lapping at your cunt as if he hasn't ate in days. You let out a high-pitched moan, your hands finding place on his hair, tugging tightly with every stroke of his tongue. He sucked on your little clit, his eyes falling open to watch your face confront in pleasure. Groans left his mouth at the taste of your sweet juices coating his tongue, his hips rutting against the bed ⎯ his own need evident in every movement.

You cried out when you felt his tongue circling your sensitive nub tirelessly, your legs beginning to shake, signalling your orgasm was near.

"Nicholas, oh my God", you whined, throwing your head back, hips beginning to move in sync with his tongue. "I'm so close, baby⎯ Don't stop".

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending vibrations right through your core, and in an instant you were coming all over him, your juices creating a wet puddle under your ass.

"Tastes so good", he groaned, continuing his assault on your pussy even when you shook in overstimulation. Tears blurred your vision, but you had no energy to stop him, not when it felt so good.

He was being overly messy, swirling his tongue around your heat in a way that had you breathless ⎯ his groans vibrating against you, his eyes following your every reaction. He teased your entrance with his tongue, before dipping into it experimentally, smirking when your legs shook around his head.

"Nick, oh my God⎯ 's too much", you cried out, and he doubled his efforts, his arms pinning your legs to the bed, leaving you completely at his mercy.

"I love this sweet fucking pussy", he whined, licking a stripe up to your clit, before his mouth closed around it again. He sucked, hard, and you were seeing white, sweating all over your satin sheets, barely able to breathe, tears blurring your vision. "I can't wait to see you cum again".

Two of his thick, long fingers circled your entrance before he pushed them into you in one, swift movement. He sighed at the feeling of your tight walls gripping him like a vice, and he curled them upwards experimentally, having you see stars with a little to no effort.

You let out a shallow breath as Nicholas' lips moved up your body, his fingers plunging into you again and again. The pressure in your stomach was ready to snap any second now, and when he grabbed your neck tightly, staring down at you with hooded eyes, you swore you could cum from the sight alone.

"You're so filthy. I love it", he smirked, cutting your airflow with a squeeze of his hand. You grabbed his forearm tightly, your eyes rolling back into your head as you felt his thumb press tight circles into your clit.

With a choked scream, you squirted all over his hand and your own sheets, and Nicholas pulled back to watch the transparent fluid escape your cunt with every withdraw of his fingers.

"Good fucking girl. Let it all out", he cooed softly, helping you ride out your orgasm. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and Nicholas removed his hand from your neck, allowing you to take deep breaths. "Holy shit, Nick", you managed to choke out, your legs shaky from the overwhelming pleasure.

Nicholas' gaze on you was hard, demanding, as he brought his drenched fingers to your mouth. "Suck".

You didn't hesitate for a second, opening your mouth and letting him press his fingers down against your tongue. You lapped on your own juices covering his long fingers, holding onto his forearm for dear life, moaning at the taste of yourself. Nicholas' other hand found place on your head, as he caressed your hair softly, almost lovingly, thrusting his fingers down your throat experimentally. You gagged, hollowing your cheeks while looking up at him, battling your lashes. Nicholas let out a strangled groan, pushing his fingers as far as they could go, watching you struggle. "I can't wait to see these pretty lips wrapped around my dick", he rasped, and you moaned when he finally freed your mouth.

With the little strength you had left, you pushed yourself up, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants greedily. Nicholas obeyed, too horny to ask you if you were sure ⎯ his pants and boxers were on the floor in an instant, and he was already kissing you with urgency that left you breathless.

You felt his dick press against your thigh, heavy, long and thick ⎯ and you started to worry about if he was going to fit at all.

Nicholas could almost feel your sudden uncertainty, as he pulled away, towering over your much smaller form ⎯ the size difference never really mattered that much, until now. You stared at his cock, wide eyed. His size made your mouth water, the glistening, angry red tip almost too tempting.

"You⎯ You're so fucking big", you sighed, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. Nicholas' head fell down when he finally felt your touch on his painfully hard cock, his cross necklace swinging just above your face as he pressed both of his hands on the sides of your head, pinning you under him. Soft grunts left his mouth, and when you teased his tip with your thumb lightly ⎯ you felt his whole body clench above you.

"As much as I⎯ Fuck⎯ As much as I'd like to cum in your mouth or in your hand, I need to be inside you. Now".

His voice was rough, leaving you no room to protest as he leaned back, his hand replacing your own on his length. He pumped himself a few times, his dark eyes roaming over your form greedily, before he run his tip over your clit lightly. Your eyes rolled back into your head at the pressure, and Nicholas grunted when your wetness covered his aching cock. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed the tip into your tight, weeping hole.

Your eyes snapped open, and you felt yourself clench around his thick tip ⎯ Nicholas let out a strangled pant at the feeling of your warm, inviting cunt.

"Oh, fuck. I thought I prepped you well", he managed to let out, drunk on the way your cunt took him in.

He slowly sank deeper into you, letting you adjust to the painful stretch, running his hands over your thighs to help you relax. "Almost all the way in. I'm so proud of you", he cooed softly, at which you clenched again, nodding your head to signal you were ready for more.

When he finally bottomed out, you cried out, feeling as if he was ripping your insides apart. Nicholas' eyes fell closed as you kept on clenching around him, and he swore he could cum from the feeling alone.

"Ba⎯baby, you need to relax. Fuck. Just relax", he groaned, and you tried to do exactly what he had told.

After a few seconds, you finally managed to get used to the stretch ⎯ now feeling so incredibly full, so deeply connected to him, but you needed more.

"Nicholas, move, please", you begged, and he was more than happy to obey.

He pulled out almost all the way, before snapping his hips into yours, watching the way your tits bounced with the movement. He pressed your legs flat against the mattress, and you cried out when he leaned down to tower over you again. His thrusts were slow but deep, the angle making him hit that spongy spot inside of you, and you were shaking, completely at his mercy.

"You're taking me so well", Nicholas praised, kissing the corner of your mouth sweetly. "My good little girl. So tight, so warm".

You swore you could cum from his words alone, and when his fingers moved up from your thigh to press soft circles on your stiff, overstimulated clit, you were on the edge immediately.

"You feel so good, baby", he continued, speeding up, the sounds of his skin meeting yours filling the air. "I know you want to cum for me. Go on baby, let go for me".

Tears were rolling down your cheeks, and you nodded mindlessly, digging your nails into Nicholas' strong shoulders, drawing blood in the process.

Nicholas' tip kissed ⎯ no, fucked ⎯ your cervix repeatedly, as he buried himself in you over and over again, holding his own orgasm off.

When you finally let go, you felt as if your orgasm lasted a lifetime ⎯ you clenched around him so hard it was nearly impossible for him to keep his steady movements, your hips lifting off the mattress, grinding against his own as your orgasm washed over you.

"Fuck, I love you", Nicholas cried out, letting go of your legs only to stroke your cheeks in his big hands. He kissed you softly, groaning into your mouth as he painted your walls white, filling you with his cum.

At first, you didn't even comprehend his words ⎯ it took you a second after the earth shattering orgasm you had just experienced. Nicholas pulled away from your lips, letting you breathe, his forehead pressed against yours as he caught his own breath.

After a few seconds, he carefully removed his cock from you, laying down on his back, and you cuddled into his side. You traced soft circles on his chest as he covered the two of you with a blanket, kissing your forehead lovingly.

"Did you mean it?", you whispered, looking up at him, and he smiled softly. "Yes. I meant it".

"I love you too, Nick", your heart swelled as he pulled you closer, big smiles adoring both of your faces as you fell asleep in each other's warm embrace.

hoffmansgirl © 2024 | do not copy, translate, recreate or plagiarise my content. nicholas chavez masterlist ☆

tags: @darlingnikkisixx @titsout4nicholas @brlwla @blackynsupremacy @mrs-riddlexo @essentialwriter @nicholaschavezslut69 @niteskysx @millietozier

[aeralux]

"Let's Get You Cleaned Up" - Aegon Targaryen

Summary: After Aegon fucks you breathless (as always), the only logical thing left to do, is to shower. But who is to say he can resist you there? He just wants to clean you up. ModerAegon!au

Warnings: SMUT; oral (m! and f! receiving); quite rough blowjob (but he is sweet about it); dirty language; x reader; oral in the shower

Words: 3.9k

Notes: Female Reader. No other descriptive language is used.

-- aera xx

You're still shaking, your body recovering from Aegon's brutal passion. Anyone could tell what had just happened in that bedroom, and it was so intense, so all-consuming, you felt like you might never walk straight again. Your legs tremble, collapsed on the bed, boneless and spent.

You can still feel him inside you, stretching you, filling you, claiming you in the most raw, animalistic way. Your cunt throbs in time with your racing heart, a dull ache that speaks of the intensity of your lovemaking. You're sore, exhausted, utterly wiped out - but you've never felt more whole.

Your releases mingle on your skin, sticky and warm, marking you as his. You run your fingers through the mess, marvelling at its slickness and volume. You came so hard, so often, lost in the heat of the moment, chasing that high repeatedly until you were both utterly spent.

"I love you," he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. "More than words can say. More than I ever thought possible."

Aegon lowers his head, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. A promise, a vow, a declaration of forever.

When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours. "You're my everything," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

Aegon's hands roam your body gently, reverently. He traces the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breast. "I'm going to make you the happiest woman in the world," he promises, his lips brushing against your cheek.

You gaze up at Aegon through your lashes, a playful pout on your lips. "If you really want to make me the happiest woman on earth, you'd come shower with me," you purr, your fingers trailing lazily down his chest. "I feel quite... sticky."

You glance down at your thighs, coated in your mixed releases. "Ugh, look at the mess you made," you tease. "The least you could do is help me clean up."

You stretch lazily, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. "Unless, of course, you're too lazy for it," you taunt.

You let the suggestion hang in the air, waiting to see how Aegon will react. Will he rise to the temptation, and follow you into the shower like a good little puppy? Or will he sweep you off your feet and carry you to the bathroom himself?

Aegon's eyes darken with lust at your suggestive words, a slow grin spreading across his face.

He leans in, nipping at your lower lip. "Careful now, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Keep teasing me like that, and I might just decide to lick up every last drop of our mess."

Aegon's tongue flicks out, tracing the shell of your ear. "I'd start at your ankles," he purrs, his hand sliding down your thigh, "and work my way up. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until I reach the source of all that sweetness."

He nips at your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "By the time I'm done, you'll be begging me to fuck you again. Right there on the bathroom floor, against the cold tiles."

Aegon pulls back, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Or," he says, his voice taking on a note of challenge, "I could always just pick you up and carry you to the shower myself. Hold you close as the water cascades over our skin. Wash every inch of you until you're all clean and fresh and ready for me again."

He raises an eyebrow, a cocky smirk on his face. "What's it gonna be, baby? You gonna let me take care of you?" Aegon waits for your response, his body already responding to the images his words have conjured.

Your breath hitched as his words sent a shiver down your spine. Your messy cunny ached to be filled by him again, the empty throb almost unbearable.

Images of him in the shower filled your mind - wet, glistening, covered in soap. You whined softly, clinging to him like a desperate puppy. You needed his touch, his hands, his cock. Anything.

Gods, he made you absolutely insatiable. "Please," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon groans at your needy whimper, your desperate plea. Fuck, he loves seeing you like this, all wanton and wild-eyed, begging for his touch. It's the biggest fucking turn-on, knowing he's the one who drove you to this point, reduced you to a quivering mess.

"That's it, baby," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me what you need. Beg me for it."

Aegon's hands roam your body, squeezing, kneading, teasing. He dips his fingers between your legs, feeling the slick heat of your arousal. You're dripping for him, practically gushing, and the knowledge sends a surge of pride through him.

He circles your clit with his thumb, drawing out a gasp from your lips. "You want my cock, don't you?" he purrs, pressing a finger inside you, then another. "Want me to fill you up, fuck you until you can't walk straight."

Aegon pumps his fingers in and out, curling them, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you. You clench around him, trying to pull him further, and he chuckles darkly.

"Greedy little thing," he murmurs, his other hand coming up to pinch and twist your nipple. "You'll never get enough of me, will you? No matter how many times I fuck you, it's never enough." All you can do is nod in response, quiet gasps escaping from your parted lips.

He leans down, biting at your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. A reminder of who you belong to, who owns this body, this heart, this soul.

"I'm going to fuck you in the shower," he promises, his voice low and serious. "Going to bend you over and take you from behind, so hard and deep you'll forget your own name." All you can do is nod in response, 

You walk your fingers down Aegon's chest, marvelling at the hard planes of his muscles. "Mmm, you’re gonna clean me up?" You purr in a breathy tone, your eyes sparkling.

You lean in close, your lips brushing against his ear. "Let me take care of you," you breathe, your hand trailing lower, skimming over his abs. "I want to make you feel good too."

You nip at his earlobe, tugging on it gently. "I'll lick up every last drop," you promise, your voice low and husky. "Make you clean."

Aegon inhales sharply as your teeth graze his earlobe, your words sending a jolt of electricity straight to his cock. Fuck, the way you talk, the promises you make, it's enough to drive a man wild. To reduce him to a panting, desperate beast, ready to do anything, say anything, just to feel your mouth on him.

"Careful, baby," he warns, his voice rough and gravelly. "Keep talking like that, and I might just bend you over the bed and fuck that pretty mouth of yours."

Aegon's hand tangles in your hair, tugging gently, urging you closer. "You want to taste me, don't you?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "Want to wrap those soft lips around my cock and feel it slide down your throat."

He rocks his hips forward, grinding his hardness against your stomach. "I'd fuck your face so hard," he promises, his grip tightening in your hair. "Use your mouth like it's my own personal toy. Make you choke on my dick until you're dizzy and light-headed, begging for mercy."

"But first," he growls, his fingers circling your clit, "I'm going to eat this pretty cunt until you're screaming my name. Make you come on my tongue, my fingers, my cock. Over and over again, until you can't take it anymore."

He kisses you then, hard and dirty, all tongue and teeth and pent-up aggression. A bruising, brutal kiss that leaves you breathless and aching and needing so much more.

"Shower," he rasps against your lips. "Now."

You nod eagerly, a needy whimper escaping your lips as you grind your hips against his hand. "Yes," you breathe, your voice trembling with desire. "Shower…”

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans, and your breathless little gasps. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, owning you, branding you as his.

When he finally pulls back, you're both panting, your cheeks flushed and your eyes glazed with lust. Aegon stands, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.

He carries you to the bathroom, your bodies still locked together, your skin slick with sweat and arousal. He sets you down on the cool marble floor, never breaking the kiss.

"On your knees," he commands, his voice low and authoritative.

You obey immediately, sinking to the floor. Aegon steps into the shower, turning on the spray. Water cascades over his body, plastering his hair to his head, and running in rivulets down his chest and abs.

"Be a good girl and clean me up," he orders, gathering shampoo in his hands.

"Use your tongue, baby."

The demand hangs in the air, heavy and dripping with promise. Aegon stands under the spray, the water beating down on his skin, waiting for you to obey. Waiting for you to worship him the way he deserves.

You tentatively approach Aegon's throbbing cock, your tongue out in anticipation. Your heart races as you take in the sight of him, standing tall and proud under the spray, water cascading over him.

You start with little kitten licks along his shaft, your tongue darting out to taste his salty skin. You trace the thick veins running along his length, marvelling at the size of him, the hardness.

Encouraged by Aegon's low groan of approval, you wrap your lips around the leaking tip of his cock. You taste his pre-cum on your tongue and can't help but moan, the sound muffled by his thick flesh filling your mouth. 

You start to bob your head, taking him deeper with each pass. Your hands come up to grip his hips for balance as you lose yourself in pleasuring him, in worshipping his cock with your mouth.

Aegon's head falls back with a guttural groan, fingers threading through your hair. "Fuck, just like that," he grunts, his hips rocking into your face. "Take it deeper, baby. Choke on my cock like the good little girl you are."

"That's it, baby," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take it deeper. Worship my cock like you mean it."

His hips roll forward slightly, pushing his length further into the velvet heat of your mouth. He can feel your tongue swirling around him, tracing the sensitive underside, teasing the weeping slit.

As you eagerly suck on Aegon's throbbing cock, you feel his hands gently threading through your hair. The sensation of his fingers massaging your scalp as he lathers your hair with shampoo makes you moan around his thick shaft, your eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss. Aegon's tender touch, mixed with the dominant way he uses your mouth to pleasure himself, has you absolutely lost in the moment, craving more of his delicious cock.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good," he pants, his eyes locked on the erotic sight of you on your knees, his cock disappearing between your lips. "Such a good girl for me, so obedient, so eager to please."

He rocks his hips in time with your bobbing head, setting a steady rhythm, a tempo that has him hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. You gag a little, but it only spurs him on, making him thrust deeper, harder.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough and authoritative. "I want to see those pretty eyes of yours when you swallow my cock."

He pulls back slightly, letting you catch your breath, before pushing forward again. His cock stretches your lips, fills your mouth, dominates your senses. The taste of him, the weight of him, the sheer size of him - it's overwhelming, consuming, all-encompassing.

You gaze up at Aegon through your lashes, your eyes glossy and unfocused. His hands grip your hair, holding you steady as he shampoos your hair and thrusts into your mouth, his thick cock stretching your lips obscenely. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes off the tiled walls, mingling with your muffled moans. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, determined to take every inch of him. 

