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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

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Mattheo Riddle. | We Are Done

Info: Mattheo calls things off during a nasty fight where you were only expressing your concern for his safety, putting an end to your months-long complicated fling. When he inevitably gets hurt and finds himself in the hospital wing as a result of his recklessness, you pay him a little visit, eager to get your revenge.

Word count: 5k

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Toxic Behaviours, Sadism, Masochism, Intense Bloodplay, Restraint, Dom!Reader, Sub!Mattheo, Begging, PIV, Sexual Punishment, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Humiliation.

A/N: went all the way to the depths of hell for this one☠️

The journey from the bustling opulence of the Great Hall to the clinical confines of the hospital wing unfolded like a protracted soul-search, nearly forty minutes of introspection that could have singlehandedly redefined the word regret.

A seething turmoil churned within, its intensity drawn solely from the arid kindling of memories involving your ex fling, Mattheo Riddle. Despite the passing week of newfound solitude, the inner maelstrom showed no fucking signs of abating.

The recollection of your fleeting intimate moments swarmed you, a ceaseless loop that played out in the theater of your mind--like an unresolved holodrama with seemingly no fucking end.

His imprint stained every fragment of your life; in the solitude of the shower, mental echoes followed the course of water, little rivers reminding you of the ones tracing intricate paths down his sculpted physique. Within the shared space of the common room, the mental tableau featured his fingers engaging in an intimate ballet, leaving the taste of his lips lingering in your mouth as they ever-so-dominantly stifled your lusty sounds.

And somehow, that wasn't even the worst of it. Oh, not even close. It was during the nocturnal realm that the memories unfolded their cruelest chapters.

In the shroud of night, it transcended beyond the mere visual replay of his figure dominating yours, or the sensory exploration of his hands traversing the curves of your body. It wasn't just the recollection of his teeth sinking into your neck that lingered. No, the intricacies of your mind wove a far, far more nuanced tapestry.

Nighttime summoned forth the vivid recollection of the encompassing warmth emanating from his broad chest, the haven discovered within the embrace of his strong arms, and the fragrant allure of his messy hair, intertwining with the visceral memories of each intimate encounter. His burning gaze that had seared into your consciousness was more than a mere look; it was an indelible mark, haunting the very core of your thoughts with the echoes of shared passion.

These were the nocturnal specters that besieged you behind closed lids, engaging in an unwelcome dance as you wrestled with the elusive embrace of sleep. These very memories, like a relentless blacksmith, stoked the inferno within, leaving behind the most acrid, bitter residue on your tongue--a taste of anguish and betrayal.

The haunting question echoed through the corridors of your thoughts: why had he subjected you to this intimate claiming, an emotional prison woven with shared intensity, only to abruptly extinguish it with the cold finality of three, sad little words.

"We are done."

And thus, even after the amount of passing time, all it took was a single sideways glance exchanged between Pansy and Draco during their spirited debate over impending assignments to inspire the catalyst for your abrupt departure. With a forceful clatter, you slammed down your fork and pushed up from the table, commencing a determined march into the unknown.

Their speculative gazes undoubtedly trailed your abrupt exit, but you paid no heed. The entire school was privy to the fact that you and Mattheo were done, seemingly officially this time--terminated by a colossal spat prior to one of his ludicrous nighttime escapades in the forbidden forest. Mattheo's hospitalization, a testament to the recklessness that marked him and his band of fools, left him nursing scratches, cuts, bruises, and a sizable gash on his lower abdomen.

Pansy's calls faded into the periphery as you strode away, your indifference resonating louder than any response could convey. The world around you blurred into inconsequential background noise, drowned out by the burgeoning tangle of spite that commandeered your thoughts. Initially relegated to the forefront, this resentment had now metastasized, occupying every crevice of your headspace.

The recollection of his outburst haunted you, a violent reaction triggered by your attempt to dissuade him from venturing into the forbidden forest. Advising caution, you found yourself confronted with accusations of control and a stifling of his fucking freedom. Hurtful words cascaded from his lips during that argument, culminating before he recklessly endangered himself in the perilous forest. All the moments of vulnerability you shared with him, surrendering yourself without reservation, only to be met with his callousness when you were simply trying to safeguard him.

And as the embers of revenge blazed within, so did the deafening roar for closure. The need to settle the score and the yearning for resolution thrived in the wake of an emotional maelstrom.

‘We are done’ felt insufficient—it couldn't conclude there. You wouldn't fucking allow it.

Approaching the hospital wing doors, a surprising fortitude replaced any expectation of your confidence wilting under the imposing pressure. Strangely, a heightened anger welled within you, as though Mattheo Riddle were the sun, each step forward intensifying the scorching heat enveloping you. With a decisive gesture, you flung the door open, your breath held in suspense as your eyes canvassed the beds. Yet, he remained conspicuously absent, amplifying the frenetic flutter in your heart into an unrestrained whirlwind.

"Miss? May I help you with something?"

You pivoted sharply, eyes ablaze, as if embers sparked from your gaze. "Mr. Riddle. Mattheo. Where is he?"

The nurse swallowed, brows furrowed in confusion, but she cautiously gestured toward the hall, taking a step forward. "We moved him into a private room yesterday. His father requested it. Third door to the left."

Your eyes rolled involuntarily as you turned away, a silent commentary on the absurdity before you. Suppressing the impulse to scoff required a fucking Herculean effort--of course, his father would demand a private room for him. The bloody entitlement was as predictable as Mattheo's suffocating arrogance.

As your determined march neared its end, you found yourself standing before the designated door, caught in a tumult of fear and fury. Fingers trembled, folding in waves in a futile attempt to expel the excess energy coursing through your veins. This ritual had proved futile throughout the previous week, and it yielded no different results now. A frustrated exhale escaped through your nose as you charged through the doorway, propelled by a relentless surge of emotion.

Mattheo Riddle's vulnerability exceeded all expectations as he lay in his opulent private chamber. Shirtless, his body displayed a cruel artwork of black and blue hues, stretching beyond the healing gash on his abdomen. A chaotic tapestry of scratches adorned his shoulders, arms, neck, and the once flawless canvas of his face, now disrupted by a thin, blistering line over the bridge of his nose. A swallow lodged in your throat as you beheld him, a striking portrait of agony that rendered him almost unrecognizable.

"Why the hell are you here?" He stared at you, expression vacant. "Can't you comprehend simple instructions?"

With a cool, unwavering gaze, you shot back, "And miss the chance to witness your glorious downfall? Not a fucking chance, Riddle."

Mattheo clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply as he adjusted against the sheets. "You're insufferable."

You sneered, advancing with measured steps. "Coming from you, that's a compliment."

Advancing, you scrutinized his form, taking in the mosaic of fresh scars that adorned his skin. Arriving at the bedside, your gaze drifted downward, noting that beneath his waist, he was clad only in boxers. A scant, white sheet was the sole guardian of whatever remained of his dignity.

Mattheo's snarl reverberated in the room. "If you're here to extend your fucking pity, please, spare me."

A sharp retort escaped your lips, your eyes dancing with a hint of amusement. "Oh, I'm not offering pity...though you do present quite the pitiable fucking sight, I'll give you that."

"Then what the fuck do you want?" Mattheo's voice carried an edge, his eyes narrowing with impatience. “I told you, we are done.”

A pregnant pause filled the room as you let his question linger, a mental reel replaying the relentless week of torment he had unleashed upon you. Your gaze lingered on his tousled chocolate curls and once-enticing plush lips, forcing yourself to traverse the memories of months marked by a tumultuous dance between pain and pleasure. The realization hit like a sledgehammer--all those moments, the highs and lows, seemed to have led to an abyss of pure fucking nothingness.

A furrow etched your brow as you looked down at him. "It's unbelievable that I let myself get ensnared into feeling something for you."

"Your feelings were your own choice," he quipped, his head falling back with an air of indifference, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "Don't blame me for your poor judgment."

Your frown etched deeper lines on your face, the surge of anger unmistakable. "Regardless, you still manipulated me like a fucking puppet."

"Amusing how complaints disappeared when you were screaming for more every damn night," he retorted, lids fluttering with evident irritation. "Your anger's just a cover for the fact that you'll have to find a new playmate now...have fun chasing those highs, princess, but I promise you'll only end up disappointed."

Your jaw dropped in disbelief, gaze narrowing into a potent mix of anger and hurt. "You're a real fucking prick, you know that?"

Mattheo regarded you with eyes that seemed to hold nothing but emptiness. His silent response coaxed your hands to curl into tight fists, and your chin to tremble with the pressure of boiling blood. You hadn't come here for him to treat you like a mere specter, to act as if you were invisible, as if you were nothing--something you knew you had never been. And still weren't.

"Answer me," you hissed, your voice shaking with a blend of frustration and desperation.

He remained silent, his gaze an unyielding anchor in the stormy sea of your emotions. The void in his pupils became increasingly maddening, an inscrutable abyss that left you grappling with the uncertainty of what the fuck he was even thinking right now.

"Answer me, Riddle." Your demand sliced through the air, a fervent plea for any sign of acknowledgment.

But he remained stubbornly mute.

Your chest surged with frustration, the world momentarily blurring in your escalating anger. "Say something, damn it!"

It was only when the sting of his skin met the back of your hand, and red streaks of blood marked your knuckles, that you realized you had slapped him, reopening the scab on his cheek. Yet, that wasn't the shocking part--though it certainly played a role--what truly stunned you was the quiet, wanton moan that escaped Mattheo's lips, his lids fluttering while his body tensed against the bed. In awe, you gulped.

And then, a peculiar, wicked force stirred within, a voracious entity feeding on the months of torment he had subjected you to. Something that hungered for more.

So, succumbing to its dark allure, you withdrew your hand and unleashed another sharp, resounding slap across his cheek. Blood painted his face, and Mattheo groaned, fingers clutching at the sheets as his hips thrust into the air, his arousal blatantly revealed beneath the fabric. Spellbound, you observed as he collapsed back onto the mattress, his eyes fluttering open, holding a gaze that teetered between vulnerability and desperation.

Between the conflicted expression in his eyes and the pulsating bulge between his legs, the sinister impulse within you deepened, intertwining with a more primal sensation. One unmistakably identified as pure, unbridled lust.

"You fucking like that, don't you?" You breathed, your lips twisting into a sadistic grin.

"Are you trying to hurt me, princess?" Mattheo's intense gaze focused on you, alternating between his increasing arousal and your exasperated expressions. "You'll have to put in more fucking effort than that..."

"Hm." You hummed, grin widening. "If you insist."

You locked on to Mattheo's gaze, feeling empowered by the way his normally stoic expression was now clouded with a burning need. With a coy smile, you swung your knee onto the hospital bed, letting your skirt ride up around your hips and exposing your panties. His brown eyes lingered between your legs, and you could feel the heat of his gaze against your skin as you climbed over him, straddling his strong thighs. He tensed as his eager cock twitched beneath you, silently begging for more.

The power dynamic between you had shifted so drastically in this moment. Mattheo Riddle, famed for his cunning and ruthlessness, was now completely at your fucking mercy. It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing that you had the power to make him feel truly vulnerable.

"So weak," you spat, a wicked grin spreading across your face as you dipped your hips just enough to skim the head of his cock. The sight of his full-body convulsion was mesmerizing, and the shaky breath that left his lips told you everything you needed to know.

You could tell he was still in pain, but there was something else there too--desperation.

"Poor boy," you murmured, running your fingers down the curves of your own figure, taking pleasure in the sensation of your own heat as you slipped your hand between your thighs, caressing yourself. "This is what you want, isn't it?"

Mattheo's eyes fluttered closed, his mouth falling open in a low groan. It was clear he was entranced by the sight of you touching yourself, and the way your words dripped with sinful seduction only added to his lust.

"Yes," he gritted out through clenched teeth, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "This is what I want."

"Look at you...so fucking needy..." you clucked your tongue and chuckled, extending out your free hand and running it along the wounded flesh of his chest, digging in with a little more force than you'd intended, judging by the groan that left his lips and the blood that split through the scab. "You're such a pathetic mess, Matty...it's almost too easy to control you like this..."

"Go to hell." His jaw tightened, a vein throbbing in his temple as he recognized the truth in your words. "You don't control fuck all."

"Oh, is that right?" you snarled, leaning forward and pushing your hands into his stomach, pressing down on his wound with added force, now. His face twisted in pain, and he let out a strained grunt. "How about now?"

Your heart was thundering with adrenaline, and while you had undoubtedly expected him to be furious at you for causing him harm, as he met your gaze, you saw something else entirely. There was a desperate need in his eyes, a yearning for more of the pain and pleasure that only you could provide. His lips were parted, his breaths coming in short gasps as he struggled to contain the sensations coursing through him. Despite the pain, there was a sense of longing that tugged at your heartstrings, filling you with a powerful desire for more of this intoxicating mixture.

"More," he whispered, his voice low and husky with need, barely above a breath. "Do it again."

"Oh, I don't fucking think so..." you sneered, your cunt clenching involuntarily at his request. But you were determined to make this man suffer. To humiliate him just as bad as he'd humiliated you, time and time again. "If you want something, you’ll have to ask for it nicely…I want to hear you beg for me."

Mattheo grunted again, bucking his hips, trying to grind back despite the pain of his injuries. Finding that impossible, his hands went to your waist, gliding up and down your thighs as he attempted to move you faster along his member, craning his head forward to get a better view. You scowled and smacked him away.

"I don't recall extending an invitation for your touch," you asserted, a glacial edge to your voice. "Why would I want your hands on me? After everything you've fucking done?"

His fingers balled into fists, exhaling when his head fell back against the pillow. You could feel him aching below you, already entirely fucking anxious to get inside of you. But then, he was still, hungry eyes trained on yours as he waited for your prompt.

"That's better," you purred, and found the next words coming out before you'd even thought them. "Good boy."

Your hips moved sinuously against his, a deliberate motion that left him breathless, his fists tensing against the desire to seize hold of your flesh. The surge of power was intoxicating, a heady blend with the fervor of your overwhelming desire and simmering rage. More than ever, your yearning for him to suffer consumed you. With a wicked grin, you lifted your hand to your lips, sensually running your tongue along the length of your crimson-stained fingers, sucking off the remnants of his blood. The sharp note of copper lit up your palate, sending a delightful shiver through your being.

"Mmm...you taste so good." You met his gaze between the long licks of your digits, his taste coating your mouth. "Wanna try?"

Mattheo remained silent, his gaze tracing the movement of your tongue as he moistened his lower lip. You enveloped one of your fingers with your lips, emitting a soft hum as you sensually cleaned it, gliding it in and out with deliberate slowness. Finally, you withdrew it with a wet pop, eyes rolling in dramatic effect.

Mattheo's jaw constricted, the sinews in his forearms taut from the tension in his fists. "Please..."

But you, unfazed, dipped your fingers back into the trail of blood leaking from his gash, adorning your skin with a bold red hue before returning them to your mouth.

"Mm, not good enough, I’m afraid..." you murmured, eyes twinkling with sadistic satisfaction. "You'll have to do much better than that, big boy..."

A growl echoed in Mattheo's throat while he gripped your thighs, pushing you down onto his swollen cock. His own hips thrust up against you, seeking any friction, any pressure at all from your heat. Frowning, you slapped his hand--and to your amazement, he pulled back, averting his gaze.

"These hands of yours are growing quite fucking insolent," you observed with a sly smile. "It's high time we addressed their rude misbehaviour."

A sinister grin etched across your lips as you shifted, smoothly extracting your wand from its thigh strap. With a deft flick, you summoned restraints, securing Mattheo's wrists to the metal headboard. His lips parted, eyes smouldering with desire, pulsating beneath you as the tightness closed around his wrists. Once finished, another few flicks ensured the door was locked, and the room was cloaked in a silencing charm.

"Much better," you said, tossing your wand aside. The gleam in your eye was almost maniacal as you reveled in the exquisite agony you were causing him, feeling a sense of power and control that you had never experienced before. "How's that feel, hm? Ready to utter those pleas for me, Riddle?"

"You're going to regret this, little witch..." he spat out through gritted teeth, his gaze locked onto yours. "Nothing you could do to me is worse than the fate that awaits you when I get out of here…your days are fucking numbered."

Involuntarily, you clenched at his threat, a sly smirk playing on your lips as you dipped your fingers back into the pool of blood emanating from his wound--and with a decisive move, you seized his jaw with your free hand, thrusting your bloodied fingers past his teeth before he could voice a protest.

"Now isn't the time for your futile threats, Mattheo," you husked, tilting your head. Your fingers pushed forcefully into his throat, emphasizing your point. "Look how fucking pathetic you are...if only your friends could see you now...big tough guy, bound and gagged by his own bitch…it’s beautiful, really."

Abruptly, you withdrew your fingers, leaning back to assess your handiwork. His wrists were securely bound, a vivid red imprint gracing his skin, while his mouth shimmered with the subtle traces of his own blood. It was a tableau of perfection--humiliating yet exquisitely so. The image of him squirming against the taut restraints, his chest rising and falling with each desperate breath, compelled your hand between your legs. Sliding up your skirt, you explored through the delicate lace of your panties, skimming eagerly over your clit.

"Fuck," you murmured, glimpsing his mouth, “you look perfect like this."

This was retribution, and as you teased yourself while admiring the pathetic sight of him, thoughts buzzed with the torment he'd inflicted--the scalding intensity of his erratic behavior, the icy indifference he wielded, treating you with disdain, unfounded accusations of infidelity, and the frigid distance he maintained. The searing resentment flared as you recollected the havoc he'd wreaked upon your life.

It was months of emotional manipulation. A pattern that was impossible to acclimate to. His cycle of hot and cold, the relentless mistreatment, the baseless accusations, and the moments of aloofness, all preceding his inevitable return, pleading for your affection--this was the culmination of his deeds. More than anything, this was the reckoning he deserved.

"Come on, princess..." he muttered, eyes wide and pleading. "For Godrics sake, please...fucking please..."

A grin creeped across your lips, your heart leaping with excitement. You'd finally fucking broke him.

"There we go, Matty...that wasn't so hard, was it?" You purred, inching backwards along the length of his thighs, reaching out to pull the cover from his waist in an excruciatingly slow fashion, exposing his black briefs. "I love hearing you beg for me...you're being such a good boy..."

Mattheo's response came in the form of an exaggerated huff, and his eyes locked onto yours, silently pleading for your touch to alleviate the burning desire between his legs. Your grin expanded, reveling in the palpable tension.

"You want me to fuck you, Matty? Do you think you fucking deserve that?" You cooed as you caressed his erection through the fabric, glaring at him while he jerked and shook from your touch. It was incredible, watching him trying to thrust into your fist, whimpering, head lolling while you sped your ministrations. "Do you think you fucking deserve me?"

His groan reverberated, his body twitching beneath the firm clasp of your fingers. His lids fluttered, and his head arched back in a nearly imperceptible shake of denial.

"You never fucking deserved me, did you?" Your frustration at his silence echoed in the air as you delivered a sharp crack across his face, prompting a gasp from him. "Fucking answer me, Mattheo!"

"No!" he finally hissed, his knuckles whitening as his entire frame tensed. "Fuck! No! I didn’t…”

"That's right, you didn't…” you laughed, shaking your head. The sinful delight coursing through you at his torment was undeniable. "At least you can finally fucking admit it...a tiny step towards what might pass as progress, I suppose."

As Mattheo huffed, not daring to meet your eyes, you sighed, finally feeling as though some of your anger had dissipated. Not by much, but by enough. Granting him the smallest percentage of mercy, you wrapped your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, freeing his needy, throbbing cock--the length of his smooth heat springing back and slapping against his belly, a low groan leaving the depths of his throat as it did.

You clenched at the sight, the pool of heat in your abdomen expanding throughout your entire body now, your mouth practically watering at the mere vision of him. Just when you thought this whole thing couldn't get anymore perfect. Gods, he was undeniably fucking delicious.

"Tell me what you want, Mattheo..." you said, wrapping your fingers around his cock, slicking the bead of precum around the head, twisting your wrist as you stroked him. "Tell me what you need."

His eyelids pressed together in bliss as he panted, the rhythmic movement of his throat visible with each swallow. In the throes of pleasure, he surrendered himself to the intensity of your touch, the heat enveloping him in a cocoon of sensation.

"You..." was his only reply, head snapping back and forth, thighs tensing, cock twitching. "Please-fuck-"

"You like that?" you purred, biting your lip. "You like when I jerk your cock like this? Hm?"

Mattheo's jaw was slack with desire, his voice laced with breathy need, "yes..."

"Yeah?" You purred, tightening your grip, increasing your pace as you stroked him, leaning down slightly to spit on the tip, slicking your saliva along his shaft. "Who else could make you beg, huh? Who the fuck else can make you this fucking hard?"

"Fuck-" he choked, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts, you could tell he was close. "No one-princess-fucking no one..."

"Mhm...that's fucking right, Riddle..." smiling, you threw your head back, your other hand resuming its motion on your clit, teasing yourself as you continued stroking him. "You know you can't fucking live without this...I don't know why you have to make things so goddamn complicated..."