You can feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, pooling on the cold, wet floor beneath you. The sharp contrast of the hard tile against your skin only serves to heighten your desire.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, faster, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. You can taste the salt of his pre-cum on your tongue, the musky scent of him filling your nostrils. It's intoxicating, overwhelming, driving you wild with lust.

"Such a good little girl," Aegon growls, his hips snapping forward, burying himself deep in your throat. "You love having your pretty mouth used like this, don't you?"

You moan around his length, the degradation and praise only fuelling your desire.

Aegon groans deeply, his cock throbbing in your mouth as he thrusts into your warm, welcoming depths. He savours the sweet submission in your glazed eyes, the way your throat constricts around him as he claims your mouth.

"That's it, baby," he growls, his pace increasing, fucking into your face with abandon. "Take it all. Every fucking inch. You're mine, all mine."

He pulls your head forward, burying his cock to the hilt. You gag and splutter around him, but he doesn't relent, keeping you in place until tears stream down your cheeks.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful like this," he rasps, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "My perfect little cocksucker. Sodesperate for me, so hungry for my cum."

Aegon pulls back, letting you gasp for air, before ramming back in, setting a brutal pace. The wet, obscene sounds of your blowjob fill the steamy bathroom, mixing with his grunts and your muffled moans.

"Gonna fuck this pretty face until you're choking on my cock," he promises darkly, his eyes blazing with lust. "Gonna pump you full of my seed, mark you inside and out as mine."

His balls tighten, his thrusts becoming erratic as he nears his peak. "Get ready, baby," he warns, his voice strained."Gonna cum down your throat. Swallow every last drop like a good girl."

With a final thrust, Aegon explodes, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your waiting mouth. 

"Fuck, yes!" Aegon roars, his cock erupting in your mouth, pumping load after load of thick, hot cum directly into your stomach. Thick, hot ropes of cum coat your tongue, fill your cheeks, and you swallow greedily, eagerly, determined not to waste a single precious drop. His whole body shudders as he empties himself inside you, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over him until he's spent, drained, utterly satisfied.

You swallow every drop of Aegon's thick cum, a few pearly white strands clinging to your chin. As you pull back, gasping for breath, you can't help but cough, your throat used and raw from his brutal thrusts.

You gaze up at Aegon through your lashes, eyes big and doe-like. Your eyes are still a bit unfocused, glassy with lust and submission. Shampoo suds cling to your hair, waiting to be rinsed away.

Aegon's chest heaves as he catches his breath, his cock slowly softening in your mouth. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and intense, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, his voice low and husky. "You took my cock so well. Such a good little cocksucker for me."

He reaches down, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away the stray drops of cum clinging to your chin. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice filled with possessive pride. "My perfect little princess, all used and marked up." 

Aegon straightens up, his hands going to your hair, massaging the shampoo into your scalp. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby," he says, his tone gentler now, almost tender. "Can't have you walking around dirty."

He takes his time rinsing the suds from your hair, his fingers never stopping their gentle massage. The warm water cascades over your body, washing away the evidence of your debauchery, but leaving the memories, the imprint of his touch, his possession.

You hum softly as Aegon's strong fingers work the shampoo through your hair, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss. His thorough ministrations send shivers of pleasure racing down your spine, the warmth of the water and his touch melding into pure magic.

"There. All clean. But don't think for a second that we're done, baby."

His lips crash against yours in another bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, staking his claim, marking you as his.

When his lips claim yours in a searing kiss, you meet his passion with your own, your tongue tangling with his in a sensual dance. The taste of him, the feel of him, it's intoxicating, addictive.

But as the kiss deepens, your knees begin to tremble, the ache of kneeling on the hard, unforgiving tiles finally catching up with you. With a soft whimper, you carefully manoeuvre your body, settling onto the cool floor. The change in position allows the warm spray to soothe the dull throb, and you lean back against the wall, letting the water cascade over your shoulders.

Aegon's eyes darken as you lay back, your body relaxed and pliant in his wake. He drinks in the sight of you sprawled there, wet and wanton, completely at his mercy.

He steps out of the spray, water sluicing down his chiselled body, dripping from his hair, and his stubble. "Look at you," he growls, his voice low and rough. "So fucking beautiful, baby. So perfect."

Aegon drops to his knees, his hands skimming up your thighs, parting them. He leans in, his breath hot against your sex. "I can smell how wet you are," he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over your clit. "Fuck, you're dripping for me, aren't you?"

Without warning, he dives in, his tongue delving into your folds, lapping at your essence. He groans at the taste of you, heady and sweet, pure ambrosia.

"Taste so fucking good," he grunts, his tongue circling your clit, flicking, teasing, driving you wild. "Could eat this pretty cunt all day."

His fingers join the fray, plunging into your heat, curling, stroking, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. He sets a relentless pace, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Gonna clean you up, baby," he growls, his words vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "Gonna swallow every drop of your sweet cream."

You whimper and gasp as Aegon's skilled tongue and lips work their magic on your throbbing pussy. Your fingers tangle in his wet hair, tugging him closer, urging him deeper. "Oh gods, Aegon… Yes, more!" You mewl wantonly, your back arching off the slick tiles. Pleasure sparks through your nerves with each flick and swirl of his tongue.

The lewd sounds of his feasting echo obscenely in the steamy bathroom. You writhe and buck shamelessly against his face, too lost in ecstasy to care how desperate and needy you must look. All that matters is chasing more of this bliss he's giving me.

"Please, Aegon, I'm so close…" You whine, eyes rolling back as his tongue zeroes in on your aching clit. Your thighs quiver and clench around his head, your hips rolling feverishly. You can feel the telltale tingle building low in your belly, coiling tighter and tighter.

Aegon growls against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs as he devours you. The vibrations of his voice against your sensitive flesh make you buck and moan, your hips grinding against his face, seeking more, more, more.

He laps at your clit, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue flicking rapidly. At the same time, he pushes two fingers deep inside you, crooking them just so, rubbing against that spot that makes you see stars.

"That's it, baby," he rasps, his words muffled, his voice dripping with lust. "Ride my face. Fuck my mouth. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

Aegon can feel you tightening, your walls fluttering around his fingers. He doubles his efforts, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, pushing you to the brink.

"Gonna cum for me?" he asks, his voice a dark promise. "Gonna soak my face? Paint me with your cream?"

He seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers piston in and out, in and out, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust.

Your moans echo off the tiled walls, your body writhing under his relentless assault. Pressure builds deep in your belly, coiling tighter and tighter with each flick of his tongue, each thrust of his fingers.

"That's it, baby," Aegon rasps, his voice rough with lust. "Cum for me. Let go. Give me everything."

With a keening cry, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs clamp around his head, your hips bucking wildly as you ride out the intense waves of pleasure.

Aegon laps it all up, his tongue greedily licking and sucking, prolonging your climax until you're boneless and spent, collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath.

You try to catch your breath as your release trickles down your inner thighs, leaving a sticky trail. With each inhale and exhale, your ample breasts rise and fall, the soft flesh jiggling enticingly.

Reaching out, you gently caress Aegon's cheek, silently praising him for bringing me such exquisite pleasure. Your fingertips trace the sharp line of his jaw, the stubble that has grown there, before delving into his damp hair.

You pull him into you, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss, pouring all your gratitude and adoration into the press of your mouth against his. Aegon responds eagerly, his kiss consuming, all-encompassing, leaving you breathless once more.

As you break apart, you gaze up at him through your lashes, a soft, sated smile on your lips. "I love you," you murmur.

Aegon's heart swells at your words, your tender touch, the love shining in your eyes. He leans into your caress, his eyes fluttering closed, savouring the feel of your fingers in his hair, the soft press of your lips against his.

When you pull back, he gazes down at you, his expression open, vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be. "Love you too, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. "So fucking much."

He rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. At this moment, the rest of the world falls away - there is only you, only this. The love, the connection, the rightness of it all.

"You're mine," he whispers fiercely, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. "Mine to love, mine to cherish, mine to protect. Always."

Aegon seals his vow with a kiss, deep and passionate, pouring all his love, all his devotion into the press of his lips against yours. He loses himself in you.

"Now let's get clean… and actually shower this time," he says with a chuckle, holding his hand out to you and pulling you up. "And then we can order food and watch whatever you want," Aegon murmurs against your neck and places a kiss in the crook of your neck.

[cheriedivine]

Masterlist ₊˚⊹ᰔ

picture from pinterest (credits to the author!)

₊˚⊹ᰔ⋆˙⟡ Deeply still in love

Ellie Williams doesn’t do feelings. She buries them under alcohol, weed and strangers lips, but the moment she hears your voice again, everything she’s shoved down, claws its way back up.

₊˚⊹ᰔ⋆˙⟡ Youtuber Ellie! x Reader hc’s

You and Ellie start a youtube channel <3 (oneshots)

handcuffed couple challenge w Ellie

ellie and u reacting to fan edits

₊˚⊹ᰔ⋆˙⟡ Apple cider (series)

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

₊˚⊹ᰔ⋆˙⟡ sidelines (upcoming series)

꩜ synopsis: After losing your father and watching your mother disappear into addiction, you bounced between foster homes, each one colder than the last. But a misfortuned turn of events landed you in the wrong place at the worst time, it was their word against yours—and you were the one with the evidence in your hands, thrown into a system that never really cared if you made it out.

plz do not steal my work! ok luv u

☾. Lessi xx

[messenger-of-babel]

Dillon and Kitty

Summary: You take Dick home to the farm for a breath of fresh air. It's perfect, but there's something weighing on his mind. (Dick Grayson x fem! reader)

Word Count: 3.5K

Notes: A little self indulgent, I'm homesick and got hooked listening to country again so this popped out. I loved writing country reader (but that might be the self indulgence hehe) I might make some others in the same theme. Reader wears a dress and is alluded as female, no other warnings tonight.~ Second to last post of this challenge, I didn't think I'd even get this far. Thank you for your support so far. 🥺🥺

Also for anyone wondering- the title is a reference from Gunsmoke, an old western. I got reminded of it while listening to Toby Keith and in the show Dillon and Ms. Kitty have this 'will-they-won't-they' relationship that tugged at my heart so I put a bit of that ache in there too. 🫣🫣

Enjoy Sweethearts~! xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You loved being out of the city. You loved being back in the sky for once, and the fact that you could walk away to a quiet spot in your house and not be bombarded with the sounds of cars and arguments on the city streets. You'd gladly trade your heels for a pair of work boots if you could, give your father another pair of hands on the farm. You could take your coffee under the big oak tree by the back porch that had seen you and your siblings break bones and scrape skin, instead of the cramped fire escape that was covered in rain more often than not.

You might have only gone back for a small holiday, but you couldn’t help the thoughts that wondered just 'what if' you did come back. You know that your mother would fuss over it happily, and your father would grumble but not protest. They had sent you away to have a better chance at life, so that you could go wherever your dream wanted to take you. You weren't sure how dream like Gotham could be, with its bleak skies, crime, and constant bustle. Your friends who still lived out by here laughed at you, but you knew that if you had never left, you never would have made your dream come true.

More accurately, you would have never met the man of your dreams, Dick Grayson.

You had both run into each other at a charity event, something you had gotten to attend through your degree in place of your professor. You felt out of place in the ballroom, filled with the rich and elite. You were no stranger to the upturned noses and lingering stares of city folk when you came in to shop with no time to change, still in your work clothes and with dust covered skin. However, being regarded like you were tracking mud across the polished floors when you were in your finest, was new. You knew these events were a big deal, everyone trying to get a ticket to the famous Bruce Wayne's extravagant gala, to taste the high life for a night.

You would be lying if you said that you hadn't been interested in the concept, the high-class events that seemed to be something out of a fairytale. No one would’ve blamed you for wanting to look inside, except the other party guests it seemed. You weren't dressed in anything racy, renting out a modest dress that matched the jewellery you had. Your roommate had done your makeup for you, and you did your hair yourself. You knew that you cleaned up nice, but it appeared that the country air clung to you still.

Socialising had become a nightmare, with people hesitant to even talk to you. The ones that did wavered in confidence when you said that you were still a student, your professors name doing little to ease their worries. You had no family name to shield you, no massive corporation at your back. You quickly realised that they weren't talking to you, because you couldn't do something for them. Even though you had no intent on working with rich assholes like them, the feeling of being useless quickly crept into the back of your mind. So much so, that you were stuck in that thought until you roughly collided with someone, and felt the barely sipped glass of champagne you cradled spill all the way down the front of your dress.

"I'm so sorry," are the first words that come out of your mouth, hands flying to the other person. You look up, hearing a soft chuckle and the blood drains from your face. Dick Grayson, the first adopted son of tonight’s host. He must recognise the panic on your face, because he laughs quietly and wraps a large palm around the crook of your elbow and pull you to the side. You expect to get scolded, but he takes you to a corner away from prying eyes and pulls out his pocket square.

"Here, use this." he says softly, smile on his lips. You take it after an apprehensive second, beginning to dry the fabric the best you can. "I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, that's completely on me." he says, eyes crinkling with worry. You shake your head in protest, swallowing hard.

"No, no, I wasn't either. Did I get your suit?"

He holds his hands up, "No, no, you're fine. Didn't get a drop on me." he smiles. "So don't worry." his eyes flit back down to the stain creeping across your front. He winces studying the wet patch. "Can I replace the dress for you?" he offers. "Get you a new one as an apology."

You shake your head violently, mind racing. He said is so casually, as if it was loose change to him.

"Oh, no. This isn't even my dress, it's a rental." you wave him off. "I'll just get it dry cleaned, and if that doesn't work, I'll just pay the fee. It's nothing for you to worry about."

His head tilts slightly to the side, strands of ebony hair tickling his forehead.

"You don't own the dress?" he asks, and your shoulders slump. You nod, expecting him to turn up his nose. The wealth in this single room made your head spin, and you watched his face. he was going to shrug you off and take his pocket square back, re-emerge into the sea of glittering people with silk lined pockets.

"It looks like it was made for you."

That makes your eyes widen and your cheeks burn with heat. He lets a pearly grin slip forward, making little lights dance in his eyes mischievously.

"Thank you." you stutter out, hands smoothing down the fabric.

"At least give me your details," he persists. "I'll pay for the dry cleaner and the fee if it comes to that. It was my fault, don't worry."

You smile hesitantly, mind wandering. Was he going to hold this over your head? Make you pay him back with favours that cost you more than you could afford?

"But I do have a favour to ask."

There it was.

He must have sensed the tension in your shoulders and the flicker of fear that ran across your face, because he raised his hands and softened his expression. "Feel free to say no of course."

You make your mouth move, tone hesitant. "What is it?"

"You wear it on our first date."

Your jaw drops open a little wider in shock, and a shit eating grin spreads across his face. You give a single, stunned nod and he beams wider. "Excellent. I'll be in touch. I'd stay longer, but Bruce will be insufferable if I disappear and make him handle all those vultures alone. I hope you can understand." he sends you a sympathetic and sheepish gaze, keeping eye contact with you as he drifts away into the crowd.

Two days later when you went to pick up the dress from the drycleaners, it was gone. You had panicked, calling the store to apologise, but oddly enough they couldn't find the dress in their system anymore. Tired from a long day of chasing, you found a tied package at your apartment door. Unwrapping the paper on your bed, you couldn't help but smile pulling out the dress you wore to the gala, freshly cleaned. Alongside it was a navy jewellery box, carrying a matching necklace. The piece of paper inside was written in a hastily scrawled handwriting, messier than you'd have expected from his pedigree.

I told you the dress was made for you. Call me to make plans.

-Dick

That had started the beginning of your relationship with the man who cheered you on relentlessly while you chased your dream. You called home so often that your mother had fallen in love with him too without even meeting him, while your father grew continually irritated with the way Dick's name became a household one without ever setting foot on the property. So, after a year of dating and having gone to meet his family multiple times (where upon meeting Bruce, you could tell where Dick had adopted many of his mannerisms) he was finally coming to see the place where you had grown up.

The second your car had rolled through the gates and hit park; your younger siblings were running towards you at full pelt. Correction, Lacey, your pocket rocket ten-year-old sister threw herself at Dick for a hug, while your quieter teen brother, Marcus watched from the porch.

"Are you Dickie?" Lacey had all but shouted at him, making him look at you. You stifled giggles behind your hand as he looked down at her, gently pulling her off before crouching. "You must be Lacey?" he asked with the soft smile he reserved for kids. She giggled and grinned at you, beaming.

"He knows my name!" she squeals, before giving you a big hug herself.

You laugh and send her back to your brother who was keeping his distance, sending a shrug to Dick as you go to unload the car. You can hear the fly screen rattle and the voices of your parents, signalling the start of a very active dinner. "Welcome, city boy." you smirk at him, leaning over to give him a peck on the lips. He pulls you close and kisses you back, hand cradling your neck before he parts.

"Good to be here." he smiles.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The week had flown by and he had settled in well, while your body fell back into your old routine like clockwork. Your father had been sceptical of Dick at the beginning, but Dick had proven himself rather quickly, offering to help out. He wasn't afraid to get dirty, he didn't tear up or complain when he got a scrape or a bruise. Often times it was your mother that would fuss over him when he came into the kitchen sporting a new bump or injury, and he'd look down with surprise like he hadn’t even felt it. He was good with Lacey and even quiet Marcus warmed up to him, spending his afternoons in the stables with Dick showing him how to care for the horses. The horses were the animals Marcus had loved ever since he was a child, and when Marcus let Dick saddle up one of his to take a small ride around the paddock, you knew he was part of your family now.

You couldn’t deny that he looked good in work gear, it was like a weight was off his shoulders. His eyes seemed clearer; soul less burdened. It was only when he came out to meet your family that you realised he his lips naturally curved downwards in Gotham, his eyes blue as the sky but lost in someplace further than the horizon he stared out at. He looked good in denim and with reigns in his hand, gentle with the horse as he caught your gaze and steered her over to you. He was in a spare pair of work boots your quickly growing brother no longer fit, and a sweat broken work hat on his head. You had to stop the tingle in your hand and cheeks catching sight of him like that. When he looked at you, you finally felt like his eyes were looking at you.

"Hey, handsome." you call, pushing off from the paddock fence. "I see you've made a good impression on Marcus."

He grins down at you, dismounting swiftly like he had been riding all his life. "He's a good kid." he smiles, and you kiss his cheek.

"Come on, dinner's almost ready." you say sweetly before turning to your younger brother, still on his horse. "And that goes for you too, mister!" you holler, making Marcus flip you off in the distance.

"Teens." you grumble, making Dick laugh as you head to the stables.

You help Dick unsaddle, making sure the tack is put away properly. You look over at him, frowning softly as you see the expression on his face. It's the same shadow he wears in Gotham, the weight of something invisible constantly pressing down on him. "Hey, you okay?" you call with a kind smile, making him look up quickly. You don't see the phone in his hand that he slips back into his pocket, only the tight grin he sends back to you.

"Yeah, fine."

You walk back to the house in silence, and your mother already has dinner waiting for you. Everyone proceeds as usual, but you can't help looking at Dick seated across from you, with a soft frown on your face. He seems out of it, and when he meets your eyes it's guilty. The tension is thankfully not felt by other members of your family, allowing you to follow him when he slips out.

You find him in your childhood bedroom, where you've both been sleeping. "Hey, you okay?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe. he has his back to you, fiddling with something in his pocket. What he says next steals the breath from your lungs.

"I can't do this."

It's like the rug has fallen out from beneath your feet you and you straighten yourself quickly, closing the door behind you so no one can hear your conversation. "Dick?" you ask, softly, heart racing. "What do you mean?"

He sighs and turns to you, eyes normally so bright now swirling with emotion. "I think...I think we should break up." he says, voice barely pushing the words out.

"You don’t mean that." you shake your head, hand coming to your temple. This has to be a dream. Or a nightmare. "Why? what's wrong?"

"I just...I have something I need to do back in Gotham. I can't...I can't give you the life you want. I don't think we'll work out." he sends you an apologetic smile like your eyes aren't filling with tears, lip wobbling.

"What made you think that?" you ask, trying to hold it together. To not let your emotions control you and push him further away. "Was it...Was it my family? This life?"

"No, no, nothing like that." he says hurriedly. "I just think, god-" he runs a hand through his hair, sucking his teeth. "I just don't think we're compatible."

"And it took you until meeting my family for you to say that, huh?" you say, arms crossed and unable to hide the hurt tone. He winces, wringing his hands.

"I have to go." he says softly.

"Why?" you demand again, voice raising. "God damn it, Grayson, you can't just tell me you want to break up suddenly. That's not fair. Tell me. Tell me if it's something I did. You've been distracted on your phone, just tell me if it's work or another woman-" you cut yourself off when you see him grimace and your breath stops in your throat. You hadn’t been serious when you said that. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He raises his hands in defence, making you scoff. "Please, listen." he pleads, making your blood rush to your head.

"You've actually been talking to another woman? Are you kidding-"

"It's just Babs, I swear-"

"Barbara Gordon?" your voice shrilly rings at the mentions of his ex. "Oh yes, because texting your ex-girlfriend makes me feel so much better." you spit, holding your hand out. "Be honest for once. S how me." You seethe, and after a hesitant moment he unlocks his phone and places it in your hand with a defeated sigh. You swipe to his messages, heart shattering as you read her contact’s name still with an orange heart beside it.

"There's something I need help with. You need to come home."

You hate reading how readily he replied, running back to his ex the second that she says she needed him. the way she called him home, like he hadn't been with you so naturally you even had the audacity to think that maybe he could find a life here too. A home. Somewhere peaceful, away from the hustle and bustle and having to constantly be on his guard. To be able to steal kisses under the shine of the stars instead of the invasive flash of the paparazzi.

He takes the phone from you, unable to meet your eyes. Dick doesn't feel like he deserves to.

His heart breaks as he walks past you, shoving his things back into the bag he packed. He can feel the hurt radiating off you, making his own heart break. He wants to tell you that he hasn't been talking to Barbara, not that way at least. That he did love you, with every part of him. He loved your family. He loved the gruffness of your dad and the way he'd check in on Dick periodically, grumbling about him being a city kid but still making sure he didn't get too banged up. He loved your mothers cooking and let Lacey play with his hair. He loved Marcus and his passion for his animals. He loved you.

He loved you in finery he bought you and he loved you with dust in your hair and callouses on your hands. He loved you in jewellery and he loved you in chaps, loved you in heels and the dirt caked work boots. That's what he told himself, but if he was breaking your heart this way, he wasn't sure if he was ever truly able to love you.

 If he loved you as much as he fooled himself, he wouldn't be leaving with no explanation, wouldn't be breaking your heart at your parents’ house, your safe place. If he loved you, he would tell you that he was Nightwing, and he would never be able to come out to the countryside with you. That he had a duty in Gotham that had him risking his life every night.

He wished he could tell you who he was, and he yearned to. When he looked into those heartbroken eyes of yours, he wanted to take you into his arms and spill his heart out and kiss you stupid. He wanted to tell you everything, about him, his family, about Bruce. But he couldn't, his own lips freezing in fear. His throat bobs as he swallows harshly, looking down in guilt. "Alfred is bringing the car. He'll be here soon." he says softly.

The words he really wants to say is:

Please love me. Please don’t hate me. Please forgive me.

He grabs the last of his things and pushes past you before the burning to comfort you overtakes his logical mind. He knows he has to go back. Indulging himself in you and your sunlight was something that he couldn't afford. He couldn't afford you to get hurt, to get wrapped up in his world. It was a first for him dating a civilian, and he was terrified. That fear built up over in his mind, and he knew it. He knew he should give you a chance, but it was the safer option, the lesser of two evils. He could suffer the pain of losing you, or he could suffer the pain of you finding out who he was and hating him.

His heart shatters as he hears the sob of you, beginning to break down as he leaves.

He passes the faces of your family, curious but silent. He feels their eyes follow him, a brand of shame tracing him and his path out. The cold is biting, nipping at his skin but he doesn't feel it. All he can see in his mind's eye is you undoubtably being comforted by the worried hands of your mother, crying out in heartbreak and not even getting to know why.

By the time that Alfred arrives, he can see the silhouette of your family on the porch, Marcus and your father. He can hear your father yell at him as he gets into the car, but he can't make out the words as he shuts the door and Alfred begins to roll away. He slouches against the door, head in his hands. Alfred looks back, studying him.

"Did you tell her, sir?" Alfred asks softly, the older man's fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Dick had promised that he'd tell you, let you make your own decision before continuing to be involved with him. Alfred liked you and had reassured Dick countlessly that you would likely be nothing but accepting is he did reveal his secret identity. yet as he stares at the slumped man in the rearview mirror, a pang of disappointment shoots through his heart as he pieces together what's happened. Dick tries his best to stop the tears, but they prickly to the forefront anyway.

"No. But there's nothing left to tell her." Dick mumbles defeatedly, staring out the window with dull eyes.

but there was, three little points he never got out of his mouth.

I'm Nightwing.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Right again • Tom Riddle x f!reader

Requested: No

Pairing: Tom Riddle x f!reader (+ SPOILER x f!reader)

Summary: Tom, who always thought relationships were meaningless, changed his mind when he met y/n. He plans on telling her how he feels, however, it doesn't go as planned, and he finds himself to be right - again.

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: Fluff; angst; English is not my first language.

A/N: It wasn't supposed to be this long lmao. I will write the same plot with Mattheo, Lorenzo and Theo in the future - hopefully with a better title lol. PLEASE PLEASE DON'T LET THIS FLOP OR YOU WON'T SEE ME ON HERE AGAIN LOL. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it! xx

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan @blocked-zombieartist

Tom Riddle was in his dorm, one of the only places in Hogwarts where he could be by himself, and where he could be doing the things he enjoyed the most - studying and reading, both in silence. But, despite being currently sitting on his desk - always perfectly arranged -, he was not currently reading a book or studying. Instead, he was doing something he never thought he would do and was feeling something he never thought he would feel: thinking about a girl, and being nervous about a girl. 

Contrary to Mattheo and his friends, Tom has never cared for relationships - he could barely bear being around Mattheo’s friends if serious, meaningful discussions or activities weren’t involved. Sure, he cared for Mattheo, more than he cared to admit, because they were of the same blood. And for Tom, blood was one of the things that mattered the most, alongside loyalty, knowledge and influence. 

And y/n. 

Tom had always thought Mattheo was the only person he could ever care for - after all, they needed to have some sort of loyalty towards each other if they wanted to have a chance to fight their father - but, just like he was surprised to learn he did not want to follow his father in his quest for tyranny, Tom was surprised to find himself caring for y/n. 

Just like he had never cared for friendship, Tom had never cared for love. He did not think it was a weakness as his father did, but he did think it was not as important as people made it out to be. And, also, why care for love when something terrible, something that would likely cost lives was being prepared? 

But then again, y/n challenged that idea. Despite being in the same house and the same year, it took Tom several years to properly notice her. He knew she was one of Mattheo’s close friends outside of his usual group, and that gave them occasions to spend time together. Strangely, Tom had first found her company more tolerable than the others - she seemed to understand his will for silence, deep conversations and his interests, seemed to have the same thirst for knowledge. She was kind as well, having what people called “a heart of gold”, always ready to help anybody in need. She was also warm and funny, two things she shared with Mattheo, and it usually didn’t take people enough to want to be her friend. Tom had considered y/n the closest thing he had to a friend, and he thought he would stay that way until, one day, he saw her and Mattheo sitting closer to each other than usual, and he felt something strange, something he didn’t expect to feel, and something he struggled to understand - jealousy. He didn’t think it was that at first, but it became obvious it indeed was jealousy when he found himself wishing that he was the one sitting next to her, and not Mattheo. 

From that moment, he kept thinking about y/n in ways he had never done before - how beautiful she was, how he loved her smile, how he wanted to hold her hand, to smell her addictive perfume, to be the person who mattered most to her… how he wanted to hold and kiss her. He had considered those thoughts as foolish at first and tried to not have them, but everytime he was with y/n, they came back running, and he sometimes had to restrain himself from sitting closer to her just to smell her perfume when they were in class, or to hold her hand when they were studying in the library. He didn’t have anybody to ask questions to - Mattheo would laugh at him - so, like he always did, Tom gave himself the answer: it was love. At first, he thought it was only temporary and it didn’t even cross his mind to tell her about it, but he was forced to admit that, instead of disappearing, those feelings became stronger with each day passing. The idea displeased him, and he tried to avoid y/n so these feelings would go away, but it was in vain, and only made him miss y/n - and made him love her more. But one day, as he was sitting on his desk busy thinking about her instead of studying, the idea of just telling her how he felt seemed right. Of course, the idea of rejection secretly terrified him, but he would accept simply being her friend. y/n deserved a loyal, sincere friend and that is what Tom was. All she had to do was give him a chance he could be the boyfriend - the word seemed so meaningless compared to what he felt - she deserved, a boyfriend who would be loyal, caring, sincere, and who would put her and her needs and safety first.  

Thus, he got her favorite flowers, and, having thought about what to say to her for hours, decided to go and ask her to have a moment of her time. And now the time had come. He grabbed the bouquet, and, trying to pull himself together, left his dorm. At that hour, y/n should be in the common room. With a bit of luck, she would be alone. Tom headed for the common room, which was nearly empty except for two first years laughing. He started looking for y/n, and his heart, which had started to beat faster with nervosity and hope, almost broke. 

y/n was indeed here, standing in a corner of the room - kissing Mattheo, who had a hand on her waist and the other in her hair. He broke the kiss, looked at her in a way Tom had never seen him and y/n had a smile before Mattheo pressed his lips on hers like he couldn’t help it. 

Tom took a step back, and the only thing that stopped him from dropping the bouquet was the noise he knew it would make. He turned around and quickly yet silently went back to his dorm - where the flowers finally met the ground. His back against the door, he almost wanted to laugh now. How could he have been so foolish? It should have been obvious to him from the start that y/n, warm and kind y/n, would prefere Mattheo, Mattheo would everybody loved or at least fond of, who had no problems making friends and be with people, Mattheo who had never been anything like their father. Mattheo, who people didn’t intimidate or rightfully found cold and strange. 

You’ve won, brother. 

As always, Tom Riddle found he had been right. Love was meaningless, and he should never have cared for it - should have never cared for her - in the first place. 

He was right, but for the first time in his life, he wished he wasn’t.

Want to be on the permanent tag-list or for specific characters/fandoms? Feel free to use my Ask-Box!

Next projects

Masterlist

[httpsdana]

hiiii can i please request a joao felix fic where they do the ‘a boy who’s jacked and kind’ tiktok trend!! i think it’ll be really cute! love ur fics xx

Jacked and Kind~João Fèlix

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

João was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his TikTok fyp when he suddenly burst out laughing. “amor, you need to see this”

She glanced over, eyebrow raised, as he showed jer a video of a couple participating in the trending challenge to Sabrina Carpenter’s song.

The boyfriend lifts his girlfriend onto his shoulder with ease, flexing his muscles and looking ridiculously proud.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, already sensing what was coming. “You’re not going to make me do that, are you?”

João’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, I’m absolutely going to make you do it. You’ve seen these arms, right?” He flexed dramatically, giving his bicep a quick squeeze.

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Please, João. I’m not exactly lightweight, you know.”

“amor, I’m practically a superhero. I lift cars for fun.” He gave her a teasing look, clearly trying to be serious, but the way he said it made her giggle.

“Okay, Mr. Superhero,” she teased. “But if you drop me, I’m posting it to the internet, and you’ll never live it down.”

“I won’t drop you,” he said confidently, then added with a playful smirk, “But you’ll definitely post it, right? Gotta show off my muscles to the world.”

She raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed. “You’re such a child.”

“oh shut up” João replied , leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Now, come on, let’s make this video. We’re gonna go viral.”

She sighed dramatically but gave in, standing up from the couch. “Fine, but if I break my back, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ll be fine, princesa. Just trust me,” João said with a wink. “You ready?”

She grabbed her phone, adding the song and preparing to film as he positioned himself. He flexed his arms one last time and gave her a wink. “Okay, on three. Hold on tight, and don’t look scared.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not scared, just... cautious.”

“three...two...one” João counted with the TikTok counter

In one fluid motion, João crouched down, then lifted her effortlessly onto his broad shoulders.

She yelped in surprise at how quickly it happened, but João’s hand was already on her thigh, holding her steady, while the other arm flexed proudly in front of the camera.

“Whoa, you actually did it,” she said, half in shock, half in awe. She couldn’t stop smiling, though she was still a little unsure of the whole thing.

João looked up at her with that proud grin. “Told you, princesa. I’m jacked and kind. A perfect match for this trend.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, trying to keep her balance. “You look like you’re about to audition for a bodybuilding competition.”

He flashed her a teasing wink, flexing again for the camera. “All for you, meu amor. Look at these muscles. You’re lucky to have me.”

“Lucky? I’m more like terrified,” she joked, her grip tightening on his shoulders as he started moving around a bit.

“Oh, come on, you love it. Admit it,” he teased, giving her a wink. “The view from up here is pretty great, right?”

She smirked. “Well, I guess it is. But don’t get too cocky, okay?”

“Too late,” João said, his grin growing wider as he flexed once more. “This is how you do it, amor.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’m impressed. Just put me down already the phone stopped filming ages ago.”

“you’re making me look good right now though.”

She laughed at his words before he gently lowered her back down, his hands sliding to her waist to steady her.

She stood there, grinning up at him. “Okay, I’ll admit it. You’re strong.”

He gave her a proud look, holding up his phone to check the video. “Told you! This is gonna get so many views.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” she teased, poking him in the chest.

“I’m full of you, meu amor,” João said with a wink, pulling her in for a kiss. “Now let’s post this before I start flexing again. Don’t want to break the internet with all this muscle.”

Dhe laughed against his lips. “Alright, alright. your fan girls are gonna love this video”

He pulled back, laughing at her words. “oh the edits will be amazing”

She smiled up at him, nodding head.

“Of course they'll be. your fans never miss”

João laughed, pulling her closer for another kiss. “I don't care about them. I just want everyone to know that I'm real boyfriend material”

She laughed at his words, leaning her head against his chest as they settled on the couch, their video long forgotten as they spent the rest of the evening in each other's arms.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[arlana-likes-to-write]

hi! I’m not sure if you are in the mood of writing dark topics, but I thought I’d just put this out here, you don’t have to write it! I have always been suicidal sinces I was young, death it was never something that scares me, through out my life it was always up and down, sometimes those thoughts are strong, sometimes non existent. But recently it has been getting worse than it has ever been. I have always been pushed to do better, and that just recently got very overwhelming for me as my friend had won an award with basically zero experience at a activity while I had triple her experience but still have not won an award yet, I know how it sounds but for me it’s still hurts a lot, I felt like I could never be great in anyway. And my mom is not helpful in anyway possible. Natasha Romanoff and Maria Hill has always been comfort characters to me, they helped me through some of the toughest times, so I’m trying to see if this trick still work :), if you could write a shot on a suicidal based or maybe even suicidal attempt with black hill x daughter reader it would mean the world to me. Again I understand that this is quite heavy so no pressure:) have a great day xx

Not Enough (Enough to me)

AS STATED IN THE ASK THIS STORY HAS THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING FOR SOME. PLEASE DO NOT READ IT. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.