"Fuck," he hissed, sputtering your name, "please, fuck me, please. I fucking need you."

"Shit...you're just spoiling me now," you mewled, your pussy clenching undoubtedly at his words. "Such a good boy...so eager to please me, hm?"

Mattheo released a long, exasperated sigh as you released him, shifting yourself closer. With a swift motion, you shimmied your panties to the side before you aligned his cock with your dripping core--the moan that escaped your throat was deep and lengthy as you sank onto him, feeling every inch of his hard, aching cock stretching you wide, filling you up with ease. Mattheo's body lifted from the bed in response, a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream escaping his chest as you enveloped him to the hilt. Leaning forward, you placed your palms on his stomach, shifting your weight to the heels of your hands as you began to slide up and down his shaft.

"Fuck," you breathed, lids fluttering. "I missed this cock...shit, you feel so good..."

Mattheo's only response was a string of shameless, guttural moans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he surrendered to the potent mix of pleasure and pain. His body writhed beneath yours, his abdominals tightening in response to your movements. You panted heavily, bouncing up and down on his cock, taking pleasure in every inch of him slamming deep into your wet, eager pussy.

With each movement, you drove Mattheo wild with desire, listening to his moans grow louder and more intense with each passing moment.

Having control was entirely different--you were able to drag him into you, squeeze him tight with your walls while you slowed your pace, slam down onto him and make him howl. You watched him struggle below you, realizing he was trapped at his peak--and you were happy about it. This. This was close to what he deserved.

"I fucking hate you," you growled, the depth of your emotion evident in every word. "You embedded yourself into every part of my life and now you want to just fucking end things? Just go back to being fucking strangers? Over nothing?" Your voice cracked, the words flowing from your lips without restraint as you continued to ride him, hips moving in an untamed rhythm. "Why do you always fucking do this to me? Fuck-why?..."

Between his deep groans, his shuddering gasps as his wrists fighting their resistance, he managed to shake his head, his noises only growing louder the harder your rode him.

"I...I'm..." the words were forced through barred teeth, his eyes pleading for mercy. "I'm fucking sorry."

"Are you mine, Mattheo?" Your voice was strained with exertion, sweat growing on your forehead. "Were you ever fucking mine? Or was it all just a big game to you?"

"No,” he stammered, almost wincing. "No!"

Unable to resist the intense sensations coursing through you any longer, you brought your fingers back to your clit, setting a frenzied pace as you massaged the stiff nub with the pads of your fingers. You could feel Mattheo pulsing inside you, could feel his overly urgent need to cum, but right now, all that mattered was your own pleasure. As you worked yourself toward climax, your breaths grew ragged, soft moans escaping your lips as your body responded to your own touch. The pressure inside of you was building with each passing moment, urgent and insistent, and you knew that you wouldn't be able to hold off for much longer.

"Say it," you panted, eyes rolling and body trembling as you slammed down on him again and again. "Tell me who you fucking belong to."

"Fuck-fuck..." he grunted, teeth bared, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. "Please, princess...you keep squeezing me like that and I'm going to fucking cum-"

"If you want to cum, you'll fucking say it, Mattheo-" you practically moaned, entire body quivering with excitement. "Fuck-say it..."

A string of whimpers slipped past Mattheo's lips, his fists balled so tight it looked almost painful. "Fuck--you! I'm yours, fuck..."

Every word leaving you was a curse, and between every word was a strangled moan, resonating through your throat as you worked your clit fasting, fucking yourself on his cock harder.

"Gods, Matty, I'm going to cum," you moaned. "I'm going to cum on this thick fucking cock-fuck..."

Without being able to hold off any longer, you shattered, your hips jerking and twitching in an erratic rhythm, free hand digging into the flesh of his chest as you clenched and pulsed around him, forcing another onslaught of pleasured whimpers to leave his throat before he too reached his high--the tight heat of your orgasm sending him over the edge, twitching and thrashing beneath you as you continued riding him through your collective highs, not beginning to slow until the aftershocks began to rumble through you.

And after you stalled, you allowed yourself a moment to regain composure before you wearily eased yourself off him, releasing a prolonged breath--with a cautious movement, you reached over and gathered a sampling of your intertwined cum on the pads of your fingers, briskly bringing them up to his lips.

"Taste what I did to you," you murmured with a smirk, relishing in his groan against your flesh. Methodically, you glided your fingers against his bottom teeth, leisurely pulling them from his mouth. "Tastes good, doesn't it?"

His breaths lingered in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment of his silence, his eyes seemingly unable to leave your form. With deliberate movements, you leaned over, deftly undoing the restraints that bound him. As you meticulously adjusted your appearance back to its usual state, a mask of calm control, your gaze shifted towards the door, a calculated glance.

"May your recovery be swift, Riddle," you uttered with a tone that held a hint of farewell. "Until next time."

6K notes · View notes

diejager · 9 months

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Hiii I wanted to know if you could do a ghost x hybrid!bunny reader?

Where she’s unaware she’s going through her heat cycle (her first) an she’s giving off a dandrufflike sex pollen, so she goes around the base trying to find him. The recuites are following her like dogs an eventually when he finds her (cause she got lost) he realizes that’s what’s going on and helps her out with her problems ☺️

And honestly if you could do anything with ghost x hybrid!bunny reader I would love love looove it 💗💗

Thank you so much for writing! 💗🐰

Bunny

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Bunny Hybrid! Reader

Cw: non-con drugging (unintentional really), sex pollen, heat cycles, bunny hybrid reader, Wc: 1.4k

Fun Fact! Bunny was originally and still is a British term of endearment for girls and young women.

For someone who’d joined Price’s TF for months now, you still couldn’t find your way through these winding halls and sharp corners that made the British base. It was like a maze to your twitching nose and droopy ears, always sending you down the wrong hallway or turning the wrong corner simply because they looked identical, and there wasn’t a plan for the whole base. You’d know, you had asked Price for one after getting lost trying to find the Mess Hall and having the fortune of stumbling into Gaz after wandering the halls of your temporary base.

You, once more, got lost on your way to the gym, the last place you had to search to find Ghost. You had searched the armoury, jumping between soldiers (mostly recruits who’d been sent to your base to train. Most sergeants and higher-ranked soldiers were given their small batch to overwatch.) while looking for your lieutenant, ignoring the dark stares the recruits sent your way. Their pupils dilated and face flushed when you walked past them, bumped shoulders and talked to them.

While your search for Ghost in the armoury had been fruitless, the other - as equally flushed as the recruits when you spoke to them - sergeants and corporals about him, they advised you to look for the gym and training grounds, knowing the lieutenant would be there if he wasn’t in his room, his office or the armoury. With a grateful nod, you skipped down the corridor, having randomly chosen a path while completely lost. In your small, dazed mind, body heat skyrocketing, skin perspiring and cheeks flushed, you were oblivious to the longing stares people gave you when you walked past them and the number of recruits that had followed you.

They marched in synchronisation metres behind you, acting like a single-celled organism composed of many that followed its prey or another of their kind. Their hands were clammy, their skin heated to a burning red on their ears and cheeks, their hairline stuck to their skin, and their eyes were wide like lost puppies following a treat.

You lost your way, having to stop and catch someone for directions. Coincidentally, a fellow operator was heading towards the training area, having to meet a teammate for their next briefing. She led you down a familiar hall (was it? Every wall looked the same to you, every spot and crack looked the same on every wall, it had your head spinning in every direction. You were still confused as to why others easily found their way around the whole base.) and pointed out some rooms for you to use as checkpoints when you travelled these halls alone. You thanked her profusely when you found the wide doors to the area you were trying to reach, grasping her hand and giving her a sweet smile, ears flopping at your optimistic movement.

When you reached for the door, you peeked your head through the door, squeezing out when you saw how crowded it was. Ghost preferred solitude and quietness, such a busy and filled room would be a nightmare for a reserved man. He dreaded interacting with people unless he had to (or unless you were part of his loving Task Force 141). Your scent streamed into a wide area, urging heads to turn your way, glazed eyes landing on your head, nose twitching and ears framing your face. They fleeted the room when you left, head tilted towards your scent, ripe and sweet.

You turned to look for the gym, remembering that it was on the other wall, the words gym displayed in bold letters on the door’s sign. You smiled giddily, practically jumping towards it, knowing it was the last place you had to look at. You found him the second you pushed past the door, his broad back standing out around smaller figures around the room even if he seemed to curl into himself on his place on the bench. You went straight his way, the soles of your boots thumping on the slick, shiny floor. It gave you away to the lieutenant who’d heard you walk towards him.

“Ghost,” you smiled, stopping beside his turned body, his sinfully slim hips twisting his skin-tight shirt that stuck to his abdomen like a second skin. “I was searching for you, L.T.”

He muddled silently at you, dark chocolate eyes wandering over your body, over your plush thighs, your round hips, your small stomach, your pressed breast, your naked collar and your face. He flickered to the men that filed in after you, a group of hungry, happy trigger recruits after someone way higher than them. He reeled in the need to growl, watching the way their eyes craved you, fucking you in their mind in every position possible.

Then his eyes rolled back to you, seeing your flushed cheeks, dilated pupils and sweet grin. The scent that fell from your body was downright delirious, a sickeningly sweet musk that rolled off your body in waves of thin particles of your scent. The stare in your eyes was dazed, dream-like in the way that you gazed at him. It riled him, made him hungry and predatory.

”You’re in heat, bunny,” he greeted back, voice coming out deeper and raspier than he intended, the low vibration in his chest appearing by itself from his restrained hunger.

He couldn’t fault the recruits that followed you like lost, hungry pups. You were delicious in the haze of your heat (the first one you’ve ever had, he thought. You’d spoken to him once about never having felt the full brunt of heat, they were supposedly painful and made the hybrid needy from what he’d learned. That scared you.), your scent enveloping you in a cocoon of arousing odour, pheromones that attracted males of your kind of human males to satiate your needs.

He couldn't, doesn't mean he wouldn’t because he would. He was faulting them for staring at you so shamelessly, eyes hungering for you. He wasn’t a perfect man, he was far from it, he was the worst kind to be deemed a perfect model. He was imposing, dominating, possessive and deadly, he was a ghost, the dead that came back alive, having no name or face to call his own. Just like the recruits, he wanted you, to take you for himself in the privacy of his dark room. He wanted to bite into those, soft, fluffy ears of yours, always drooping around your face, but never restraining you in combat (you fared surprisingly well, nearly as merciless as him, in combat, tearing down men twice your size with a knife if needed. You were ruthless to your enemy or those that aimed to hurt your little TF.). He wanted to make you cry, to grab your round tail and yank on it until you begged him to stop. He wanted to bite into the scarless skin of your neck, a perfect place for his mark.

Bunnies liked marks, no? They loved affection and being taken care of, didn’t they? Although you were a hybrid - mostly human with some bunny genetics in your body - you still had some rabbit-like behaviours. He’d seen how you preferred veggies over meat, though you did eat meat on occasion to keep up with the growth of your muscles. He’d seen how you liked soft and smooth things, you had many blankets and personal items you were gifted or bought. He knew you liked jumping and scouting, a bunny's natural curiousity made it peek from beneath the tall grass at things that caught its attention.

He, however, hasn’t seen how you act in the throes of painful heat, would you submit to a needy, aroused bunny that would ask anything of him; or would you jump him and demand attention, using him as you like. He stopped himself from wandering down that dark path, or at least for now until he got both you and him to his room for privacy.

“C’mon bunny, let’s go,” he stood up, bag slung over his shoulder while his other hand rested on your lower back, the dip of your vertebrae and the start of your jerking tail.

He glared at the cowering recruits as he moved between them, they has separated to form a path for you and Ghost. Black-painted skin, dark eyes and a skull-drawn balaclava made them flee, tails tucked between their legs. He held you closer to him, your hip flush to his as he led you to his quarters. That would teach them who you belonged to (perhaps you would show them who he belonged to).

#cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #bunny hybrid reader #heat

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illicit-astrology · 3 months

Text

What does Pluto in Aquarius Mean for You?

Aquarius Rising: Pluto is in your first house. You will immediately notice the powerful influence you have on people and the polarizing responses you elicit in others. You are about to birth a totally different YOU in the next decade(s). Expect to undergo a slow but sure glow-up over the next two decades.

Capricorn Rising: Pluto is in your second house. Your finances and self-worth will be under a constant growth cycle. The ways you generate or manage your income will forever be changed, as well as where you place your values.

Sagittarius Rising: Pluto is in your 3rd house. Your mindset most importantly, will be forever changed and transformed. You will be able to gain more insights and develop new ways to unlock your full brain power.

Scorpio Rising: Pluto is in your 4th house. Your emotional state and security is about to be put to the test. You will find out what's holding you back from achieving emotional vulnerability and security. Your ideas about where you want to settle and how you want to create a family will completely change too.

Libra RIsing: Pluto is in your 5th house. Your idea of romance and what brings you happiness will change. Your hobbies and creative endeavors will undergo transformation too. You will outgrow most of the things that used to bring you pleasure or happiness.

Virgo Rising: Pluto is in your 6th house. Pluto is here to push you to be serious about your health, habits, and work. You will experience the drawbacks of bad habits or addictions. You will outgrow certain routines, habits, and even work responsibilities.

Leo Rising: Pluto is in your 7th house. Relationships and interaction with people won't be a walk in the park anymore. They will carry a lot of psychological undertones, challenging you to relinquish control, and clear any emotional baggage and outgrow what doesn't work for you anymore.

Cancer Rising: Pluto is in your 8th house. This will be an exclusive invitation from Pluto to dive into its dungeon; your inner psyche. This will mark a heavy introspective but healing period in your life, wherein no action will go unnoticed or uninspected. Your subconscious is alert and is pointing out all your wounds that require healing.

Gemini Rising: Pluto is in your 9th house. This period will bring a lot of esoteric experiences that will change your perspective on life and death. Expect the unexpected. Your religious beliefs will change or you will outgrow certain parts of your moral values and opt for totally different ones. Traveling will be deemed transformational.

Taurus Rising: Pluto is in your 10th house. Saddle up! The career path and how you wanted to come across, no matter how sure you were about it? Yea, that will change. Pluto is here to challenge the parts of you that want to fit into the status quo. Are they real? If not, expect a total 180° change in career path and how you want to relate to the public.

Aries Rising: Pluto is in your 11th house. Your friendships and aspirations will be challenged and changed forever. As well as society's response to you. Be ready to be the outcast in your society or among your friends. This will help you remain true to yourself while attracting those who align with your authentic self.

Pisces Rising: Pluto is in your 12th house. This will be a VIP invitation from Pluto himself to look inward. Periods of solitude will be deemed essential and transformative during this time. If you don't carve enough time for yourself to heal your subconscious and self-sabotaging patterns, Pluto will force you to!

I hope this helps, and as a pluto dominant, please don't fear Pluto, but fear living life UNauthentically! So stay authentic, stay sexy!

#pluto in aquarius #aquarius #pluto #astrolog #horoscope #zodiac #synastry #composite

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etoilesvv · 5 months

Text

forest sex with ellie williams x fem!reader (nsfw 18+)

this has been in my head for so long i have to get it out

it started with an innocent game of chase.

you and ellie were returning to jackson from a small patrol run, just the two of you. it was nice, spending a few days with your girlfriend in the solitude of nature.

you had decided to hide behind a tree and scare her as you walked through the forest together, just to tease her and get a laugh. after her heart calmed, her eyes narrowed and she took your jump scare as a challenge.

you took off through the trees, giggling with the widest grin as ellie chased behind you. you gained a distance on her, feet crunching on the leaves and branches underneath.

you stumbled into a clearing and glanced back, no ellie to be found. did you lose her? the forest was silent besides distant chirps of birds and occasional gusts of wind, tall pines looming above. your head snapped in a circle, trying to spot your huntress of a girlfriend in a maze of wood trunks.

a pair of calloused hands found your hips, making you gasp as a body pressed into you from behind. ellie nuzzled her chin into your neck, her lips level with your ear.

“got you.” she whispered with that low rasp, her breath glazing across your nape. “pretty little thing should’ve known i’d catch her.”

a shiver ran down your spine before ellie pushed closer, her hips rutting against your ass. you immediately felt what she wanted you to feel, her strap concealed in her pants. she wore it at times that seemed random to you, but were calculated moments when she was waiting to pounce. how did you expect her to resist after that predatory hunt got her excited in all the right ways?

your eyes widened in surprise as ellie’s intentions became crystal clear. “els—” you began. she placed her hands on your shoulders, pushing you down to a kneel, then pressed her palm against your back. you were molded into an arch, with your face laying on the grass and ass up in the air.

“right here?” you whispered, craning your head back to see ellie’s dark eyes looking at you like a piece of meat. was this the same girl that peppered soft kisses down your neck every morning?

“i’ll take you wherever i want.” she answered, before a sharp tear of fabric ripped through the air. your little denim shorts were split down the back, bringing a shocked gasp out of you and exposing your pink panties.

ellie hooked her fingers under the lacy hem and tugged your underwear down your thighs. an involuntary whimper escaped your lips when the cold, outside air hit your bare cunt.

“‘red’ to stop.” ellie paused, reminding you of your shared safe word. you quickly nodded in response, desperate for whatever she had planned next.

she leaned down and pressed her warm tongue to your clit, licking a stripe up your folds. you whined, curling your toes at the contact, and when she pulled away, you pushed your hips towards her, yearning for more.

“sweetest pussy i’ve ever fucking tasted. already desperate f’me, huh? oh, i can tell you are. already so wet…”

you let out a shaky breath as ellie followed her tongue’s path with her finger, collecting your slick as proof of how much of a dirty slut you were for her.

you heard her fumble with her belt behind you, then her pants. you looked back to see she had pulled her jeans down just enough for her thick strap to slip out.

“ellie, wai—” she pushed into you mid sentence, pulling an erotic moan from your lips. the purple silicone slowly entered your cunt, the veiny shaft stretching out your walls until she bottomed out inside of you.

“you want more? want me to fuck you?” ellie leaned down to your ear, pressing her chest against your arched spine. you gave a frantic nod as an answer, not enough for her. “beg for it.”

you clenched around her cock, before whimpering out a, “please…”.

satisfied, she slid out of you and slammed back into your pussy. you practically screamed, grabbing fistfuls of grass.

“that’s a good girl.” she muttered through her teeth as she used all of her strength to pound into you. the act was wild, ellie curled over you like an animal, fucking you in the middle of the forest. lewd, rhythmic squelches filled the clearing.

“so t—tight…you’re mine, you hear that? mine.” she growled, her own eyes rolling back as each thrust with her strap bumped her clit. the flesh of your ass jiggled with each impact, making you lunge forward before ellie yanked you back like a ragdoll.

ellie planted a hand on your head as leverage, pressing the side of your face to the ground. your mouth hung open as your moans grew louder, fucked dumb. drool leaked down your chin to the dirt as that familiar bubble in your stomach started to tighten.

“yeah, cum for me baby. all over my dick. let everyone know how much of a whore you are for me.” with one last pungent thrust at her final word, the bubble burst. you cried out in euphoria, echoing through the trees, legs shaking as you came. ellie continued her movements through your orgasm, pushing you to the very peak.

eventually, you fell limp on the grass and panted to catch your breath. ellie straightened her back and slowly slid out of you. she watched your warm cream seep out of your cunt and down your thighs, before bringing her tongue to it and licking it up.

you whimpered and trembled, still sensitive. “you ruined my shorts.” you whined to your girlfriend as she helped you up.

“i always pack an extra pair.” she answered, fetching her bag from where she discarded it in the heat of the moment and rummaging through it.

“oh, so you plan for these things?” you snorted, to which she giggled too.

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euphoricfilter · 1 year

Text

Stardust || JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x F. Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Friends to Lovers au

Summary: If Jungkook would have known an unintentional orgasm would have led to this, then he would have begged you to work out with him sooner.

Word Count: 5.5k

Tags/ warnings: himbo-ish jk, so much fluff idk where it came from, smut in the forms of: unintentional masturbation turned coregasm, oral (f. receiving), fingering, protected sex (because that’s really cool), mirror sex, doggy style, technically multiple orgasms, they’re both giggly and in love it’s kinda gross, jk is a tits man, he’s obsessed with boobs, it’s all very tame and kinda soft ig

Notes: yay first fic of 2023. this was way harder to write than i’d anticipated, hopefully i pulled through. and if there’s mistakes, no there aren’t!

<3 thank you to my prettiest baby @4amj3zz for reading this atrocity before i posted it

my full masterlist

✯ ✯ ✯

If every living being’s foundation is made of stardust, scattered when born, then Jungkook thinks the two of you were made from the same star.

A friendship that’s near impossible to come by, crafted by the hands of a higher being— delicate fingertips moulding fickle personalities and emotions that seem incomplete when not together. Two angels sent to earth to be each others’ number one in another life they’ll spend together.

Precious, like naturally formed diamonds.

And maybe that’s what your friendship was, one of the world’s little treasures. One everyone yearns for, though only a select few have.