Note: As always, I'm so glad you are still here.

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, mention of self-arm, mention of past abuse, sparring that leads to an injury, injury, protective blackhill parents

Relationship: Blackhill x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 4K

As soon as you show interest in space, your parents feed into it. It was a dream of yours to work at SABER. At first, it was NASA, but it took one story from your Aunt Carol to change your course. The idea of working in space on a space station and protecting Earth was enough for you to focus on your studies and physical fitness. You wanted no special treatment from Fury or Monica. You wanted to join the program on your merit and not who your parents are.

Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff—the Black Widow and the Commander, the Avenger and agent of SWORD—it seemed impossible to go anywhere and not hear their names. When you told them of your dream, they supported you but expressed their concern for your safety, which was fair, but this was your dream.

The classes were challenging. The training sessions were brutal. But you gave it your all and came out on top of your class for the past two semesters. However, you were passed on an opportunity when you were the better candidate by a mile. There were rumors that your classmate got it from a very influential family. He complained to your professor and got it.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and blocked out the lights that danced on your ceiling. The paper that explained why you weren’t selected fell to the floor. One evening, Yelena asked why you wanted to go into space. She said you could make a difference on Earth. You told her the stars and planets fascinated you more. In space, there were so many unknowns yet to be discovered. You wanted to be part of the exploration.

However, you had a hidden motive for choosing space. The further ‘planet’ from Earth was 3.7 billion meters away. That was not counting warp points to other parts of the galaxy. Pluto was 3.7 billion meters away. That planet was the most straightforward comparison to show how vast space is for the average person on Earth. At any given moment, you could be that far away from all of your problems and demons. If you were 3.7 billion meters away, the darkness in your mind couldn’t hurt you.

At 5 years old, you were dropped off at a church. Your biological parents decided one night they no longer wanted to be parents. So the church brought you in. However, you endured the abuse from them for 5 years. It seemed by fate that you ran into Natasha and Maria. They saved you and adopted you on your 11th birthday. Finally, you had a safe home where you felt love. But the demons of your past still haunted you.

When it was quiet, and you allowed your thoughts to wander, you wondered if you were the problem. Maybe you weren’t good enough - that was why your biological parents gave you up, or the church hurt you. When were Natasha and Maria going to let you go? It was a waiting game, a ticking time clock. “Sweetheart,” Maria said, followed by a knock on your door.

You sat up. “Come in,” you forced the words out of your mouth. It tasted bitter. You wanted to be alone. The door opened, and Maria walked in. You moved to the middle of the bed so there was space for her. It was second nature to lay beside her and look at the ceiling.

“Tell me about that one,” Maria pointed to a deep indigo planet with teal streaks. Each star and planet that glowed on your ceiling was real. Another gift from Carol is that she recorded the planets she visited to give to you. It was tradition for one of your moms to lay on your bed and ask you a question.

“That is Vorexia,” you said. You saw her look at you, but you kept your eyes on the planet. “It’s terrestrial with an orbital period of 380 Earth days and a rotation period of 26 Earth hours,” you folded your hands behind your head. There are three major land masses, and the oceans are iridescent blue-green due to the bioluminescent plankton. Vorexia has two moons.” Maria let out a low whistle.

“Damn, you are so smart. Did not get that from your mom,” she teased. You rolled your eyes at her playful jab at the Black Widow. You felt her move onto her side to look at you. “You seemed quiet at dinner. Your mom and I were worried.”

“I’m fine,” you smiled and looked at her. “Just tired. Training was a bitch.” You heard a gasp from the hallway.

“Language,” Natasha said as she entered your room. “You know Steve doesn’t like that kind of talk.” The Black Widow lay on your other side with her back against the headboard. “Is it my turn to pick?”

“Come on, Nat. She just said she was tired. Let her rest. " It was funny to see a pout form on the redhead’s face.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Pick one.” You gently tapped her leg and brought your attention back to the ceiling. She waited for a few passes, then decided on a planet that was a mass of fiery orange and deep red. “Drakaris,” you whispered. “Unlike Earth, the planet’s atmosphere is thick with heavy carbon and a high sulfur content. There are three moons, and a phenomenon called the Burning Tides can occur, which is when the methane seas ignite due to atmospheric lightning.”

“Shit, kid,” Natasha said. “You get your brains from me.” Laughter broke out between you and Maria while Natasha was lost on what was funny.

Laughing and being surrounded by your moms was nice but it filled you with guilt. Why were you so sad and lost when you had everything?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Somehow, you failed. You stared at the test on your desk with a red 48 circled on the top. How was it possible? You studied for hours. For each practice test, you got at least a 97. How was this possible?

The rest of the class was a blur. A mind-numbing haze surrounded you. You came back to yourself when your professor called your name to stay after class. He asked if everything was alright at home due to your poor grades. Then he tackled on that he expected more from his best student.

You were his best student, but he passed you on the promotion to someone less deserving. You told him you would try harder and left the classroom. Classes were over, and you wanted to release all this pent-up frustration.

Better. He wanted you to be better because you weren’t enough. A simple statement to work harder felt like a slap on the face. All of your fears were confirmed. You needed to hit something hard.

You walked into the gym and into the locker room to change. The shirt was Natasha’s. It was one of her old SHIELD shirts. You felt stronger with one of your mom’s shirts during training. It was a placebo effect. Maria and Natasha watched your back during whatever fight you went in.

You were focused on each punch you sent to the sandbag. The tension was already leaving your shoulders. Although you preferred the logical and scientific side of your career path, you were trained by some of the best. “Agent Spider,” you rolled your eyes at the obnoxious nickname our classmates called you. As soon as they found out who your parents were, the name took like flies to honey. Jayce was the one who called you. He also was the one that your professor chose. “Wanna spar?” He asked and pointed to the mat behind him. A few of your other classmates were gathered around to watch.

“Sure,” you said, even though you were dreading it. But you were backed into a corner - called out in front of everyone. You stood on the sparring mat and faced Jayce. You’ve fought him before. He was stronger than you, but you made up for it with precision. Natasha taught you that no matter how big your opponent was, you could take them down if you were fast and technical.

Jayce rolled his shoulders and adjusted his stance. “I’m not gonna hold back, spider.” You stretched your arms.

“I expected nothing less, Yee,” you heard one of your classmates count down from 3 then yell, ‘Begin!’ You wanted to strike first, a quick step-in jab aimed at his ribs. He barely managed to parry before you spun into a high kick to force him back. The plan was to be relentless and tire him out.

But he pressed on. Jayce absorbed a few glancing hits before countering. He faked a jab to your left, drawing your guard, then swept low with his leg. You stumbled, barely catching yourself. “Getting slow, Jayce,” you taunted. Your stamina was keeping the fight out of his reach. Adrenaline was running through your veins. You were winning this fight. You were going to prove that you deserved to be here more than him.

“Just warming up,” he grinned, sweat dripping down his brow. He took to your strategy and came at you hard. A punch, a knee to your side - you blocked most but not all. You gritted your teeth and retaliated with an elbow strike to his chin.

Something inside him snapped.

You saw it in his eyes.

Fueled by frustration, Jayce grabbed your wist mid-strike and yanked hard. A moment of imbalance. A single misstep. Before you could react, Jayce pivoted and twisted your arm behind your back with too much force. A sickening crack echoed in the gym.

You tried to fight it, but you screamed. Jayce loosened his grip, and you crumbled to the mat, clutching your arm. The room fell into a stunned silence, then erupted into noise.

Too many hands were on you. Someone called for the doctor. During the chaos, you found Jayce with no regret on his face.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

According to Helen, you were lucky it was a clean break, and surgery wasn’t required. Nothing felt lucky about this situation. You were beaten. Again, you weren’t good enough. You knew you should have felt pain during the x-ray or when the cast got set on your arm, but you felt nothing. Again, a numbness washed over you.

Suddenly, the door to the room you were in opened. Your arm was on a side table as you waited for Helen to return. She wrapped it with a layer of soft, stretching fabric that she called a stockinette. Then, a roll of cotton is placed over it to put light pressure on the area and help it heal. She had to get the color you requested. First, you had to deal with your moms. “Hey, sweetheart,” Maria smiled. “How are you?”

“Okay,” you shrugged. “Helen gave me some medicine, so I don’t feel it.” It wasn’t a total lie. You wondered if it would have made a difference. Natasha sighed and kissed the top of your head.

“What happened, malen’kiy?” It had been years since she used that nickname. When the couple first adopted you, you took the time to learn Russian. You were like a sponge when it came to the language. She called you ‘little one.’

“It was an accident,” you told them. I was sparring with a classmate. He got the better of me. “You tried to joke, but you saw the look shared between the couple. Helen said I won’t need surgery,” you tried to change the topic. I’ll be out of training for a few weeks. "

“Who were you sparring with?” Maria asked. You felt small underneath her gaze. The look reminded you of when she was upset at new agents or when Natasha got hurt when Steve claimed it was an easy mission.

“Uh,” you were stalling. The last thing you wanted was for your moms to make a scene, but you couldn’t lie to them. “His name is Jayce Yee. Please don’t do anything,” you pleaded. “We were just sparring.” You watched the tension slowly leave Maria’s shoulders, but she still looked pissed. Before she could answer, Helen walked through the door with the next part of the cast.

“Alright,” she paused, clearly sensing the tension in the room. Her eyes danced between you and your moms. “Is everything okay? I can come back.”

“No!” You cringed at the sound. “I mean, can we just get this over with? I want to go home.” Maria sighed. She mimicked her partner and kissed the top of your head.

“Let’s see what color you picked out.” You picked out red, which Natasha was very happy about. Once the cast hardened, your moms were the first to sign it. They treated you to ice cream afterward, but you were thankful to finally go home.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You sat on your bed, back against your headboard, with a pencil down your cast. No one told you how itchy a cast would be. Sighing, you threw the pencil to the ground and looked up at the planets circling overhead. With your arm broken, you would be out of training and fall behind on the physical aspect, which was a problem because your test was coming up.

Everything was falling apart. It was like you were trying to hold onto water, but it was slipping through your fingers. You felt out of control, and everything was your fault. You heard footsteps approaching before you saw them. It was Natasha. She had a piece of paper in her hand. “How’s adjusting to the cast?” she asked while sitting next to you.

“It’s itchy,” you grumbled. The Black Widow laughed and pushed some hair out of your face. “Is there something else you wanted to talk about?” Your eyes subconsciously looked at the papers in her hand.

“Are you having trouble at school?” The question caught you off guard and froze you at the very spot you were sitting at. “We got this in the mail,” Natasha handed it to you. If you need help, I’m sure Maria can put in a word for you.”

You snatched the paper out of her and read it over. According to the document, you were on the verge of failing out of the program. That was impossible. You failed one test. “Sweetheart,” your hands crumbled the paper. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“This has to be a mistake,” you whispered, handing it back to her. “A-a glitch in the system. I’ll talk to my professor tomorrow.”

“Do you want-?”

“No.” You cut her off and shook your head. “No, I can handle it.” The whole point was to do this on your own without their influence. For some reason, Natasha gave you a small smile. It looked sad.

“Okay, honey,” she kissed your forehead. Come get us if you need anything,” she squeezed your non-cast hand. Anything at all, okay?”

“Okay,” you promised. “Thanks, mama.” When she left with the paper in her hand, she gave you one final smile. You flopped onto your stomach, face buried in the pillow. One thing after another after another. It seemed like everything was piling up.

Sitting up suddenly, you closed the door and walked over to your dresser. At the bottom of your sock drawer, there was a small box. Once upon a time, it was a box that once held a pair of earrings from Yelena. Now, it held a darker secret: a small razor blade. The item only came out when the world around you became too much. You changed into shorts and slipped on one of Maria’s old sweatshirts. Opening the window in your room, you climbed onto the roof.

You discovered by accident that you could access the roof by your window. A few years back, the news reported a meteor shower, and you wanted to see it. So you opened the window and climbed onto the roof. You were grounded for a week, but the view was spectacular.

You sat in the middle of the roof and looked at the city. Some parts of Earth’s beauty made your decision to work at SABER difficult. Your parents were here, and you’d hate to be so far from them. But there were things on Earth that could not be replicated in space—memories of you living in the city. The lights and sounds of New York were unmatched. It was a one-of-a-kind experience. Some of your happiest memories and darkest traumas happened in this city.

The box felt heavy in your hands. Deep down, you feared it wouldn’t be enough. The pain wouldn’t stop the feeling of dread that consumed you. You were never going to be good enough, no matter how hard you tried. Why couldn’t you be better?

It would be so easy to walk off the roof. Oddly enough, that thought didn’t scare you. Your home was two stories. It was a 50-50 shot that the fall would kill you.

The night sky was beautiful. Everything felt poetic. But you remained frozen to the spot. Typical, you cursed; you were too chicken to kill yourself. “Sweetheart,” you jumped at Maria’s sudden voice. “Can I join you up there?” You stared at her, blinking a few times. It was hard to comprehend her sudden appearance with half of her body out of your bedroom window. “I can stay right here,” a beat of silence passed. “What are you doing up here?”

“I-” You weren’t sure how to answer her. How could you look at your mother and tell her you came up here to make yourself bleed? To maybe take a few steps and end it all. “I don’t know,” you settled on. Maria nodded.

“What is your favorite space phenomenon?” You were sure confusion was all over your face. “Come on, squirt, I know you know this answer.” You huffed and stared at the city instead of the sky above. Still, you saw her move to be entirely on the roof. She kept her distance.

“It’s called the magnetars,” you gave in. “It’s a type of neutron star with an insanely powerful magnetic field. These objects are born from a massive star explosion and have a quadrillion times stronger magnetic field than Earth.”

A small smile came to your face. “What makes them so intriguing is that they sometimes produce starquakes - sudden shifts in their crusts that release intense bursts of x-ray and gamma rays. Some magnetars have emitted flares so powerful that they briefly affected Earth’s atmosphere,” the smile you were once wearing faded. “Sometimes the things that happen in space are so extreme it’s hard to comprehend. It’s so complicated,” you continued. “It will take a lifetime to understand it.” During your monologue, Maria made her way over to you. Her leg was slightly touching yours. You were okay with the contact. “Sometimes I don’t think I’ll be good enough to reach it.”

“Is that why you came out here? To see the stars one last time,” your head snapped away from the city lights to look at your mom. She was already staring at you. There was no pity in her eyes but love.

“I—” but you couldn’t tell her that she was wrong when that very thought crossed your mind. When I get stuck in my head, I see myself in a tunnel,” you closed your eyes and imagined it. Everything I love and I want is on one end, and I’m on the other. No matter how hard I try or how fast I run, I can’t reach you.”

Those at the other end constantly changed. Sometimes, it was your biological parents, and you pleaded for them to come back until your throat was raw. Other times, it was your dreams of getting into SABER. Recently, it was Maria and Natasha. You wanted them to stay, but they would leave you in the dark. “I just want to be good enough for you and Mama so you don’t leave me.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Maria hugged you. Your tears fell down your cheeks. Everything hurt. Each breath felt like you were inhaling shards of glass. Maria held on tighter to stop your body from shaking. “You will always be enough to me, your mam, and all your aunts and uncles.” She forced your chin up and whipped your tear-stained cheeks. “No matter what grade you get on a test or if you fall short of your goals, we will never leave you. You are our daughter. Now and forever.” You nodded and leaned back against her.

She was warm and safe and smelt like coffee, which you associate with home. A shiver went down your spine from the cold. “Come on. Let’s go back inside. Your mama is probably pacing a hole in your room.” She managed to make you smile. You nodded and allowed her to help you into your room.

Before you were settled on the ground, Natasha pulled you into a hug. “Gods, I knew we should have locked your window the first time we found you on the roof.” Maria laughed and closed the window behind you.

“There is no stopping this one from seeing the stars.”

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Of course, malen’kiy,” Natasha guided you to their bedroom with Maria behind you. Lilo was sleeping on the bed but jumped off when Natasha pulled back the covers for you, and you climbed in. With a smile, Natasha held out her hand for the box. You were too tired to argue, so you handed it over. “Sleep,” she whispered and sat on the edge of the bed. We will be right here.”

“Promise?” You asked and closed your eyes.

“Promise,” Maria repeated and joined on the other side. Natasha began to hum. A simple tune that helped you fall asleep when you first moved in with the couple. Like before, you fell right asleep.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Natasha kept humming until she knew you were asleep. “Did you tell her?” The Black Widow asked and opened the small box in her hands. She knew what would be in it, but it still took her breath away - a small razor. Oh, her sweet girl, you were hurting too much. How blind was she to it? Maria sighed, took the box, and set it on the side table.

“No,” Maria said. “She unloaded a lot. I didn’t think it was appropriate.” The letter from your school left an odd feeling inside Natasha’s stomach. The program was challenging, but you always excelled in it. At night, you would do your homework in the kitchen. Natasha thought you were studying a different language, but you loved it. Going against her word to not get involved, she and Maria dug into the program and found corruption. Jayce failed, and his family bribed your professor to keep him in. To make room, your professor purposely failed you. This meant Jayce breaking your arm was not an accident.