Sure, diamonds can be replicated, graphite turned jewelry, simply there for show. A statement piece if you must.

Fake diamonds and fake friendships that seem to be more common than the real deal. Hard to crack, though not impossible— splitting the two of you up into pitiful shards and lost pieces; where even the most skilled hands have trouble putting it back together.

Jungkook doesn’t remember life before you. Though he thinks it must have been dull, flimsy smiles, and friends that hadn’t bothered to call once they moved away.

His existence so easily forgotten, that the gnawing sadness didn’t seem to last as long as he’d anticipated. Simply walking the path of life alone, though he often thought solitude wasn’t all that bad.

Until your worlds had collided. The big bang of your friendship, a new world, a new start, everything so fresh and untampered with.

He’d thought about what life would be like if one day the two of you were to ever part ways, the very thought of you not being by his side like a harsh punch the gut.

And maybe he had gotten a little teary eyed on those evenings he felt a little softer, a little sadder at the thought of you ever leaving. His hands fumbling around his sheets for his phone, your voice his only remedy for his growing anxiety, where promises were whispered and sleepy smiles remained on your faces as you rested.

Jungkook doubts that day will ever come. And maybe that’s all just wishful thinking, a juvenile dream that the promise you’d made to one another would hold strong for the rest of time, until the two of you lay six feet under. Resting side by side until your bodies rot, flesh becoming one with the earth, what is left of your existence blossoming into something beautiful; perhaps a tree, a flower, truly anything, as long as you were together.

“Together?” you blink up at Jungkook through your lashes, eyebrows creasing in distaste.

Jungkook thinks you look pretty in that moment, even if you are pulling a face at him. The two of you sat at a bench in the park, your head haloed by the setting sun, last of the days warmth kissing both your skin in a gentle goodbye before the moon watches over the two of you.

Littles galaxies reflected in both your eyes, where Jungkook thinks each star in his represents one thing he loves about you; hidden behind the moonlight because he doubt yours represent the same.

“Yes” he nods, hair flopping a little over his forehead, and you push the stray strands out of his eyes. Fingers delicate as they brush over his skin, always so gentle with him that his heart flutters like the delicate wings of a butterfly.

“Kook, I love you— you know I do” and he nods, lips quirking up a little, “But working out just, isn’t for me” you conclude, tone firm and his shoulders deflate. Because he knows it’ll take more than glossy puppy eyes and a pout for you to give in.

“First off, I love you too—“

“Thank you” you nod. But Jungkook doesn’t think you understand the weight behind those words.

“And look, how do you know it’s not for you, if you’ve never tried?”

“You put me off” and Jungkook would have thought you were joking if you didn’t have that deadpan look on your face. One he was all too familiar with.

“Huh” he gawks, “How?”

“You always complain about sore muscles, and the thought of being sweaty grosses me out” your head tips forward dramatically, cushioned by your arms from the table.

“It’s a good ache” he watches you turn your head, lips moulded into an unconvinced pout as you stare up at him through your lashes.

“There is no such thing as a good ache, Jungkook”

“Is too”

“When?” you flail, unbothered as Jungkook’s hands wrap around your wrists.

“Sex ache”

You pause, “Excuse me?”

“You know?” he cocks his head to the side.

“No” you shake your head in utter disbelief.

Jungkook’s mouth falls open, “You’re a little pillow princess aren’t you, I bet you don’t do any of the work”

“Do too, besides—“ you swallow, “It’s none of your business” you pull your hands free of his grasp.

“Come on, I feel like we’re at a point in this relationship we can share these things” his cheek rests atop of your head, each syllable pulled out into a whine.

“I don’t wanna hear about your sex life, Jungkook” you huff.

You watch him sit up ramrod straight, brain whirring behind his eyes. You think that if he thought any harder you’d be able to hear the echo of his voice.

“Actually, I don’t really wanna hear about yours either” his nose scrunches up, melting your resolve.

A secret charm of his that he didn’t know he had; and you’d never tell him either, no way in hell would you let him weaponize your weakness against you when your heart could barely stand being sat so close to him.

“Best friends don’t always share everything” you quip, only it leaves a tangy taste on your tongue.

“I suppose” Jungkook nods, evidently less enthusiasm radiating off him.

Best friends. It always wet your mood. Like sour candy that’s too sour, or a cute dog that’s breath smells like a rotting carcass.

But that’s what you were, introductions to new classmates or new lovers; it was always best friends. Two simple words that felt like utter shit to say, tumbling past your lips like vomit and then you had to rawdog the aftertaste because you don’t have any toothpaste or mints nearby.

Never anything less, even though there was definitely a lot more going on between the two of you. (Not that either of you had any idea about that.)

It’s a wonder as to how neither of you had grasped the fact that every previous relationship the two of you had, had ended because of the other. Nothing ever seeming to fit in place, the click never being there when it came to someone else.

Communication is key in upholding a relationship of any kind, issues easily resolved with hours of conversation turned mutual understanding, and progression made with a mix of both actions and words. As two people whose love languages were physical touch, the former is just as important as the latter.

One of the only reasons your friendship has lasted this long, is that you both value each other enough to communicate when necessary.

Apart from when you could probably really use it, unidentifiable emotions weaving into your hearts, mixed with a dose of denial can really set you back when you’re near infatuated with your closest friend.

It’s not that either of you had never considered a relationship with one another, others outside your little bubble had brought it up enough times that the meager possibility of it actually happening had been cemented into your thick skulls.

Something nice tickling both your brains at the fact so many people thought you were together together; like, in love together.

Long gone were the days where you’d blurt out your denial to dating accusations with rose dusted cheeks, simply believing the world had a thing against opposite sex friendships. Now, the two of you just laughed off whoever liked to comment on how good you looked as a couple. (Which had brought more than a few of Jungkook’s relationships to turmoil)

It’s just that neither of you believed the other wanted anything more than friendship. A rookie mistake on both your parts, especially when you’d both establish that every and all emotions were to be discussed with one another, no matter what you felt.

“One time” you break the silence, any way to ease the growing tension between the two of you “I’ll work out with you one time. And never again”

You watch the smile as it pulls at the corner of his lips, the prettiest smile, your favorite smile, enough of a reward for whatever pain you’re about to put yourself through. Because as long as Jungkook was happy, then you’d crawl to the ends of the earth if it meant you got to see this smile one more time.

“I love you” he bends down, sloppy kiss pressed to your cheek and you can’t help your own smile, heated cheeks covered as you swat him away from your face. Wiping his saliva from your skin with the back of your hand.

“Whatever” you tut, though Jungkook sees through your faux annoyance.

“We can use my at-home gym as well, so we won’t even be in public”

“Wonderful. Let’s go back now, I’m gonna freeze my tits off if we stay any later”

You don’t catch Jungkook’s gaze flickering down to your chest, lingering a little longer than proper before he’s slinging his zip-up hoodie around your shoulders. Eyes flickering down to his hands briefly before he’s knocking shoulders with you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead” you utter, falling into Jungkook’s side when his arm falls over your shoulder.

✯ ✯ ✯

Jeon Jungkook was sex on legs when he worked out.

You were no stranger to him training, countless vacations together, where the morning was spent with him doing press-up on the balcony or the occasional few times he’d bench-press you for a laugh.

You’d never found it funny though, pussy throbbing between your thighs as he’d grab onto you, arms flexing deliciously. And he never seemed to question why you’d lock yourself up in your room after, purely a coincidence that you’d disappear for an hour after his little stunt.

You were no stranger to a half naked Jungkook either.

Nor were you a juvenile teenager whose panties got in a twist when she saw a toned stomach.

However, this wasn’t just any toned stomach.

Jeon Jungkook was built like Adonis. Carved where every crevice had meaning and every flaw only enhanced his beauty. And it’s hard to think the bushy haired, acne prone teen boy you’d first befriended had turned into this.

If puberty had benefited anyone, it was Jungkook.

“We’ll do something easy today, okay?” he claps and you nod, watching as he saunters over to a basket.

“Pink or blue” he holds up two yoga mats.

“I didn’t think you were into rhinestones” you snort, sun catching on the bedazzled rim of the pink mat— streaks of pink painting the wall.

Jungkook drops said mat, chucking you the blue one before he’s dropping to his knees on the floor.

“It’s one of my exes” he tells you, motioning for you to sit.

If people were flowers, then this is the moment you would have wilted. Deflating in on yourself; it’s not that you were jealous per-say. It’s not like him and his ex were dating at all but still. The very mention of her was enough for you to roll your eyes.

“And you didn’t throw it out?” the words hurdle out your mouth before you can even think about what you’re saying.

“No?” his eyes meet your own, “I’m not throwing away good gym equipment”

You sigh, somehow expecting no less from him. Jungkook was a man of many skills, and he’d hounded you to try hobby after hobby with him— but nothing got him going like a good work out. If all other passion in life disappeared then he would still have working out as his escape.

You sigh, “I have somewhere to be later, so let’s hurry this up” a little white lie, but that never hurt anyone.

“You’re not going on another one of those shitty blind dates, are you?” he groans and you whine.

“I told you, I’m never going on any of those ever again”

“You better not” he unrolls his mat, and you follow.

“Or what?” you turn your nose up at him and Jungkook’s foot collides with your thigh.

“On your back, you brat.”

✯ ✯ ✯

“How much more” you flop against the mat, eyes closing.

“That was only the warm up” Jungkook hums, pushing himself up off the floor.

You hear him walk to the other side of the room, cupboard door creaking open as he rummages around for something.

You peek up at him through your lashes when he throws a towel over your back.

“Roll that up” he motions towards it, coming to sit beside you, “And up onto your back again”

Your eyes widen by a fraction when he gently takes the towel out of your hands, pushing your knees apart before he’s closing them; towel stuffed between your thighs.

Your gaze travels down the length of your body, thighs twitching as Jungkook’s fingers wrap around your ankles.

“All you have to do is raise your legs like this okay?” and he demonstrates, making sure to keep your legs straight as he lifts them to a ninety degree angle from your torso. “Leg raises should be easy, even for you” he hums.

“What’s that supposed to mean” you snap, ready to push yourself up, except Jungkook’s hands press down over your chest.

“Hey! No complaining”

You swallow thickly, aware of Jungkook’s eyes on you as you raise your legs on your own this time.

“Pretty good, remember to tense your core when you do it, okay?”

You nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you do as you’re told.

Your eyes squeeze shut, body hyper aware of each small movement the towel has right over your clit. Pussy throbbing inside your panties and you worry your slick had started to soak through your shorts.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to take notice of your growing predicament, hands hovering over your calf to make sure you’re raising your legs all the way. Though that’s the least of your worries as you feel each new wave of unadulterated pleasure pulse through your core.

“Not so bad huh?” he grins.

It’s a strange sensation, pure arousal ebbing up your body, every brush of your panties over your clit, weight of the towel over your slit slowly bringing you to the precipice of an orgasm.

“I don’t think—“ you start, cutting yourself off with an arm covering your face at a particularly intense wave of arousal. Your stomach tightening at the feeling.

“Just a few more, you’re doing great”

“Kook, I really don’t think—“ your hand clamps over your mouth as Jungkook’s fingers take hold of your legs, helping you raise them; and that’s all it takes to tip you over the edge. And you can’t help the surprised moan that drips off your lips.

Your knees bend, nudging against your tits as your hand falls over your sodden pussy, dull wave of your orgasm throbbing throughout your body.

Jungkook looks down at you, eyes wide as you simply lay there with your hands between your legs.

“Did you just piss yourself?” he asks, mouth falling open in awe.

“What the fuck?” you cry, “I just came you idiot”

Jungkook’s cheeks flush red, “Oh” he nods, “Oh. You had a— holy shit”

“Don’t look at me like that” your eyes glaze over with tears, heat prickling up your body in embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to, it just happened”

Your feet fall to the floor, towel falling from between your thighs as you let out a stuttered breath, body still buzzing with the after affects or your surprise orgasm.

“Jungkook?” you peek up at him through hooded eyes, heart pattering so hard in your chest you could feel it in your throat.

Jungkook’s eyes meet your own, “That was so fucking hot” he groans, “Looked so pretty”

You watch as his hand rubs over his shorts, his own arousal hard to hide as his head tips back in a way that extenuates his neck.

“Huh?” your eyes widen, willing yourself to not look at what his hands were doing.

“Should have known something like this would have turned you on”

“I wasn’t even turned on” you exasperate, “I clenched my core like you said and it just happened”

“Mhmm” and you can tell he’s unconvinced.

“Stop rubbing your dick, you horny piece of shit” you clamp a hand over your eyes, thighs clenching when he lets out a deep groan.

“Can’t help it” he lets out a sigh, “I’ve been dreaming of what you’d look like when you came, shame it wasn’t on my cock”

Your hand falls from your eyes, “Dreaming?”

“God, haven’t I made it obvious?” he asks, his own hands falling to his sides, though now you have a full view of his straining erection.

“Made what obvious?” you whisper.

“That I like you” he asks and you gawk at him.

“You, like me? I’ve been trying to hint that I like you” you point at him, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Huh?” it’s Jungkook’s turn for furrowed brows, “I swear you didn’t like me”

“I could have sworn you didn’t like me”

Jungkook snorts, “When did I ever say that?”

“You’re unbelievable”

“Me? What about you?”

Your body lays flaccid, muscles loose; heart hammering in your ears as Jungkook leans back on his hands.

“How long?” you ask, not daring to look up at him.

“High school”

You push a palm into the socket of your eye, low groan rumbling up your throat, “I’ve liked you since, I don’t know, probably high school as well”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice soft and you can feel yourself tearing up— so many emotions plaguing your mind at once you don’t know how to feel.

Jungkook scoots closer to you, “I could say the same thing about you” you huff.

“Why’re you crying” he frowns, thumb gentle as it brushes against your damp cheek.

“We wasted so many years. I seriously thought— you’ve had so many girlfriends”

“Because I thought you didn’t feel the same, I guess I thought my feelings would go away if I gave my heart to someone else. And then you started dating around too and I really thought I’d never have a chance”

“Me too” you sigh, nose scrunching up in distaste for all your failed relationships.

“Guess it didn’t work out for either of us huh?” he hums and you nod.

“I think we’re both stupid” you murmur.

And Jungkook nods, “I agree”

“What do we do now?” you push yourself up onto your elbows, frown on your face.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook’s head hovers over your own, the sun meeting the moon at the same point in the sky— your eclipse. The rest of your world suddenly shrouded in darkness, all you can see, think, smell, everything just Jungkook.

You nod, eyes flitting across his face as his arms cage your head. You can see his biceps flexing in your peripherals, thick muscle straining under the weight of his torso.

Jungkook’s lips hover over your own, a breaths width away from touching. You tilt your head up, pillowy lips cushioning your own and that’s when everything falls into place.

There’s nothing desperate about the kiss, ever so gentle and slow, the two of you aware that lost time can be made up in the future as you simply bask in this moment; your worlds aligning, tilting on the same axis, everything just perfect and right, and your hearts beating in sync, and breathing stuttered as you both pull away with hesitance.

Your hands cup Jungkook’s cheeks, eyes searching his own for anything, just something to tell you this wasn’t all a dream— that he really did like you back.

“You’re so pretty, you know?” he whispers, his lips pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips.

“No” you smile, giggle bubbling up your throat and Jungkook can’t help but grin down at you.

“I’ll tell you every day, all the time. You’ll get sick of me”

“I could never get sick of you, Jungkook” you push yourself up onto your elbows, noses bumping.

He tilts his head, kiss firm, and you moan as his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, a silent plea for access.

You oblige, arms slung over his shoulders as you bring his body closer to your own, heat radiating off the two of you in thick waves.

“You taste so good” he groans, hands wandering down your body, teasing as they pull up the hem of your hoodie, “Want this off”

Your fingers tug at the offending material, dragging it up your body, “Hang on” you pull away from the kiss, and Jungkook feels his cock twitch at the sight of you. Red swollen lips, a sheen of his saliva coating them.

You pull your hoodie over your head, throwing it somewhere, a problem for later. Thighs clenching as Jungkook stares down at you— eyes wandering.

“And this” his fingers skim over the edge of your sports bra, dancing over your skin, mapping you out of every little spot he wants to kiss.

You hesitate.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable” Jungkook’s smile is gentle, retracting his hands and you want to whine at the loss of contact.

“I want to” you tell him, hoping the shake in your voice didn’t sound too unconvincing. The incessant throbbing between your legs wouldn’t go away unless Jungkook helped you out and your patience was slowly wearing thin.

“But?” he urges.

“I’m nervous” you admit and he smiles; reassuring.

“How can I help?”

You squirm under his gaze, fizzling embarrassment painting your cheeks red, “Can we both—“ you cut yourself off with a whine.

“Come on, gotta use your words, my love”

“Can we both get naked” you splutter, “At the same time?”

Jungkook’s head falls back, fully belly laugh wracking through his body, “Of course”

You tug your shorts off, Jungkook following you; a pile of both your clothes laying forgotten by your head. You’re too distracted tugging your sports bra off to see Jungkook’s length slap against his stomach. Tip of his cock an angry red, his fingers barely touching his shaft as he closes them around the length.

“Oh” he croons, “How pretty. Can I touch you?”

You nod, falling onto your back.

Jungkook’s careful as he touches you, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, testing the waters as he tugs at them, eliciting a breathy moan from you.

“Feels good?” his voice low, and you nod; hips involuntarily bucking upwards when you finally cast a glance at his length. Eyes widening a little in awe.

His fingers dig into your flesh, and he bends down, lips closing around one of your nipples. Your back arches, mouth falling open in a silent moan as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin; tugging in a way that sends warm pleasure straight to your core.

He kisses over your chest, lips worshipping your skin, fingers skimming over the underside of your boob.

Each gentle press of his lips are searing as he works down your body. And your breath hitches as his hovers over your pussy, folds glistening with your arousal.

“Oh baby” he groans, and your thighs twitch as his warm breath fans over your core.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, impatient as they tug him closer to where you need him; an embarrassed whine falling past your lips when he kisses over you clit, once, then twice.

“Jungkook” you squeak, legs tensing when he finally wraps his lips around it, tongue flicking at your clit meanly.

He simply hums, vibrations sending a new wave of pleasure straight through your body, another gush of wetness dribbling from your hole. Jungkook wastes no time, fingers scooping up your leaking arousal before he’s pushing them into you.

“Oh” your chest stutters a breath as he pulls his fingers out of you, tongue licking a broad stripe over your cunt before his thumb brushes over your clit.

“You like that?” he asks, though the question was rhetorical as he repeats the motion. Tongue teasing over your hole before he’s lapping up your slick; sucking at your folds, squelching lewd accompanied by each hearty moan.

Your thighs start to shake, clamping around Jungkook’s head though that barely deters him, as he pushes your legs open by your knees.

“Stop. Kook— please” you whimper, “wanna cum around your cock”

That catches his attention, and with one final kiss to your clit he’s pushing himself onto his elbows.

Jungkook looks like the epitome of sin, slick stained chin and swollen red lips, unashamed as he licks your arousal off his face, humming in satisfaction as your chest stutters out a breath.

“Lemme get a condom” he murmurs, lips pressing another kiss over your knee before he’s pushing himself to stand. Your eyes follow his body, heavy cock bobbing against his stomach with every step he takes.

“Hopefully they’re not expired” he calls from the other room, and you giggle at that, “We’re good” he flashes you a grin as he drops back between your legs; foil wrapper held between two fingers.

You watch his fingers run down his length, thumb brushing over his slit and you feel slick dribble out of your hole as a bead of pre-cum coats the head of his cock shiny.

“Please” your head tips back, hands impatient as they tug at your nipples; Jungkook completely entranced by the sight. “Hurry, hurry” you nudge his thigh with your foot, and albeit reluctant, he tears his eyes away from your tits.

He rips the condom open with his teeth, a cheesy attempt at seducing you, and you weren’t about to tell him all he had to do was breathe and you panties would dampen.

He rolls the rubber down his length, fingers wrapping around his cock as he tugs a few times. You choose that moment to flip yourself over, hips raised as your chest lays flat against the floor and Jungkook moans.

“My pretty baby” he croons, hands roaming your ass before he’s pulling your cheeks apart; eyes fixed on your clenching cunt. Ever so enticing, silently begging to be filled and fucked until you can’t think or walk; a perfect excuse for Jungkook to pamper you a little.

You wiggle your hips, giggle muffled in the crook of your elbow has he parts your lips with his thumb, gently dipping into you hole before he’s pulling out.

“Please, Jungkook”

And that’s all it takes for him to line the head of his cock up with you entrance, tip nudging against your clit before he’s pushing into you; every inch stretching you apart deliciously.

“So good” you sigh, walls clenching around him and Jungkook can’t help the stutter of his hips, punching the air out of your lungs at the sudden intrusion.

“Sorry—“ his fingers dig into your hips, “Just feels so good, sucking me in”

You rock back onto his cock, breathy moan tumbling past your lips as your ass meets his pelvis; cock fully tucked into your pussy.

“Give me a moment” you shudder, body thrumming in anticipation.