Natasha saw red. How dare someone hurt you because they were jealous or entitled? When Maria found your room empty and the window open, all her anger left. You were her priority. “I can’t lose her, Ria,” Natasha whispered, running her hand over your cast. “She is the best part of both of us.” Maria kissed your forehead, then kissed Natasha.

“We haven’t lost her,” Maria interlocked her hand with Natasha’s. “She’s right here. We will pull her off the edge.” The redhead brought Maria’s hand to her lips.

“What’s your favorite space phenomenon? " she asked her partner. Maria huffed and shook her head, but Natasha saw the corners of her lips turn up into a smile. They’ve been on so many sides of your rants about random space phenomena that they must have absorbed some of it.

“Probably galaxy mergers,” Maria answered. It’s when two galaxies drift close together. Their gravity pulls them into a dance until they merge into one.” Maria took a pause. Rather than chaos, these mergers often lead to new bursts of star formations.” Natasha smiled.

She liked that one too. It symbolized unity. Even in the vastness, things could come together. It was a reminder that even through turbulence, connection can lead to growth and beauty.

It was sound symbolism for the moment now. A lot was uncertain, but Natasha knew you would emerge from this turbulence brighter.

[bunnibaby-love]

xx spoiled brat reader xx

"Hmph! i told you it's a limited edition dress! and i would look so cute in it you don't want me anymore" he frowns the more you talk and pout about not getting what you want now

He loves you so much and loves spoiling you! before you always blush whenever he gets you a single flower but now you just becoming more bratty

"Princess, you just spend so much in span of a week way more than your allowance" he hates to argue with you but maybe you have to be put on your place

"That money is just coins on you anyways. Why can't i spend more?" you tried to give him puppy eyes but the way he keeps frowning just makes you frowns too "Don't ever talk to me if you not getting me that and oh those few more shoes"

"Oh don't give me that attitude little girl" he lifted your chin and touch your thighs under your dress "Let's make a deal yea? i'll eat you out and if you don't cum within 20 minutes, have fun with my black card?"

'Deal!" you confidently accepted. His black card have no limit you can get more pretty cute stuffs

He smirked "Aight, ass up princess" you yelp as he spank you but still lifted your dress and slid your panties on your ankles

----------------------------------------------------------

"Fuck stop moving...10 more minutes princess" 10 more minutes?! you overestimate yourself by accepting this challenge. Regretting you didn't even attempt to bargain with him earlier as right now a few more clicks of hie wet tongue will be enough to make you explode

"I... can take more..!!" you didn't back down your bratty attitude "Eaap!" a smack on your ass makes your face fell on one of your expensive plushies that you quickly held

"Mhmph..ha... more.....um...how longer..." you weakly spat "Swear im...winning"

"3 more minutes" one flick on your clit and you burst just to hear his mocking laugh "Your cunt as messy as your mouth" he turns you on your back and you didn't even bat an eye on him because of embrassedment

"Tsk you're never winning against me princess you know that" he nibble kisses on your neck

"I'll go for other men who will spoils me!" you attempted to stand up but he helds you down by your throat, restricting your breath but not enough to actually hurt you

"Begging to be punish really? stop with manipulation princess" he kiss your lips "Maybe you don't deserve my mercy...let's do it again but..within 10 minutes" here you are again with your pouty lips and puppy eyes

He laughs and slap your cunt "and i'll slap this cunt if you're loud and be more feisty"

[skzstarl0ver]

˜”°•.˜”°• Rivals with benefits •°”˜.•°

Lee know x reader / enemies to lovers / secret relationship / smut / emotional confession

**involves!!** cursing, tension, sex, praise kink, rough/soft dynamic, emotional tension, dirty talk

enjoy xx (open for request)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

You and Lee Minho are like oil and fire.

Not water and fire—because water tries to calm. You? You burn.

From the second you joined the dance crew, it’s been war. If you nail a move, he pushes harder. If he shines in rehearsal, you double your effort. You challenge each other, mock each other, drive each other insane.

And yet… you’ve never looked away.

Especially not when he’s sweaty in rehearsal, shirt clinging to his body, lip caught in his teeth as he watches himself in the mirror with that impossible focus. Or when his voice dips low, sharp and smug, when he says something to rile you up.

You hate him.

You want him.

Which is why the first time it happens, it feels like a dam breaking.

It’s after practice. You’re both the last ones there. You argue. You get in each other’s space.

And then you’re kissing.

No—biting.

No—devouring.

He pins you to the wall like he’s waited months to do it.

You should stop. You don’t.

It becomes a thing.

You don’t talk about it. You don’t plan it.

It just happens—whenever you’re alone, and angry, and can’t stand how badly you want each other.

Your friends think you still hate each other. And during the day? You do. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But then there’s night.

And the way he looks at you like you’re his only focus.

The way he touches you like it’s more than release—like it’s a need.

His apartment. 11:47PM.

You shouldn’t be here. You said you wouldn’t come. But your body knows the code to his door.

You barely get two words out before he has you pressed against the wall, mouth hot on your neck.

“You couldn’t stay away,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Missed me?”

“Shut up.”

He smirks. “Make me.”

You crash your mouth against his.

His hands are everywhere—hips, thighs, waist, under your hoodie. He picks you up like you weigh nothing and carries you to the couch.

He drops you onto the cushions, kneels between your thighs, and yanks off your shorts in one smooth motion. You gasp as the cool air hits your skin—then moan when his mouth follows immediately after.

“Minho—” your voice is already breathy.

“Keep saying my name like that,” he growls against your skin, licking a slow stripe over your inner thigh.

He slides two fingers through your folds, glancing up with that cocky, devastating smirk. “Dripping. Already?”

You hate how much power he has over you. You love how he uses it.

His mouth is hot, tongue skillful, fingers curling just right as he devours you like he’s starving.

Your head falls back. “Fuck—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he says, voice muffled between your thighs.

You’re close embarrassingly fast. He knows it. Keeps the pace steady, relentless, until your hips jerk and you gasp his name like a confession.

And he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going until you’re shaking, overstimulated, tugging his hair with a breathless “Minho, please—”

He pulls back, mouth wet, pupils blown.

“Take your shirt off,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

You obey.

He strips, revealing skin and muscle and everything you try not to fantasize about when he’s pissing you off during practice.

He climbs on top of you, lining himself up, but pauses—just enough to look into your eyes.

“You want this?” he murmurs.

You nod.

He doesn’t move.

“I need to hear it.”

“I want you,” you breathe. “I always fucking want you.”

His lips crash into yours again, and he thrusts in, slow and deep, making your back arch and your fingers dig into his shoulders.

You cling to him, gasping, every stroke sending sparks through your whole body.

It’s rough, but not careless. Every snap of his hips is measured, deliberate, like he knows your body better than you do.

“You drive me insane,” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “But I can’t stop. Can’t stop thinking about you. Touching you. Wanting you.”

Your heart stutters.

He’s close. You are too. And when you come again, it hits harder than it ever has—your name breaking from his lips as he follows seconds after, collapsing on top of you with a shuddering breath.

You’re still sprawled across his couch, blanket barely covering you, Minho's arm draped over your waist, chest still rising fast against your back. The room is warm, filled with the scent of sex and sweat and something dangerously close to tenderness.

You’re about to speak—say something sarcastic, maybe ask if he has water—when there’s a sudden buzz at the door.

Minho groans softly, pressing his face into your neck. “Ignore it.”

But the buzz comes again.

And again.

You sit up. “It could be important.”

Minho grumbles but pulls on sweatpants and stalks to the door.

The second it opens—

“Y/N?!”

Your heart drops.

Your best friend, Jisoo, is standing in the hallway, holding the iced coffee you forgot you asked her to drop off earlier. She was supposed to leave it at the door.

Instead, she’s staring past Minho’s shoulder—right at you, wrapped in a blanket on his couch, flushed, messy, very much freshly wrecked.

Her eyes go wide.

You look at her.

She looks at you.

Then Minho.

Then back to you.

You swear time stops.

“I—uh—I forgot I gave her your address once,” you say quickly, voice cracking.

Jisoo slowly blinks. “You’re sleeping with Minho?”

Minho leans casually on the doorframe, smug and shirtless. “Sleeping with? Baby, be honest—we haven’t slept a single time.”

You throw a pillow at his head. “MINHO—”

Jisoo gasps. “Oh my god, I walked into a fucking fanfic.”

You panic. “It’s not serious, okay?! It’s just sex—”

Your voice is louder than you mean for it to be. Defensive. Sharp. Like you’re trying to cut through the heat still lingering in your skin.

Jisoo just blinks at you, wide-eyed in the hallway.

Behind you, Minho's expression shifts—something flickering behind his usual cool exterior.

He steps forward.

His voice, when he speaks, isn’t teasing. Isn’t smug.

It’s quiet. Certain.

“No, it’s not.”

You freeze.

The words hit you harder than they should.

“What?” you ask, even though you heard him.

Minho looks at you—really looks. No smirk, no bite, no mask. His face is open in a way you’ve never seen.

“I said it’s not just sex,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “At least not for me.”

Your heart stutters.

He glances at Jisoo—who, to her credit, is now pretending to look very interested in the floor tiles—and then back at you.

“I know we’ve been playing this game like it doesn’t mean anything,” he says, voice low. “But it does. To me.”

You open your mouth, then close it again.

He takes a step closer, like he’s afraid you might run.

“I care about you,” he says, softer now. “And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t just because someone else found out.”

You want to say something snarky. You want to laugh it off. You want to not feel this.

But the look in his eyes?

It guts you.

You feel Jisoo slowly back away, awkwardly muttering something about “text me later” before she disappears down the hallway, giving you space.

Minho doesn’t look away.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… maybe if I kept it casual, I could control it. Control how I felt about you.”

His gaze drops to the floor for a beat. Then back to you.

“But I can’t.”

You’re still holding your shirt in your hands. Still standing in his living room in the aftermath of what was supposed to be just another night.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel casual at all.

_

You leave his apartment with your jacket half-zipped, heart pounding like it’s chasing something you’re still running from.

You didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

Not when he looked at you like that. Like he meant it. Like he was done hiding and wanted you to do the same.

You don’t text him.

You don’t sleep.

Instead, you sit on your bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by his voice in your head.

“I care about you. And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t.”

And damn it, you feel it too.

You felt it in the way he touched you like you were something fragile under all the fire. You saw it in the way he looked at you after you came undone in his hands—like you weren’t just a body, but something he wanted to hold after.

You're not scared of sex.

You're scared of this.

Of how real it suddenly is.

But when your phone buzzes with one single message—

“If you come back, I’ll say it again. As many times as you need.”

—you’re out the door before you can change your mind.

You knock once.

He opens the door instantly—like he’d been waiting just behind it.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

Then you're moving—you drop your bag, step into him, crash your mouth to his.

This kiss is different.

It’s not angry. Not desperate.

It’s slow. Deep. Like you're tasting every inch of what you almost lost.

His hands come up to your face, thumbs brushing your jaw like you’re something delicate. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

When he pulls back just slightly, your noses still touching, he whispers: “I missed you. Every day I didn’t have you—I missed you.”

Your eyes burn.

You lean into his touch, whispering back, “I was scared.”

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I was too.”

You look up at him, voice barely audible. “Do you still want me?”

His answer is immediate.

“I never stopped.”

He takes your hand, leads you to the bedroom—not like last time.

Not rushed. Not rough.

He strips you slowly, eyes roaming over every inch like he’s trying to memorize you.

“Lie back,” he whispers.

You do.

He hovers over you, kissing you everywhere but your mouth—throat, collarbone, stomach—each kiss a word he doesn’t say out loud.

His hands move softly over your body, teasing but not taunting. Reverent.

When his lips finally reach where you ache for him most, he doesn't rush. He takes his time.

Licks. Sucks. Worships.

You gasp his name like a prayer.

“That's it,” he whispers, fingers curling inside you perfectly. “Let me take care of you.”

You’re already trembling when he slides up your body, eyes searching yours.

“Tell me you want me.”

You pull him in, kiss him hard. “I want you.”

He enters you slowly this time—deep, smooth, like he’s trying to fit the words he can’t say into every stroke.

And it’s different now.

You feel everything.

Every roll of his hips. Every gasp. Every whispered name. It’s not about fucking anymore—it’s about being close. Being seen.

“You feel so good,” he groans into your neck. “Always do.”

You cling to him, nails digging into his back. “Minho…”

“Say it again.”

“Minho.”

He picks up the pace just a little, making you whimper.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I’ve been yours.”

That’s what undoes him.

He groans deep in his chest and moves faster, chasing your high as you spiral with him—both of you coming undone, this time not just with bodies but with hearts bared and burning.

After

You’re tangled together in his sheets, breath finally steadying.

He’s tracing patterns on your back, your head resting on his chest.

You look up at him. “You still care about me?”

He smirks, brushing your hair away. “I just made love to you for an hour. What do you think?”

You smile.

Then you kiss him again—slow, sweet, and soft.

No rivalry.

Just you and him.

Finally real.

[its-luna-noel]

sun & shadow | gojo x reader

01. SUN: six-eyed dragons

summary: satoru gojo is one of the most powerful and prolific mafia bosses in tokyo. he's ruthless, murderous, and absolutely insufferable. you've been his personal assistant for the past year, perfectly content with your current dynamic. but there's change on the horizon and shadows lurking in every corner. being a mafia boss's assistant comes with its perks... and its challenges.

contents: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, mafia au, crime boss!gojo, smut, fluff, mafia dynamics, blood & violence, implied torture, guns, drinking, dangerous but infuriating gojo x capable and baddie reader, it's giving tony stark/pepper pots from iron man 1

word count: 7.5k

chapter: 1/2 next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi there! i've been reading jade city by fonda lee, so i've been wanting to write a mob/gang au since! i'm really happy with how this turned out, so i hope you enjoy! xx additional warnings for this chapter: eventual smut, oral (f! receiving), squirting, pulling out, cum eating, reader is bossy

Timid footsteps pad across wooden floors of Satoru Gojo’s lavish penthouse. Unfamiliar eyes searching, prying into corners, examining the modern art on walls and abstract sculptures on shelves.

Finding…you.

You’re standing in the living room, dressed in loose-fitting slacks and a sweater with a leather portfolio folder held in the crook of your elbow as you watch her freeze, caught snooping. You smile professionally at the young woman in front of you, who blinks at you in surprise. She’s pretty, exactly Satoru’s type, with her striking features and model-like legs that go on for days. But, unfortunately for her, she’s outstayed her welcome for the night.

“Good morning,” you say, keeping that respectful, almost clinical smile on your face. You hand her a garment bag, keeping your eyes respectfully off her body as she leans forward and grabs it. She’s dressed in Satoru’s button-down shirt, rumpled and wine-stained, and nothing else. She, in turn, averts her eyes, fidgeting and looking slightly embarrassed to be standing there with you. “I had your clothes dry cleaned overnight; your belongings and shoes are by the door when you’re dressed and ready to go.”

Her eyes stay averted. “You his girlfriend or something?” she asks.

You let out a little laugh; it’s not the first time you’ve been asked, but it never fails to amuse you, the idea of dating that obnoxious man. “No,” you say, smiling kindly. “I’m just the help.”

She nods and seemingly relaxes, now that she knows she wasn’t just caught being the other woman. She turns over her shoulder and looks back towards the bedroom. “Can I… say goodbye?”

“That won’t be necessary. Mr. Gojo is very busy this morning.”

She looks strangely disappointed, and you feel a little bad for her. Every girl comes in here, even knowing Satoru’s history, and hopes she’ll be the one to change him, to make him want to see them again.

It never turns out their way.

You gesture to a guest bathroom near the entryway to the penthouse. “Please, take anything you need from the bathroom. There’s toiletries there for your use. There’s a car waiting for you outside to take you wherever you’d like.”

She just nods and turns away to get dressed. She shuts the bathroom door behind her, and you leave her to it.

As you make your way towards the dining room, the surrounding bodyguards make sure the girl leaves through the front door and gets into the car.

Satoru’s head pokes out from around the corner. “Is she gone?”

You turn to him and sigh, putting your hands on your hips. “You’ve gotta start taking care of your own problems, Satoru. I can’t keep kicking them out for you.”

He grins and finally fully emerges from the hallway, coming towards you dressed in only his form-fitting boxer briefs, his hair tousled with sleep and sex. You avert your eyes as he comes to join you in the kitchen. “You can do whatever I want you to. You’re my assistant, my little shadow; you’re supposed to do all the shit I don’t feel like doing.”

You grumble under your breath as you sit at the breakfast table, “Wasn’t in the job description.”

He just laughs and sits across from you, stretching his long legs under the table. He leans back against his chair and watches you for a moment with a slight smirk on his face. He nudges your leg with his foot. “You’re not really mad, are you?”

You sigh and look up at him, examining his insincere expression, and still finding that you can’t be angry at all, because this is, indeed, what you signed up for. So you just huff and look back down at your breakfast, and Satoru grins, taking it as a no.

You eat your breakfast in companionable silence, like you have ever since you were hired and moved into his penthouse. 

When you first started as personal assistant to Satoru Gojo, you tried to keep your old apartment, citing that it was only a twenty minute commute by train so why would you relocate your entire life to revolve around him? It was even nice to get your mandated time away from him. But one month into your new job, you realized how the odd hours were affecting you; you weren’t leaving until late into the night, and rising to be at his place before his morning alarm woke him up was exhausting.