Jungkook hums, hands wandering your body, fingers dancing over your skin. A surprised moan echoes throughout the room as his hands grab both your tits, squeezing them, fingers rubbing over both your nipples sending hot pleasure straight to your cunt.

He can feel you rhythmically clenching around him, walls sucking him in as you rock forward an inch before you’re sinking back down on his length.

“Okay” you nod, fingers holding onto the edge of the yoga mat.

“You sure?” he asks, pulling out to the tip, hips slow as he plunges back into you.

“Mhmm”

You feel Jungkook’s fingers dig into the meat of your hips, picking up the pace of his thrusts.

You can’t help each near pornographic moan that’s pushed out of you with each harsh slap of Jungkook’s hips meeting your ass, skin smacking wet as your slick coats your thighs.

“So good for me” his head tips back, arms hooking around your bent elbows.

You let out a squeak as he sits you up, and your walls constrict around his length as he pushes deeper inside of you, gush of wetness clinging to his thighs.

“So good” your head tips back onto his shoulder, knees helping you bounce up his length.

Your back arches when the head of cock hits your g-spot, ring of creamy slick gathering at the base of his cock each time you pull up to the tip.

“Look at that” Jungkook murmurs into your ear, one hand tangling into your hair as the other settles over your throat.

He tugs your head up, and you catch your reflection in the full length mirror; insides of your thighs coated in a sheen of your slick, Jungkook’s hips thrusting his cock up into you, both your bodies glistening with sweat.

The red hue of your cheeks flushes down your neck and chest, shade darkening with each wet squelch of your cunt as Jungkook helps you bounce in his lap.

He watches your tits bounce, both his hands wandering to grab them, pulling your back closer to chest as he pounds into you.

“I’m gonna cum” you hiccup, hands scrambling to hold onto his bicep as your other hand travels down your body, fingers gathering up your slick before you’re circling your clit.

You thighs start to shake, crescent moons indented into your skin as Jungkook’s grip on your chest tightens, your walls throbbing around his cock, drawing him closer to his orgasm.

“Yeah?” his hips stutter, “Come for me then, pretty. Let’s come together”

You moan, fingers unrelenting as you thrum at your clit in tight circles. Your orgasm wracks throughout your entire body when it hits, stomach tensing as your cum coats Jungkook cock, which twitches as he thrusts up into you.

He holds you down on his length, deep groan rumbling through his chest as he shoots his seed into the condom, your walls continuing to milk him of everything he’s got.

“Good girl” he soothes, hands falling to your hips as you fall forwards, cheek pressed against the mat as Jungkook pulls out, thrusting back into you gently.

“Thank you” you whimper, thighs tensing as he pulls himself out of your sodden pussy, folds glistening creamy white.

✯ ✯ ✯

Everything feels right. The two of you tucked into Jungkook’s bed after a shower, both your hands roaming one another’s bodies.

You’d clung to Jungkook’s back as he’d cooked you both dinner, work-out long forgotten as you’d both worked up an appetite. Muscles too sore, too achey, to even think of carrying on anything that isn’t wrapping up warm in each others’ arms.

It’s strange how so much, but nothing had changed. You still danced around each other with practiced ease, hands still feathery light, skimming over hips and backs, where legs are tangled under blankets, cold feet on warm skin.

There was something mellow in the air, a film of freedom, hearts on your sleeves for one another to see, where kisses felt softer, deeper in promise and love.

All the ‘I love yous’ holding the right weight, both understanding that the love you feel is the right kind of love.

He’d thought about it a lot, from the day you’d both confessed; messy, but a confession nonetheless. (And he had made sure to ask you to be his girlfriend in a more romantic setting than his spare room turned gym). That maybe the time growing up as just friends wasn’t wasted.

Failed relationships and sticky breakups simply teaching the two of you the right way to love.

Learning the give and take of relationships, what it truly meant to be in love with another person. Where you want nothing more than their happiness, a pure sort of adoration that consumes your entire being until they’re always on your mind. Small, seemingly insignificant parts of life reminding you of them. Trinkets in corner shops or the changes in season, certain smells, textures of clothing.

Learning about what you want for yourselves and how to take care of one another.

So he doesn’t regret all those years spent as just friends. Because maybe the two of you were too young, too eager, too scared about something as precious as true love. Growing up together, as just friends, might have brought the two of you closer than rushed first loves and petty arguments that you’d look back on and regret.

Red string. Stars. Fate. Destiny. Any of it. Jungkook doesn’t know what brought the two of you together, two souls intertwined until you both part ways when your lights flicker out. Though he thinks you’d reignite them wherever the two of you end up later on, new lives, new worlds. New everything, where he gets to learn about you all over again, explore your being, as you explore his, and you’re moulding into one another once more.

He wonders how long you’ve both been laying there, lips pulled up into lazy smiles, kiss swollen; little galaxies reflected in both your eyes.

Where every glistening star is a reason as to why you love each other. Your galaxies shining with a million different reasons, moonlight no longer veiling what lay beneath.

Because Jungkook thinks, if people were made of stardust before they were born. There’s no doubt in his mind, the two of you were made from the same star.

💫 like, reblog, and feedback is encouraged!! thank you so much for reading <3

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#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts fic #bts #bts x female reader #bts non idol au #bts au fanfic #jungkook friends to lovers #stardust

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ghostandsoap · 6 months

Text

Feeling You

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader Tags: Light smut. Cockwarming. Ghost being a softie. Word Count: 1.0k "Just happy you're here."

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

In the quiet sanctuary of your shared solitude, you and Ghost sat chest to chest, your hearts beating in a rhythm that echoed the symphony of your love.

The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourselves in each other's presence, your souls whispering secrets that only you could understand.

The warmth of his body seeped into yours, blurring the lines between where one ended and the other began. Your breaths intermingled, a testament to the intimacy that you shared. Each inhale was a silent promise, each exhale was a sigh of contentment.

The only sounds were your breathing, heartbeats, and the occasional whimper from you when Ghost shifted his hips underneath you.

Ghost's cock was nestled far inside of you, his tip pushed against a sensitive spot that you didn't even know existed until just now. He stretched your walls so perfectly and sat so comfortably inside of you that Ghost felt high off of it.

You had soaked his thighs and lower stomach, your arousal leaking on and around him. You weren't much better, because your inner thighs were dripping.

The two of you were spending the week together, not a single plan or obligation to be had. Ghost had every intention of staying in and keeping you as close as possible. It wasn't often that he had this opportunity, and he would be a fool to let it pass him by. The week consisted of movies, snacks, cuddles, and just about anything else that didn't require either of you to leave.

The two of you had been lounging on your living room sofa, just watching some cheesy documentary that you both agreed to watch. It was more for filler noise than anything, because the two of you had managed to chat with one another through the entirety of it.

When the film was over, you turned off the TV and your side table lamp to prepare to close your flat up for the night -- however, Ghost wanted just a few more minutes.

This was about an hour ago when Ghost had set you up on his lap. Mainly just because he liked having the chance to look up at you and he loved watching you sit on his thick, muscular thighs.

Frankly though, he hadn't anticipated this.

Somewhere along the way, your cotton sleep shorts and T-shirt were discarded, along with his sweats. Your clothes were tossed aside to be retrieved in the morning.

The two of you had shared some sweet kisses, and all the shifting around prompted Ghost to slide his cock into you slowly when you were wet and ready.

However, Ghost held you still when you tried to bounce on him, which caused you to raise a brow. Ghost was sitting up straight against the back of the couch, holding onto you in his lap like you were his lifeline. It took you a few moments to settle into this arrangement that he was making.

Eventually, the two of you morphed around one another like you were the most perfect fit. Like two pieces of the most beautiful picture.

It was inevitable for you to start squirming though. After all, it was hard to resist him when he was literally right under you.

Ghost groaned and huffed when you rolled your hips forward, one of his hands coming to your hip to restrain you.

"Sit still," He said, kissing your forehead. "I just want to feel you for a bit."

"Sorry," You sighed, head still resting on his shoulder. "Just getting comfortable."

"It's alright, doll..." He chuckled. "Just happy you're here."

Ghost's fingers traced paths of affection on your skin, each touch igniting sparks that danced beneath the surface. The silence returned, filled with the unspoken words of love that hung heavy in the air.

In this moment, you were not just two bodies sitting chest to chest; you were two souls intertwined in an eternal dance of love. Your connection was palpable, a force that defied logic and reason.

As the two of you sat there, Ghost realized that he was living a life he never thought he would ever have. He was experiencing a love that was uniquely his. A kind of love that he once thought he was far too damaged and broken for.

"You're so beautiful," He almost whispered. "My pretty girl..."

You pulled your head back to look at him, your eyes sleepy and cheeks glowing. He loved you so much he could barely even understand it.

"I love you." You remarked, rotating your hips in a way that was more involuntary than anything else.

Ghost couldn't help but let out a low laugh when your grinding down against him was returned with a slow, yet firm snap of his pelvis into you. He knew that this charade wouldn't last long, because one of you was going to crack sooner or later.

"I love you." He returned, his lips meeting yours in a meaningful kiss.

He didn't stop you this time when you started to rock your hips against his cock, the feeling of moving inside of you causing a flutter of his eyes.

He couldn't deny you any longer. He had to let you have your way with him. Truth be told, it was starting to drive him a bit mad anyways.

Your movements along with Ghost's were slow and careful...sensual. He wanted to feel you for as long as he possibly could. He would do this forever and ever if he could.

His cock felt insane inside of you as you fucked him at such a glacial pace. It was insanity because Ghost couldn't believe that he could ever deserve something as good as this...someone as good as you.

The slow rise and fall of your body onto his made both of your hearts begin to beat faster. The two of you craving the other like you were the only source of life.

And in the sound of your shared heartbeat, you found a melody that only your hearts could compose.

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fawnpires · 1 year

Text

EVERY MAN GETS HIS WISH. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: under the enemy's eye, you're required to accompany the task force's lieutenant but an unfortunate situation of enemy attack occurs; falling victim to both things, your superior and some hidden feelings.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: sex pollen, non-consensual drug use, one-bed-trope, inappropriate relationship with a superior, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, age gap, manhandling, pet-names, size difference, dirty talk, grinding, mild degradation, praise kink, porn with plot, loss of virginity, innocence kink.

He wasn't a saint, nor was he heroic man to be looked up to; which was baffling considering his status of customary deeds. Brave, noble, bold — all of those things checked off to be deemed as heroic, as simple as that.