So, you took his offer to move in, getting your very own ensuite and walk-in closet. It was a pretty good deal in return for dealing with his aggravating ass all day, every day.

“What’s the plan for today?” Satoru asks when he’s done eating, fingers interlocked behind his head, showing off his carved chest and biceps.

You keep your eyes firmly on the binder in front of you; you are all too aware of what kind of teasing one moment of staring could get you. “You have a meeting with the elders this morning about safety for local business owners. The higher ups are concerned that, with the rising tensions between us and the Hellhounds, businesses will take a hit.”

Satoru grumbles and grits his teeth. “This is a clan war; of course numbers will be down. At least we promise them safety and don’t throw them out on their asses to defend themselves.”

You give him a stern look. “Their loyalty and tributes pay our bills, Satoru. You need to respect their wishes.”

It’s a conversation you’ve had several times. Satoru, part of the recent movement that believes businessmen should honor the clan’s wishes and not the other way around, has never been soft on the wealthy populace like his father and grandfather once were, which frustrates those businessmen who feel they’re not being represented. Which, in turn, frustrates the leaders whose pockets they line.

He huffs and pushes away from the table. “I’ll go to the stupid meeting and put their minds at ease. Like I’ve done fifty fucking times.”

Despite his attitude, you relax into your chair. “Thank you.”

He nods, walking back to his bedroom to get dressed. You take the opportunity to watch him go, watch how his back and thighs move as he leaves…

“Stop staring!” he calls over his shoulder, and you curse under your breath as he laughs.

~

When Satoru returns, he’s dressed in his typical crisp suit, trying to cinch a silver watch on his wrist.

You set down your folder and come over, taking his watch and helping him buckle it. Your fingers brush against the warm skin of his wrist. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he grumbles, pulling away to fix his cuffs. “Is Suguru here?”

You shake your head. “He’ll meet us at the office, he said.”

You hear Satoru swear under his breath. “Can’t even meet him to brief on what we’re supposed to say?” he asks rhetorically, sounding more frustrated than he actually is.

“You know what to say,” you tell him. “Assure them that their profits will be protected while you and the Hellhounds battle, and everything will be fine.”

“I can’t guarantee that!” he argues, not for the first time. “I’m not a medium; I can’t see the future.”

“Neither can mediums, technically. Mediums only talk to the dead.”

He waves his hand. “Whatever. You know what I mean. I can’t tell them I’ll make sure they keep making money, not when there’s so much hostility from the Hellhounds. What I can guarantee is I won’t let them be slaughtered in the crossfire.”

You sigh and follow him down to the private garage, where his favorite cars are parked and free from threat of damage from tenants of the condos below his. He walks over to the black Bugatti and climbs in, the engine rumbling sensually as he turns the key.

You get in the passenger seat and sigh, clutching your portfolio to your chest as he rolls out of the garage. You stare out the window at the passing city. Abruptly, you ask, “Why do you hate them so much?”

“Hate who?”

“The businessmen, Gakuganji and the others. Even Senator Yaga.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes on the road. He says, “I don’t hate them. I hate what they stand for. I hate that they get to live in their pretty estates and watch my men put their lives on the line, and yet complain about inflation rising and profits falling. I hate that I have to bury some of my best fighters, and they get to dictate which rulings pass, which bills are signed. It’s not fair. They’re not out here dying for the clan. Why do they get to be the ones making the final calls?”

You can see the storm in the ocean of his eyes, the turmoil in their blue depths. It’s clear what the problem is; if he’s inherited all this power as clan leader and crime boss, why is he still beholden to everyone else’s wants?

Why isn’t he the god of his own destiny?

You don’t have an answer for him.

Satoru continues the drive to the office building silently, the only sound between you the music playing through the speakers. Finally, when you reach the Six-eyed Dragons headquarters, a three-story office space above local government offices, Satoru kills the engine and looks at you.

“You must think me childish,” he says softly, “whining about fairness and justice in a world like ours.”

You slowly shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I don’t,” you admit, just as softly. “I don’t think you’re a child. I think… you have an ideal of what you wish this world was. There’s no harm in that.”

He huffs, a smile curling his lips as he grabs the keys. He glances back at you ruefully. “Let’s get inside before Yaga throws a fit and comes to find us.”

You smile back and follow him inside.

Suguru is there, dressed in similar finery to Satoru. Where Satoru wears a button-down beneath his gray suit coat, top two buttons undone to show off his white gold chains, Suguru wears a black turtleneck, form-fitting across his chest. You try not to ogle as you make your way over.

Satoru glances over and rolls his eyes. “Get it out of your system,” he sighs dramatically, nudging you playfully with his elbow before he walks over to his underboss. Suguru just gives you a friendly wink, and you roll your eyes at both of them before they duck their heads together and speak in hushed tones all the way to the board room.

You follow after them, stopping right before the threshold of the meeting room. Then, as always, Satoru holds up a hand to you and shakes his head. “Not today,” he tells you, and you simply nod before retreating and taking your seat at one of the desks outside.

He wasn’t telling you that you were incapable of listening or understanding. Instead, he was protecting both you and the clan; you weren’t trained to sustain torture like other clan members were in the face of questioning. If he allowed you inside these meetings, you could be a weakness to the Dragons, and you could get yourself killed.

So you sit, and you wait, like a good little assistant as Satoru and Suguru attend their meeting.

~

“Sir,” Satoru says, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m saying–”

“I understand what you’re saying, young man!” Gakuganji snaps, pointing one gnarled finger at him from across the board room table. “You’re saying you can’t protect us in our time of need!”

The rest of the higher ups sit there, watching the argument unfold. Senator Yaga seems uncomfortable with the display.

Satoru tries again. “If I may–”

“This is the thanks you give us, those who push your legislation on drug control and violence?” Gakuganji continued. “Those who have paid tribute to your father, and to your grandfather before him? Those who–?”

Satoru stands abruptly and slams his hands against the table, shaking the wood with a low creak. This, finally, is what stuns the old man into silence. “It seems,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “that you and the others have forgotten why you pay tribute in the first place. It is not to garner favor from us, or to convince us to let you run free. It is in return for our protection during war time. It is to keep you safe, to save your lives. Not your profits, nor your businesses. That is why you pay tribute to the Dragons.”

He can feel the unrest in the room, the disapproving glances thrown towards him. He knows they don’t like him as clan leader; they wish he was still a simple underboss, a man under the rule of another, simply a weapon with no direct say over what violence he committed.

They’d rather answer to his father, but unfortunately for them, he was dead.

Satoru takes a deep breath and continues, calming himself once more. “Ryomen Sukuna and the Tokyo Hellhounds killed my father. It would call down his wrath to not retaliate. But wartimes will not treat us kindly; civilian foot traffic will decrease, as will spending at large. I am sorry to admit that. But we cannot let that be what stops us from taking revenge for my father’s death.”

The table remains quiet, but instead of frustration and indignation, Satoru sees begrudging acceptance in their gazes. Even Gakuganji nods, grimacing.

Glancing at Suguru out of the corner of his eye, Satoru sees that he’s smiling.

Then he returns his gaze to the men in front of him. “If you have any questions, please direct them to my assistant, and she will get you in contact with either Suguru or me. Thank you all for coming.” And with that he excuses himself from the meeting room, breathing a sigh of relief.

Suguru claps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Well done. You had Yaga shitting bricks in there.”

Satoru lets out a huff of a laugh, but he doesn’t respond as you stand from your desk and gather your paperwork. His eyes are fond as he watches you approach. “What do you have for me?”

You dutifully hand over a stack of papers. “I need you to approve these for me, and Senator Yaga already called; he wants a private meeting with you about the charity auction he’s having this weekend. He wants you to attend.”

“Damn,” Satoru sighs, “that’s right. That hardly gives me enough time to find a date.” He looks quizzically between you and Suguru, like he can’t decide which one of you he’d rather see dolled up as his date for a charity gala. Finally, with a shake of his head, he turns back to you. “Guess you’re coming with me.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I have better things to do on a weekend than be your unwilling guest. Find somebody else.”

“It’s your job!” he replies indignantly.

“Dressing up like your date instead of your assistant is not in the job description!” you insist, equally disgruntled.

“Like we already established, your job description is to do whatever I need from you.” Satoru crosses his arms across his broad chest. “And this weekend, I need a date.”

You huff, throwing your hands up. “I don’t even have a dress to wear!”

So Satoru reaches into his pocket for his wallet and takes out a platinum card. He brandishes it towards you. “Get whatever you like. Just be ready for the auction.”

You growl under your breath and throw a look at Suguru, searching for sympathy. He just watches the exchange with an amused curl to his mouth. You sigh in response and snatch the credit card from Satoru. “Fine.”

Satoru flashes a dazzling smile, all teeth. “Great.”

“But I’m taking Shoko.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but concedes. “Fine.”

You smile back at him brightly. “Great. Am I relieved of my duties for the rest of the day?”

He sighs, but takes the folder from your hands and starts flipping through the pages. “I guess we can hold down the fort for a while without you for a few hours.”

Suguru chimes in, “Which means I’ll–” he grabs the portfolio, “–take care of this.” He winks at you. “I’ve got it, little shadow. Go have fun.”

You thank him, tossing one last questioning look to Satoru: Will you be okay? He waves you off. “Go have fun,” he repeats Suguru’s words.

And so, because you’re not one to disobey your boss, you turn and head out of the building, digging through your purse for your phone.

You hit Shoko’s number, calling the gang’s medical doctor. She answers on the third ring. “Something happen?” she asks, her usual greeting for you.

“Yes,” you say. “Satoru gave me his card. We’re going shopping.”

Immediately her attitude changes; you can hear her voice brighten up considerably. “Oh. Great. Come pick me up from the clinic; I’m treating a few of the kids.

You sigh. You hate it when the gang’s soldiers – the young members on the front lines day to day – get hurt. “I’ll be there.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye. As is her typical routine on a busy day.

You walk downtown to the clinic, and you tell the receptionist that you’re there to pick up Shoko. She smiles at you and nods, letting you know she’ll go tell Shoko you’re here.

So you sit in the waiting room, scrolling through your phone as you wait. A text from Satoru pops up.

|| Satoru Gojo: Miss you~ :( Suguru’s a terrible personal assistant

|| You: it’s been fifteen minutes

He doesn’t respond. You just shake your head fondly before slipping your phone back into your bag.

When Shoko appears, her face is drawn. “Ready to go?” she asks.

“Yeah.” You stand, examining the dark bags under her eyes. Your brows crease in concern. “You doing okay?”

She waves you off. “Just need a smoke. Let’s get out of here.”

You follow her out, watching her shake free a cigarette from the box. “Rough day?” you ask.

She chuckles quietly. “You could say that.” She puts the cig between her teeth and pulls out her lighter. “Itadori, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki were all injured by Hellhound soldiers. I’ve had to stitch all three of them up.” She sighs, letting out a breath of smoke. “I’m just tired.”

You look at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Sho.”

She waves her hand, dismissing your apologies. You’re the only one who’s not actually involved in the crime organization, having no say or action to do with the Six-eyed Dragons besides doing the paperwork and scheduling meetings.

You're not the one to be angry with.

“Anway,” she sighs, starting to walk down the street towards the shopping center. “What are we shopping for?”

You make a disgusted noise in the back of your throat. “A dress. Satoru’s making me go to a gala with him this weekend.”

“Why haven’t you two just fucked already?” she asks dryly.

You choke on your own spit.

As you cough and splutter, drawing attention from the passing people on the street, Shoko just smirks at you. Finally you croak, “What?”

“You heard me,” she says. “Why haven’t you–?”

“Don’t say it again!”

She laughs, glee written in her brown eyes for the first time since you picked her up. “I’m serious, though!”

“Shut up, Sho!”

She just shakes her head. “Aren’t you even a little curious?”

“Curious about what?”

“What he’s like in bed! Christ, you guys even live together, don’t you ever hear him with someone else and wish it was you?”

“No!” you cry.

She laughs again. “Fine,” she says, waving off the topic, “I’ll drop it. For now.”

You groan and lead her into the dress shop, listening to her chuckle under her breath the whole way in.

~

“Satoru!” you call from your bedroom.

“What?” comes his muffled reply.

“I need help with my zipper!”

There comes a begrudging sigh from the other room, and then you hear Satoru’s dress shoes on the hardwood floor as he comes down the hall. When he walks in, he’s adjusting his cuffs, looking at them instead of you. “You know, for my personal assistant, you sure are–” And then he looks up, and the words die in his throat.

You’re dressed in a mauve dress, with your hair down and makeup expertly applied. The sleeves of the dress are off the shoulder, accentuating the expanse of your throat to the top of your chest. The bodice fits you perfectly, and at the waist the fabric spills over, running off of you like a waterfall. You’re reaching backwards to try and tug the zipper further up, but it’s caught around the bottom of your rib cage.

You huff. “Can you stop ogling and just help me?”

He shakes his head free of the thoughts swirling there and steps up behind you. He wiggles the zipper a little. “Damn, you really got this stuck.”

“Don’t force it, you’ll rip the dress.” You try to ignore the sensation of his warm hands at your back, his skin brushing against yours.

Now it’s his turn to scoff. “You think I’m stupid or something?”

“Sometimes,” you tell him.

“I should punish you for that, you know.”

“Please, spare me,” you say dryly.

You can’t see him smile behind you, but you can hear it in his voice when he says, “That’s more like it.” Finally, with one last little wiggle, he gets the zipper free, and he slowly slides it up, his fingers tracing up your spine as he does.

You shiver.

He likes that, it seems; he leans a little closer, his warm breath tickling the hair at the back of your neck. “Shadow–” he says, using his little nickname for you.

You step away, trying to catch your breath. “We should go.”

His hands, frozen in air where they had once been resting on you, slowly fall to his sides. He nods and clears his throat. “Let’s go, then,” he says, and he gestures for you to lead out the door.

You do, grabbing your clutch on your way out. Your heels make an impressive sound on the hardwood. “Is Ijichi driving us?”

“Yes.” Satoru, who would usually be chattering about god knows what, is unusually quiet.

You don’t have much to say, either. So your ride in the backseat of the sleek black sedan is silent. You watch the city as it passes by.

When you pull up to the charity auction, it feels like a red carpet event. There’s journalists and photographers lined up along the entrance, and suddenly you feel a swarm of nerves in the pit of your stomach. But Satoru puts his hand on yours, and when you look at him, his ocean eyes are soft and encouraging. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “I got you.”

Then he comes around and opens the door for you like a gentleman, and you can’t help but think of what Shoko said.

“Why haven’t you two just fucked already? Aren’t you even a little curious?”

Well, now you are.

He holds your hand tightly as he leads you past the photographers, a dashing smile on his face as you head into the venue.

The entranceway leads right into a grand ballroom.

Satoru leads you to the front of the room, where a table is reserved for him and other notable members of society, including Senator Yaga and Gakuganji. Satoru pointedly ignores them in favor of speaking to you instead.

The dinner goes by quickly, with Satoru slowly learning more about you than he ever has, about your family and your childhood and your friends outside of work. 

You find that, despite the fact he likes to run his mouth, he’s actually an attentive listener.

Then, once the dinner is completed, the auction starts. Satoru himself bids on a couple art pieces for the penthouse and his office, and once the last piece is sold, the ballroom starts to fill with dancing people.

Satoru looks at you. “You wanna dance?”

You shrug, holding your wine glass. “Not really a dancing person.”

He grins. “Liar. I’ve seen you at the club.”

You scoff, smirking. “That’s different. I’m not drunk.”

“I can change that.” And without another word, Satoru grabs your hand and tugs you up from your seat.

“Satoru–”

“Shh. Just trust me.”

And so, because you do, you follow him. And he buys you both a round of shots, letting you slowly sink into a tipsy stupor.

Once you’re happy and swaying to the music, he smiles and takes your hand, leading you to the dance floor. “I don’t think those moves of yours from the club would really match the vibe here, shadow,” he says, smirking at you as he wraps you up for a slow dance.

You smile and let him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, I’d probably give Gakuganji a heart attack.”

“Actually, on second thought, I think you should.”

You giggle and rest your head on his chest as the two of you sway back and forth. He tightens his arms around you. “Thanks for bringing me tonight. I was a little pessimistic but…I had fun.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for being my date on such short notice.” He bends down to put his lips near your ear. “And for looking so beautiful doing it.”

You let out another giggle, not moving from his chest. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” you tell him.

He huffs a small laugh, and he rests his cheek on your head. “I know.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Ever the humble one.”

“You know it,” he teases warmly. And as you continue to dance, you feel yourself sinking into him further.

It’s over too quickly.

He nudges you lightly, breaking you out of your thoughtless dancing. “C’mon, my pretty girl,” he says, and your heart flutters with the compliment, and the ownership of what he said. “Let’s go home.”

As he does, his words wrap round and round your drunken, fuzzy brain.

My pretty girl.

~

It’s quiet between you as you walk back into the penthouse.

Satoru quickly sheds his shoes, and you reach down to do the same, but he stops you with a hand on your arm. “I’ll do it,” he murmurs, his voice hushed in the darkness of the penthouse.

He kneels down and starts unstrapping your heels, his fingers warm and gentle on your ankles. You hold his shoulder as you step out of your shoes, finally letting your aching feet rest bare on the hardwood.

Satoru looks up at you, blue eyes shadowed. His hand trails up your ankle, up your leg, feeling the muscles of your calf. His touch is warm, like a blaze of fire up your leg, burning into your core. Looking at him down there, on his knee for you, if he wanted to he could just lean in and–

“Satoru,” you breathe, hand moving from his shoulder to his hair.

His breath catches, and he removes his hand from your leg and stands, rising to his full height in front of you. He pulls you close, his hands on your waist. “Little shadow,” he whispers, his lips pressed against your ear, “I need–”

You’re breathless. “Satoru–”

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips. “Please.” 

“We shouldn’t–”

His hands come to cup your cheeks, and your breath catches as he leans in, his eyes fervent on yours. “I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. I need to touch you, to feel you, I need–” His words break off, his shoulders heaving with each breath, pupils blown wide.

You stare at him for a long moment, long enough that he’s starting to look desperate, aching. Finally, you whisper, “Okay.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

His lips crash against yours, claiming and totalitarian. It’s like he’s trying to merge the two of you into one entity, to crush you so hard into his chest that he swallows you whole. He moves his lips so deliciously against yours, so dextrous, so demanding, that it makes you weak in the knees. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as your legs threaten to give out. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and you open up for him readily, breathing a soft moan into his mouth.

He grins at the sound. At the proof that you want this as much as he does. He threads his fingers into your hair and holds you there, opening your mouth further for his exploration. You sigh softly, letting him hold you right where he wants you.

His other hand roams your body, gripping at your hips, your waist, your thighs. Gathering up your long skirt and inching beneath it. Then both his hands move back to your zipper, slowly inching it down and opening the back of the dress.

“Satoru,” you whisper, pulling back slightly to look at him.

“I never should’ve even zipped this dress up,” he says, letting the fabric fall down your shoulders, off your body, pooling at your feet. He helps you step out of it, right back into his arms. “I should’ve laid you down and fucked you when you called me in, shouldn’t have gone to the stupid fucking auction in the first place.”

You huff a laugh, tilting your head back as he starts kissing down your neck again. “You had to go,” you say, eyes falling shut.

He grumbles, “I don’t have to do anything. I’m the leader of this fucking clan; I can do what I want.”

You smile at how petulant he sounds. You don’t say anything, you just let him believe he has his own free will as boss, and let him lick down your neck, sucking little marks into your flesh. He takes a step forward, forcing you to take a step back, then another, until he’s guiding you down the hall to the bedrooms. He shrugs off his suit jacket and drops it in a heap on the floor, then moves his hands to cup your tits, kneading them and thumbing over your nipples.

He steers you into his bedroom, nudging you backwards onto the bed.

You crawl backwards up the bed, watching as he undoes his tie and tosses it aside, before climbing up after you. He returns his lips to yours in a mess of tongue and teeth, and you both laugh when your teeth catch in your fervor.

“Sorry,” you whisper, head falling back as he starts kissing down your throat again.

He shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, pretty girl.” He pushes you down against the mattress and kisses down your chest, starting to suck on your nipples.

You hum, fingers dipping into his hair. You tug softly. “Kiss me.”

“I am kissing you,” he mumbles around your nipple.

You shiver at the vibrations of his words. “You know what I mean.”

He hums and lets go with a pop, before looking up at you. “I don’t know what you mean,” he teases. “Can’t know if you don’t use your words.”

You groan and tug on his hair. “Kiss me on the mouth.”

He moans as you pull his hair and willingly comes up your body to kiss you. His mouth is fervent on yours.

He kisses you for a while longer, tongue tangling with yours, before he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths as he breathes heavily. “Can I go down on you?” he asks.

Your pupils dilate. “Are you sure?”

He chuckles, leaning in to quickly kiss your mouth one last time. “Yeah, baby. I’m sure.” And then he slowly inches his way down your body. “Can I?”

You nod, watching him as he kisses his way down your stomach, towards your pelvis. He slowly drags your lace panties down your legs, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Then he tosses them aside, and he’s kissing up your thigh, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he mouths his way closer and closer…

Then he slowly licks a line up your pussy, stopping when his tongue gently nudges your clit.

“Fuck,” he groans, his tongue flicking over your clit again, “your cunt tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re starstruck, barely able to comprehend what he’s saying. And yet, “Y-you imagined this?”

“All the time, pretty girl,” he says, sucking at your clit, gazing up at you through thick white lashes. “All the fucking time.”

Your head falls back, a soft cry escaping. Your hand tightens in his hair. “Oh, fuck, Satoru.”

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he teases. “Like when I suck on your clit like that?”

“Y-yes!”

“Such a good fucking girl.” He wraps his lips around your swollen clit and sucks again, repeating the same amount of pressure as before. He continues to babble between slowly working you up, eating you out like he’s savoring you. “Fuck, so goddamn pretty like this.”

“You really are, you know?” he asks after a moment.

You stutter, “A-are what?”

“A good girl. Such a good girl. You always do exactly what I need, when I need it, don’t even have to fucking ask you twice. And you take my attitude and throw it right back at me – fuck that’s so hot. You’re perfect, little shadow, just perfect.”

“Satoru?” you say, gripping his hair.

“Yeah, pretty?”

“Shut up and eat me already.” And with that you shove his face further between your legs.

He groans loudly, lapping animatedly at your cunt. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “So fucking bossy all the goddamn time, so fucking sexy.”

“Satoru, stop talking.”

He glances up at you, showing off a shit-eating grin. “I’m talking to her, not you,” he says, and then he presses a kiss to your outer lips, and it’s clear he means he’s talking to your pussy.

You go to roll your eyes, but then he moves one of his hands and slowly pushes a finger inside you.

You yelp, not expecting the intrusion. His finger is long, and it’s immediately searching, trying to find a spot that’ll make you see stars, to make you cry out his name over and over…

When he finds it, curling his finger up against the top wall of your pussy against the spongy tissue there, you gasp. Your hips jump at the sensation. He chuckles quietly. “There it is,” he whispers, diving back in to start flicking his tongue against your clit again. He adds a second finger and starts gently stroking your g-spot as you writhe and cry out, hips bucking. His free hand comes to steady your hips. “Now, now,” he teases, eyes glinting as they gaze up at you again, “behave, pretty girl, or I’ll have to put you over my knee.”

You scoff and say, “Like to see you try– ah!” Your words cut off when he starts fingerfucking you with fervor, moving his hand hard and fast against your g-spot until your body is writhing beneath his. He keeps you pinned to the bed, grinning at you as he laps at your clit, riding each wave of pleasure with you.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, “cum for me.”

His fingers don’t stop working, and neither does his tongue, and all of a sudden you gasp, head flying up to look at him in panic. “Satoru, stop, I-I–”

He shakes his head. “Not happening.”

“Satoru, I’m gonna–”

“Give it to me, pretty.”

And as his fingers hit your g-spot again, and again, your back arches off the bed, and you’re shaking so fucking hard, and he’s wearing that same grin, and then–

A rush of white-hot pleasure, and then your thighs feel hot and wet.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers in surprise.

“S-Satoru, I tried to warn you,” you pant, body still locked in ecstasy, eyes rolled back.

“Warn me? Baby, that was so fucking hot.” He licks his lips. “Let me see it again.”

So he starts slamming his fingers, the same way he did before, into your g-spot, until your walls are fluttering and you squirt again, orgasming so hard your vision goes black for a moment.

He groans, and he looks like he might cum right there in his pants. “Fuck, baby, so fucking good.” He pulls out his fingers and licks them clean, keeping his ocean eyes locked on yours.

Your gaze is hazy, pleasure-ridden. Dazed.

He grins again and crawls up your body, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. You moan and kiss him back enthusiastically, sucking on his tongue.

He groans back before pulling away, panting. “You think you can take my dick now, pretty?” he asks.

You nod, already reaching for his belt.

He huffs a laugh and lets you unbuckle the belt, one hand coming up to gently stroke your jaw. “Such an eager thing, huh? You want my cock that bad?”

You growl under your breath. “You’re getting a big head.”

He winks. “I’m big everywhere else; it’s only fair.”

And when you finally get his pants down his thighs, you realize he’s not lying.

He is big, long and girthy and beautifully imprinted against his tight boxer briefs. You’re practically salivating at the sight of it, and your fingers dip into the elastic band of his underwear and slowly push those down, too. 

His cock springs free, hard and blushing a pretty shade of pink.

You moan at the sight, eyes flickering from the pink tip to his face, where he’s still smiling down at you. “Ready for it?” he asks.

You nod again.

So he grabs your hips and puts you where he wants you, on your back with your legs hitched around his hips. He takes his dick in hand and slaps your clit with the tip, watching your body jolt at the stimulation. Then he gathers your wetness and slowly pushes in.

Both of you moan in time with each other, heads bent together as you both watch the intrusion. He pushes past the first ring of resistance slowly, gently, and then the rest of his thrust is effortless until he bottoms out.

You feel like he’s about to come out of your mouth with how deep he is.

Then he starts moving his hips, and it’s like he’s ravaging you.

He’s moving so fast it’s nearly blinding, drawing cries from your lips as he fucking demolishes you. Pleasure arcs up your spine as he thrusts into your dripping pussy, pornographic sounds filling the bedroom as he pulls out and slowly pushes back inside, groaning and praising you the entire time.

“Good girl,” he grunts, hands roaming your body. “Good fucking girl.”

Satoru grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder, stretching you out until your hips are perfectly aligned. At this angle he hits something fucking devastating inside you, thrusting his beautiful cock up against your g-spot with every thrust. Each roll of his hips draws another cry from between your lips, another “Oh yes! Fuck, Satoru!”

He’s wearing a cocky grin as he fucks you into the bed.

He turns his head, licking a line up the side of your calf before leaving a quick kiss to your ankle. “That feel good, pretty girl?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.

You can’t even reply at this point, fucked so good on his dick that you’re seeing stars. You just reach down and grip his muscular forearms, nails digging into flesh as you gaze at him, eyes hazy and lips parted.

He grins a little wider, clearly pleased with himself.

“F-fuck, Toru,” you whine, eyes rolling back, “I’m gonna cum. I-I’m gonna cum again!”

He’s never heard you call him that before. He can’t deny that he likes it. “That’s it, pretty girl, cum for me. Cum for your Toru.”

Your Toru.

At his words, your body convulses and shudders as you orgasm again.

He groans as you grip him so fucking hard it almost milks him dry. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grits through his teeth. “Feels so goddamn good.”

You whimper, eyes still rolled back. “Oh please.”

“Please what, baby?” He kisses your ankle again.

“Want you to cum.”

He laughs softly, his hand coming down to rub at your clit again. “Give me one more and I will, okay?”

You sob, head falling back. “I-I can’t,” you cry.

“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice low and soothing instead of mocking. “You want me to cum, you’re gonna have to work for it. Now, give me another.”

As if he commanded it, you climax, your thighs shaking around him as you squeeze him once more. He throws his head back, the rhythm of his thrusts finally starting to falter.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes screwed shut. “Gonna cum. Where you want it, pretty? Can I cum on your gorgeous face like a good girl?”

You just nod, eager to give him whatever he wants in return for him fucking you so goddamn well. And so he shuffles up your body until his knees are by your shoulders, and you watch him jerk himself off as he moans over you.

“So fucking pretty,” he whines, and he pumps his hand up and down his length over your face. “Close your eyes, pretty girl, close your eyes and open your fucking mouth. Open it, please open it–”

You do, letting your eyes fall closed and dropping your jaw to stick out your tongue. You hear him moan again, high and pathetic, before he cums, spurting heat over your cheeks and mouth. “Fuck, good girl, good girl, baby,” he chants as he fucks his fist over your face, squeezing out the last few drops of cum onto your lips.

You can hear him panting, and you open your eyes slowly to see him staring down at you. He groans. “Close your eyes, baby, I can’t take looking at you; I’ll cum again.”

You giggle softly before reaching up and dipping your fingers into one of the strings of cum. You gather the sticky warmth from your cheeks and dip your fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean.

He whimpers again. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

You smile up at him around your fingers.

He slowly lowers himself down beside you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, and he tugs you towards his chest until your head rests on his shoulder. Both of you are breathing heavily.

“Satoru,” you whisper. “I have to clean my face off.”

He hums, closing his eyes. “Just give me a second; I’ll get you a washcloth. Need a second to recover.”

You huff a laugh, but let him take his breather. Finally, after a moment, he pats your hip. “Lemme up,” he says.

You roll over onto your back, letting him stand from the bed. He walks to the ensuite bathroom, gone for only a few moments before he comes back with a warm washcloth. He sits on the end of the bed and leans over you, gently cleaning off your face, quiet and thoughtful as he washes you off.

You watch him the entire time.

Then he tosses the washcloth into the hamper and climbs back into bed, tucking you against his chest once more. He takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes once more.

“Satoru,” you whisper.

He opens one eye and looks down at you. “What, baby?”

“We’re not gonna…wake up in the morning and regret this…right?”

He lifts his head, suddenly realizing your question is serious. “Of course not,” he says, sounding a little stung. “Is that really what you think?”

You examine the look in his eyes. “I-I don’t know. It’s just…you’re my boss, you know? I’m just your assistant, I–”

He takes your jaw in his hand and tugs your face towards his. You blink in surprise. His eyes are hard and emphatic. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. Get that thought out of your mind now. You’re special, and I already told you I thought of doing this for ages. I should’ve done it before, but I was too chicken shit to do anything about it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

He throws up his other hand, laughing. “Cause you’re you! You’re perfect and beautiful and give me shit all the time, and I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But you, in that dress tonight… I couldn’t not.”

You giggle.

He smiles at the sound and pets your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear. “I want you, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Trust me on that.”

And so you do, and he holds you for the rest of the night, crushed against his chest. And every time you start to doubt his feelings, he tightens his arms around you, holding you a little bit closer.

You suppose you can trust him, just this time.

thanks for reading! -luna link to ao3 | next

(taglist: @heyl820)

[writingsfrombeyondthegrave]

Helloooo there!

Just wanted to say that I absolutely loved the Astrid x ghost!reader fic and was wondering if you were considering doing a part two?? maybe Astrid finds a way to save them and they end up dating or something?

I hope you Have a lovely day! Xx

An Accidental Haunting Part 2

Astrid Deetz x Ghost!Reader

*Platonic to Romantic*

Requested by anon

Summary- Now that Astrid could see you clearly, an unlikely friendship formed. She wanted nothing more than to be with you now that you two had gotten the chance to spend more time together. She would find a way for you two to be a couple. A proper living couple.

Warnings- Reader was m*rdered, Details about death and the afterlife, angst, depression, mention of cancer, trading one life for another, kissing

The afterlife is a complex thing than many humans never truly understand. Ghosts, often thought of as a figment of the imagination or a misguided illusion of the light, were more real than Astrid had ever anticipated.

Admitting her mother wasn't crazy was a big step in her life. Not to mention the fact that she was gaining feelings for a ghost, this time while knowing about the fact you were deceased. Your morbid humor, self-deprecating jokes and obscene amount of knowledge on the paranormal had a death grip on her heart.

Death was much more interesting with Astrid in your life. You didn't feel the dread or crushing depression as much as before. Sometimes you dare say, you felt more alive than you had when you were actually living.

Lydia had decided to move back into the old "Ghost House" after Astrid had begged her, claiming that she would even consider going to Miss Shannon's School for Girls until graduation. It was only one year away, but she had been adamant about it.

In the end, it happened to be a convenient idea. Lydia's Tv show career had ended and she opted to be an in-area Psychic for those in need. Somehow, however with your meticulous hiding, she never once saw you in the house. You have been very deliberate about keeping your identity there a secret between only you and Astrid.

"I hate to say it, but that uniform is lame" You spoke as you laid back on her bed with a teasing smirk, head tilted in her direction as she tried on the uniform, smoothing down the skirt.

She turned to you and raised an eyebrow, challenging you. "At least I don't have an old rock shirt than looks like you scraped it off of an 80s arcade floor."

"Ha. Ha." you laughed emotionlessly, tossing a stuffed bear at her to defend your honor. "Arcades are fun, but nice try at trying to offend me beautiful"

The smirk that remained on your lips made her heart skip a beat, but she would rather die than tell you how much power you held over her. Your nonchalant flirting always hurt, knowing it never held much meaning behind your words, but she continued to ignore it in favor of her sanity.

"Tell me again" Astrid said as she sat beside you on the bed, making the mattress bounce lightly. "What's it like to die?"

The quietness between you both stretched for a moment before you answered. "It's different for everyone. For some its peaceful, for some its painful."

"I meant for you personally, what was it like?"

Your amused laugh echoed through her room. "What was it like to be stabbed brutally to death? Just a normal Tuesday, of course"

No matter how many times you talked to her about the afterlife, you were always careful to leave out the specifics of your own death. The last thing you ever wanted from anyone was sympathy, especially from her. Sadness should never be an emotion she felt when you were around. So, you opted to made jokes and avoided those awkward looming moments of despair and helplessness.

Instead of laughing, she seemed to be deep in thought. "What if there was a way to bring you back?" She spoke so soft that you almost missed it, but of course you didn't. Instantly you sat up on her bed and faced her properly, startling her a bit at your sudden movement.

"Are you crazy? You of all people should know that's a terrible idea, Astrid. It's a life for a life, a crazy scheme that only the self-centered scumbags would pull"

"I know... I know. But you didn't deserve to die"

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. "You don't know that. you don't know me! I'm a freak, Astrid! Thats why I'm dead, no one wanted to talk to me. Everyone feared me because the only people who understood me were already dead!" The screams you sent her way felt like daggers piercing her skin. There hadn't been a single moment up until now that you had acted any other way besides happy.

Without warning you vanished from sight, completely dematerializing Infront of her eyes. She stared in shock at the wall Infront of her, not knowing how to react.

All of a sudden it hit her, you needed her help to come back alive and she would do anything in her power to help you, even if that meant seeking out her mother for guidance.

The instant regret you felt after yelling at Astrid was eating at you from the inside out. Your knees were pulled up to your chest while you sat in a rickety old rocking chair. You looked over at the town model in the attic to distract yourself from falling even further into the darkness.

What you never mentioned to any of the spirits you helped, was that the longer the dead lingered on the living plain, the quicker your soul decays. The deceased were to move on after dying, in favor of protecting what mortality they died with. Your soul fades and your own morals that you once valued in life start to get corrupted.

"The Darkness" as you referred to it was the depressive black hole that swallows the last remaining happiness and hope that you hold onto. If you let yourself get sucked into that darkness, you may never find your way out of it again.

That is how some spirits get sucked into a loop, replaying their death and their most horrible moments over and over again until there is nothing left of their soul.

Smiling seemed to be your coping mechanism to avoid this, always happy and never upset over trivial things. Never allowing yourself the simple happiness that the living still enjoyed and took for granted.

Lydia was cooking in the kitchen when she heard rapid footsteps descending down the staircase. Astrid stopped and stood in the doorway, looking at her mother blankly for a moment. She couldn't believe how much progress that they've accomplished, yet she feared the awkward tension would always be there lingering.

"I... I need your help."

Lydia stopped what she was doing to look at her daughter in shock. "You do?" She dried her hands with the kitchen towel and quickly turned her full attention to her. "Of course, what do you need?"

"The handbook. I know you kept the one that the Maitlands had and I need to see it"

"Why would you need that?"

"I'm interested in your work" Astrid lied, forcing a small smile that she hoped was more than convincing. The smile that Lydia provided could've lit up every dark corner in the house.

After moping in your sorrows for the better part of that night, you finally appeared in Astrid's room the next morning, an apology ready on your tongue before you saw what she was doing. She was furiously flipping through The Handbook for the Recently Deceased, writing down notes in an old notebook.

You cautiously stepped up next to her and looked over her shoulder. "What could you possibly need that book for? You're not dead, babe."

She looked up at you, realizing your looming presence near her. The bags under her eyes were the only indicator that you needed to show her lack of sleep. Her body physically relaxed from its tense stance at seeing you back in her room. "I have the perfect plan on how to bring you back to life"

You groaned and flopped down into her beanbag chair dramatically. It seemed like your usual playful behavior was back at least. "Why must the living be so stubborn?"

"We are going on a trip, come on" She closed the book and tossed it in your direction, clearly expecting you to catch it. It hit the wall behind you with a heavy thud, thankfully not indenting it. You slowly turned your head to look at the book and then back to her.

"Did you really expect a different outcome?"

Astrid hugs her bag over her shoulder with the handbook in it, waiting for you to grab ahold of her so she could start her ride to the town's nursing home. After a deep sigh you hook your leg over the seat and wrap your arms around her midsection.

Your touch felt like a winter chill, but her body had never been warmer. Her heart beat quickly and she prayed you couldn't detect it. Your chin rested on her shoulder as you looked around the town.

You never were a very affectionate person in life, but for Astrid, you made an exception. There was no fear in her eyes when she looked at you now, and that made you feel as if you were finally home again.

The ride to the nursing home was quiet and quick. Astrid greeted the staff with a quick smile, claiming to be visiting her grandmother.

An argument soon broke out between the two of you as you crossed your arms, not happy by what she was proposing.

"Ms. Silvers has been in pain for years from the cancer. Death was inevitable anyway so what's the issue? She seems fine with it" She argued, and you just tilted your head, unconvinced. It was silent for a few minutes before you finally nodded your head, not being able to find a good enough argument to disagree with her plan.

Ms. Silvers was a good sport as you all headed to the cemetery together. She was a sweet old lady with a cane who seemed to be admiring the world through aged eyes.

"My husband loved this time of year" She spoke, her voice scratchy. "I just know he's been waiting for me. Thank you for this, Lovey"

Astrid smiled, walking beside her and making sure she was alright. You looked over at them, still cautious about the whole thing. Your entire life, you had never put yourself before anyone. This felt wrong, yet the old woman beside you could've been the strongest woman alive now. She had more courage than you could've imagined and you admired that.

The quiet Winter air blew past them, and she didn't so much as shiver.

After repeating the incantation in the crypt and entering, you decided it was best to lead the way. You had been to this part before when you first died. Youve come a long way and grown as a person since then. The confident look you always wore wavered slightly, but they couldn't see it since you were far ahead.

The picture for the transfer was about to be taken when Ms. Silvers reached over to give your hand a reassuring squeeze. "Young love is a powerful thing. Take care of each other, alright?"

You couldn't help the smile that overcame your features as you nodded, giving her hand a squeeze in return. "Tell your husband we said hi, would you?"

The transfer went smoothly, and you both walked her to the soul train together. Once inside the train, she sent you both a sweet smile and a wave before she departed.

Your body healed almost instantly; no indications left behind of what had happened to you. Your shirt however, still remained in shambles.

Crawling out of the crypt, you felt as if a rush of air filled your lungs. Your feet met the grass of the graveyard, and the world moved with you instead of without you. It acknowledged your presence and welcomed you with open arms.

You turned to Astrid with a bright smile. "I don't know how to thank you"

"Oh... it was nothing, really." Astrid laughed awkwardly, turning away to avoid your gaze. You looked at her as if she hung the very stars in the sky. The blood flowing through your veins and the shine of your lively skin looked heavenly to her, and she had to stop herself from staring in awe.

Without warning you cupped her face in your hands and kissed her softly, afraid that you might vanish from existence yet again. Her eyes widened in shock before she allowed herself to relax to your touch. Her hands instinctively held your hips, just barely. You pulled away after a moment and rested your forehead against hers.

"Even when I was dead and I couldn't feel anything, I swore I could feel the pounding of my dead heart as if it was beating for you. I'm afraid it will only ever beat for you now that I'm alive again"

She laughed, smiling freely as she looked into your eyes. "Thats the cheesiest thing I've ever heard you say, you dork"

"So, if I asked to kiss you again it wouldn't be as cheesy?" You smirked, and she swore she could get used to this every day for the rest of her life.

Extra:

"Now that your alive, can you finally change that crusty t-shirt?" Astrid teased, holding your hand tightly as you walked back to her house.

You pretended to think about it before laughing "Yes, Ma'am" You winked.

A/N- Thank you lovely anon for requesting a part 2! I have another Astrid fic lined up and, in the works, currently along with the lost boys and others. Please continue to send in requests and I'll get to them as soon as possible. Thank you all for the love on my writing, it means so so much to me.

If there is a possible part 3 wanted it would probably just be filled with little incidents when Astrid now saves the readers life because they forget they’re alive now and could actually get hurt.

If anyone wants to be tagged in any sort of tag list (doesn’t just have to be for Astrid fics), please let me know!

Also, I apologize for the extensive knowledge of the paranormal that I have lol. The afterlife has always fascinated me.

Credits-

Ghost and Graveyard Dividers- @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Part 1 Part 3

[rubywillkins]

hello my love i would love to place an order for franco colapinto xfemale!reader

drink: a macchiato with whipped cream, soy and almond milk.

breakfast: meatballs, fish and chips, caprese skewers

main: butter fried chicken, potato gnocchi with some sparkling water if you may!!!

sorry if its too much xx

Sure Love ♥️

Franco Colapinto| Golden devotion

Pairing franco × female reader

Macchiato playboy in love whipped cream sweet sex soy milk oral sex almond milk vaginal sex meat balls body worship fish and chips hickeys caprese skewers Breeding kink butter fried chicken "slowly, baby, I'm not going anywhere" potato gnocchi "shh, just look at me baby” sparkling water aftercare

It was late at night when Franco and Y/N stepped into the luxurious suite overlooking the Monaco skyline. The glimmering lights from the harbor painted golden patterns across the room. The air was thick with desire, yet beneath it all lay a deep, unwavering love that had taken Franco by surprise.

Franco Colapinto, Formula 1’s most notorious playboy, had never believed in settling down. Women came and went, just like the seasons, until Y/N walked into his life. She wasn’t like the others; she didn’t fall for his cocky smirk or his charms. Instead, she challenged him, pushed him to be better, and made him feel things he never thought possible. She was his calm amidst the chaos of racing, and tonight, he was determined to show her just how much she meant to him.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Franco’s intense gaze locked onto Y/N. She was breathtaking, dressed in a silk slip that clung to her body in all the right places. He closed the distance between them, his hands finding her waist as he pulled her close.

“You know you’re mine, right?” he murmured, his Italian accent thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his dark, unruly hair. “Always.”

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed like she was the most precious treasure he’d ever held. Laying her down gently, he hovered over her, his lips ghosting over hers.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered. “Do you know that? I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. Body, soul, everything.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. She saw the sincerity in his dark eyes, the way he looked at her like she was made of gold. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses, each one worshipful, reverent. He took his time, savoring every inch of her skin like it was a masterpiece crafted just for him.

“I want all of you,” he confessed as his hands caressed her curves. “I want us to have everything together. A home, a family…everything.”

His admission made her heart swell. They’d talked about the future in passing, but tonight, there was a desperation in his voice that made her believe he wanted it more than anything.

“Franco…” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I want to make you mine in every way,” he said, his lips pressing against her collarbone. “I want to see you carrying my child, bella. I want the world to know you’re mine.”

Franco worshiped her, body and soul, and he made sure she knew it with every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of love.

He removed her and his clothes one by one slowly kissing her... From her face to toe.. kissing and sucking at each part givinh her hickeys all over her body... worshipping her body...with his love.. his kisses..

After sometime he was again at his favourite part your clit.. you can feel his warm breath on your sensetive part.. he starts to slowly lick your clit.. while massaging your breast with his hand..

He started fucking you with his tounge... Making your eyes roll and your hands were tangled in his hair.. was also pressing his head towards your vagina...

After making you cum with only using his tounge he licked all of your juices.. and slowly inserts his dick inside in one go...

And starts fucking you... He flipped you like 5 times... Trying 5 new position.. the way he flipped you several times... It was so hot...

But he found the perfect position... Bolstered beauty...

He slid a pillow right Bellow your abdomen... Your stomach and tits touching the bed while your ass in air.. thirsty for his dick...

He inserted it in you again.... This time it was rough but perfectly satisfying for both of you..

"slowly, baby, I'm not going anywhere" you said moaning and enjoying his dick..

"shh, just look at me baby” he said turning your head a bit for a moment.. so he can make your you were okay...

And he starts pounding into you again.. after sometime he cum inside you...

Filling your vagina with his warm seeds ..

When it was over, they lay tangled together, their breaths mingling as the room fell into a comfortable silence. But Franco wasn’t done showing her how much he cared.

He slipped out of bed and returned moments later with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, he cleaned her, his touch tender and full of care.

“Are you okay, amore?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed. “More than okay.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Stay here.”

He disappeared again, returning with a bottle of water and a soft blanket. He helped her sip the water, his fingers brushing against hers as he held the bottle. Then he wrapped the blanket around her, pulling her into his arms.

“I love you,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

She snuggled closer, resting her head against his chest. “I love you too, Franco.”

They lay like that for what felt like hours, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back as he whispered sweet nothings in Italian. He told her how beautiful she was, how much he adored her, how he couldn’t wait to see her glowing with their child. Every word was filled with love and devotion, leaving no doubt in her mind that she was his world.

Eventually, sleep began to claim them, but not before Franco placed one final kiss on her lips.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered. “I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life proving how much I love you.”

And as Y/N drifted off in his arms, she knew she’d found something rare and beautiful—a love as passionate and enduring as the man who held her.

[suuuupernovaaa]

zaldrīzes

zaldrīzes - dragon

Aemond's intended claims a dragon, quite unexpectedly, and he is greatly pleased.

Tags: aemondxoc, aemondxreader, no use of y/n, sexual content, 18+

Word Count: 1.1k

Her footsteps echo through the hall, wet and loud, thwap, thwap, thwap. Heads turn, watching her soaking skirts flying behind her, but she notices no one and nothing except him.

His arms open as she flies to him, soaking him completely as she wraps him in a tight and boisterous embrace.

"What is it?" Aemond asks, unsure if he should be concerned or scared. She is never affectionate in public, and always the example of composure and quiet elegance. To see her sprinting through the halls, white hair loose and wild, skirts filthy, is a brand new sight for him.

"I claimed him," she hisses, pulling apart only a few inches from her husband-to-be.

"Claimed?" Aemond asks, leaning into her. "A dragon?"

"Zaldrīzes iksis ñuhon." The grin upon her beautiful, flushed face grows, ear to ear, painfully wide. The dragon is mine.

She has left Vhagar's rider speechless, for the first time in all his years. "Which?" is all he can muster in reply.

"Cannibal."

His beloved has never lied to him, and he does not think she ever would, but this must be some untruth. A joke she is playing on him. Cannibal cannot be claimed - should not be claimed. No one has ever been foolish enough to try.

He pulls her by the elbow, away from prying eyes, into an alcove, and presses her gently into the cold stone wall. She shivers.

"You lie."

The smile falls from her face, and through he is confused and a little angry, he feels guilty still.

"Why would I lie, my love?"

xx

The high of claiming the dragon they say could not be claimed is starting to wear off, and the dampness of my clothes is beginning to bring a chill to my bones.

I shiver again, but not because of the cold. It's entirely because of the way my husband-to-be stares down at me, with rage and confusion in his eye.

"Aemond," I reach out, cupping his angled jaw. "Why would I lie?" I repeat. "The beast, he was upon my riding path. I had never seen him before. He is... so large, Aemond. I made to turn, but he turned and looked at me. Looked into me, it felt. When I approached and commanded him, he bowed. He lay down his wing, so I might climb on, and we rode."

"With no saddle?"

"I admit, that was a challenge I did not foresee. His scales are so large, Aemond, that I was able to settle into the grooves of them. Were it not raining, I daresay I may have been able to easily hold on. As it was, the ride was short. But I claimed him, Aemond! Cannibal!" It was hard to keep my voice hushed with my excitement, and my nerves. I had not thought Aemond would be so angry.

He steps forward, just half a step, closing the distance between us and pressing me tightly to the stones.

"You could have been killed," he hisses through a tight jaw.

I nod slowly, and shiver once more. "I know. I am sorry, but I... I could not help myself."

Just as I am beginning to wonder if Aemond is going to really hurt me, his mouth is upon mine, a welcome warmth in the chilling cold. His kiss is urgent and demanding, and my hands find their way into his hair with a mind all their own. Aemond's hand slides over my backside as his tongue explores my mouth, then his curious hand moves down my thigh, and to the back of my knee. He pulls my leg up, and presses his core into mine through our clothes, eliciting a moan from deep in my chest. A chill runs through me, nothing to do with the cold air and my wet clothes.

"Aemond, someone will see," I whisper, pulling away just long enough to do so, before he silences me with his mouth upon mine once more.

"Let them see. Let them see me fuck Cannibal's rider right here, in front of them all," he drawls, his lips trailing down my chin, my neck, and to the small area of flesh visible above my dress. He presses his hard cock into me once more, and my head rolls back against the castle wall. "But I think I'll take you in a warm bath instead, dragon rider."

xx

True to his word, Aemond requests a hot bath in his room, and while it is filled, helps me undress and hangs my clothes gently by the fire - something I have only ever seen our chambermaids attend to.

He takes my hand gently and escorts me to the scorching bath. Settling in, it causes gooseflesh to break out on my skin, going from so cold to so hot, but I quickly settle in, releasing a moan.

I turn my head to the side to see Aemond undressing, keeping his eye trained on me as his clothes drop to the floor, revealing the beautiful and toned body of a warrior.

Eagerly, I lean forward so that he can slide in behind me, and he pulls me back once seated so I can rest against his chest.

"Are you terribly angry with me?" I ask after a long, comfortable silence.

Aemond reaches over to the small wooden table next to the bath, and grabs the soap. "Not terribly, no," he replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

He starts to wash me gently, with great care. My arms, over my chest and stomach, my legs down to my toes, until I am the cleanest I have ever been, as well as the warmest.

"Were you scared?" he asks.

"Of you, or Cannibal?"

He snorts, but does not answer.

"Yes, I was terrified. But once he laid down his wing in invitation, the fear disappeared. It felt so right, to mount and ride him. He is so large, Aemond."

He sets down the soap and runs his hands up my arms once more. "We are unstoppable now, you and I."

I lean back into my lover, pressing my forehead to his cheek, as his arms encircle me tightly. "Now I can protect you, as you have always protected me. You, and the entire royal family."

He sighs once more, and presses a kiss to my forehead. "I am in awe of you. Tomorrow, I will request the wedding be moved up."

"To when?" I ask, closing my eyes as Aemond's wet, strong hands begin to roam my body.

"The earliest possible moment. I will not be unwed to you a second longer than is necessary, my dragon-claimer."

Aemond's adept hands find their target, and I arch my back, gasping. "Yes, my lord," I reply, and he chuckles.

"No one is lord to you, not anymore," he replies - and then devours me whole.