Rather than a man of military, he was more of a vigilante — acting on his own accord, directing himself and the men he worked along with the mind of personal dominance. He knew he didn't fit the stereotype of a soldier; obscene mindset, crude jokes cracked, stiff posture that made him stand stall and all intimidating, and a exterior skull of a clothed balaclava. As daunting as the man was, he was just like peers — quite ill-mannered off the field, absorbed too much in himself.

But he had learnt to contain a majority of that. Solitude was more ideal than ill-mannered, and he preferred that. Often covered up with tracks of blood and brutality, his humanlike isolation made up the whole of him; swallowed him up whole. He didn't know why he enlisted for the military, or why he hadn't quit so many years into the position. Perhaps for the adrenaline rush, or to endure the experiences of war, but the utmost possibility was to make something out of the miserable man he was — sculpt a more successful alternative.

In some way, that had worked out, made him whatever a hero was supposed to be. If that had made him a hero, then be it, if it didn't, then who was he to care? It's not like he cared for his general image, what others thought of who he was; only a man of great cruelty, inhumane and cold-blooded.

A lot of that shifted with you. One of the few women recruited, reserved and utterly meek when interacting one-on-one. You're instantly caught in the range of his observations, curiosity and skepticism as the two perplexing sensations that send him over the edge. Though he's afraid, and not in a tensed sense, it's more based on his feelings; those feelings that he thought would be triggered off in him, until he has you in his sights. That's why he scarcely ever partnered up with you on missions, putting some separation there to rid of those perplex feelings compressed to himself.

Unbeknownst to both you and him, that changes by a great deal. With Price's organization of the next mission, only in need of two personnel, it's down to the coincidence of him being paired up alongside you. The one thing that he was oh-so-successfully doing so well for the couple months you've resided in the task force, but shattered to bits when approaching this unfortunate expedition — it's pressuring, wearing his nerves out — tense. (As if you weren't as equally on edge about being collaborating with your intimidating, enormous superior.)

You're close to him, practically almost rubbing arms together. The overhead sky is dull of sun and some additional clouds, reflecting off the shade of his masked face and the tactical gear he displays. Forwards on, there's nothing but fields of fading grass and a waning path. The intercoms attached to both your uniforms are radio silence; no commands, no Price on the other end except from a few minutes ago when given the straight order to push on until Ghost gives direct instruction there.

Every so often you feel his eyes on you, causing you to adjust your head in his direction only to see him facing the path in front of him; yet sometimes you catch him side-eyeing you through the holes of his mask. Anxiousness boils in the pit of your stomach with each passing second — with his close physical contact, aware of him catching tiny glimpses of you — it causes you to distance yourself from him without your own awareness.

"Careful, kid," he said, his rasped voice the only sound you've heard in the rounds of minutes, "Stay close, don't want you wandering off now."

You blink a few times in a daze at the name, sliding yourself right back next to him, uneasiness tainting the void that was slotted right between you and him. Your hold on your firearm loosens, clutching it closer to your chest, the fingers of your left hand tightening around frontier piece. The sole use of his pet name intact for you leaving you flustered and weak in the limbs.

A sigh blows past your lips. "How much further?" you ask, "Been minutes, hours."

"Almost there, right through this path." he replies swiftly, crouching before gesturing to the right, "Cut here."

He takes lead, in front, and you linger close behind. The trail is cut off, there's more open field and sky where the sky darkens; shadows drawn on the ground, sun merely in sights and lowering beyond the horizon line. Arising in the distance, a structure stands its ground; a warehouse, seemingly deserted, dim light fixtures hung side-by-side with a half opened roll-up sheet door.

In a crouched position, he kneels in the fields of dried grass, signaling for you to do the same — which you oblige with. The slinging strap of your gun digs through your tactical wear, felt into your skin, marking the flesh with the outline of it. Around the airspace is tight and claustrophobic, your chest heavy with the beat of your palpitating, head weighed with a throb and some exhilaration.

"Visual on the hideout," he presses his intercom open to Price, gloved thumb to the button and his head tilted.

Price is heard clicking his own intercom through. "All yours, Ghost, your command from there."

Ghost pauses in his movements for a second then aligns his head back in position on his neck, closing off his intercom as it goes back to the original state of radio silence. He revolves his entire body in your direction, even crouched he's still so much towering and intimidating, eyes a shade of sepia surrounded with black war-paint dying right into your bare ones. "Stay close by me, then separate once inside, then you stay on watch while I locate, understood?"

It's a different request, more distant than what you were usually accustomed to, but in this position; there was really no arguing back on this, or better yet declining.

"Affirmative." you reply, getting off the ground and maintaining a standing position, still bent on your knees to avoid possible detection. He does the same, taking lead again and scurrying out of the grass into the open expanse of the warehouse's front, taking careful measures as he leans to grab a hold of the half-opened roll-up door's handle and widening the entrance so that's their enough space to set foot in. You're sweating, pumped of adrenaline as the whole situation sends yourself into a condition of delirium and kicked of a strange thrill — rifle no longer clutched to your chest, but in a prepared-aiming stance.

A scent, between a bitterness and saccharine, stings your nose. The inside of the building reeks of it, your face hit with a handful of it, causing you to pull up the cloth of your uniform and hold it over your nose.

(Luckily for him, he sported that damned mask of a skull all the time. The one time that you've fully understood to why he would need it, even coming across a situation like this.)

Fluorescent lights in tubes buzz overhead, flickering in flashes across each of your faces, background of quietude besides the shuffles of Ghost moving in his gear and the humming of the lights. He raises his arm to gesture the previous order given, you stay put up against a wall while he proceeds further and observes the stairs, the upper level with a room; unsuspected of the flat, low contour of a light that casts through the glass panes of the space. You watch across your shoulder, moving up to the bottom of the case of stairs, detecting each of his calculated steps, prepared to act on direction.

He reaches the top platform and eyes the door — though, before he has the chance to elbow the door wide open, his suspicions of there being lifeforms present are confirmed — the solid matter of the door bursts open without warning and a clink of an object hits the ground where he stood.

Adapting the consciousness to back away from it was far too late to act on now, a blow of the now-identified smoke grenade pollutes the atmosphere around, white and clouds around more than you had expected it to. Despite having your uniform stuffed to your nose, the scent is brought back to you — that bitter, sweet-smelling one — and it throws you into an abrupt coughing fit. Some of it breaches to your eyes, leaving a whole of you to be incompetent to retaliate against the enemy; hell, you couldn't even fend it off.

There's a grit of your teeth while slump back against the stairs. You lay against your rifle that had been abandoned from the clutch of your hands, your chest abnormally heavier; as if you were lungs were filled with a burdensome matter. Through the veil of your fogged vision and the diminishing sheet of smoke, the lieutenant held more strength than you, holding himself up against the wall of the room and held the handle of his knife up into one of the perpetrators.

His strength in the moment was impressive, nearing admirable, but it wasn't enough to overturn the situation with more than one perpetrator present. About two circle him while another three take notice of your debilitated figure haunted with the beginning side effects seeping into the fissures of your body, your head.

The last few recollections were of slow footsteps approaching your comatose-like body, your breaths heavier and more echoed against the shells of your ear. That sensation in your chest sourced from the smoke was growing into more crucial, dangerous areas; the smoke's aroma intense and all that you could really smell. They're crouched and talk over your body through muffled hoods, gas-masks.

It's difficult to make out what they're saying, (In this state everything was difficult, from vision to solely breathing.) A palm rests at your forehead, frigid to the touch before it burns down to a more scorching feeling once left more on contact to your skin.

You use your last bit of brawn to grasp at an attempt to get away downwards but there's an additional grab to your legs from below. A grunt flows from your throat in a strained manner, the ramifications of the unknown dust outdoing your own control.

A palm to your forehead, acidity stench, and the rear of a shotgun to strike you to a vacant space of unconscious void.

Against your skin, there's heavy breathing, and motions of flexing arms under your lifted thighs. You find your hands balled in fists at the fabric of his tactical jacket, his jacket, Ghost. To your surprise, he had proved your accusations of his strength giving out back at the warehouse wrong — overthrowing the opponents and beating them to pulps like his usual violent self, his bloodthirsty persona which slaughters the targets he chooses. Undeniably, he was rabid. No morals, no mercy for his rivals like the truculent brute he was.

His hand supports your back, the other to your legs which had explained the flexes that continue under you. He stumbles over to a tree which provides a temporary shelter as he slants at the bark.

He isn't vulnerable, he almost never was. It was either a violent, bellicose identity or one of great endurance. Ghost was an inexplicable man. On the battlefield, he's nothing more than a weapon — a masculine personification of warfare that taunts and douses his victim in a bloodbath of gore. (Who knew if he had developed some sick satisfaction from it, years of countless executions bound to his hands.)

But now he an absolute contrasting mortal to that, possessing you in his big arms right to his chest. You almost feel safe, sort-of sheltered more than you've ever felt in your entire presence of being restricted to the Earth's grounds. You take notice of how he checks over his shoulder then sloping his head down to your laid physique. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, lifting you slightly.

"Come on, c'mon," he whispers and buries his fingers deeper in your hair, "Stay with me, kid."

In response, your half-lidded eyes widen up a little more, hands ghosting over his forearm and leaving your fingers to brush over the sleeve. You think you hear a sound of relief, but it was complicated to say with his smothering mask dying down a mass of his words.

The collected scenery around had been ingested fully with the effects of dusk, nearing complicated to make out where you the both of you resided for the time being. All you could comprehend was that he accomplished to elude from the main origin of the danger, and had hid out nearby in this perspective of trees.

"How'd... how'd you get get away?" you ask, sitting up with his supportive hand still at your back.

"That's what years of military training does to you," he replied, panting, "Reinforced stamina, mask helped drag out some of the grenade too."

You blink slowly, bringing your middle and index finger to your face which gathers some of that bitter residue. "What is this shit, anyways?"

"Not sure, has to be some conjured batch of contraband. Never been out to be transported, personal use — that's what I say."

"Some strong stuff." you mutter.

His strength which is used to hold you up heightens when he stands from his crouched position, a grunt choked in his throat. You link your arms around his neck for more support, doe-like eyes staring right into the pit of skull and cloth.

He doesn't mind, you think.

"Saw a safe-house up there, we'll spend the night there." he states.

"What about the rest of the operation?"

"I'll get in touch with Price," he said, "Possible case scenario is the whole thing being postponed."

You can only bring yourself to nod your head; at the same time, those secondary effects of the substance flowing back into yourself, stronger. Ghost starts back up forward to where the safe-house was situated, and his motions produce perceptions of vertigo. A whimper is hushed from behind your closed lips, head pressed to his shoulder and submerging into his jacket. His own scent gives distraction from the sustained bitterness and swirling sweetness that made your head pulsate in equivalent palpitations to your rapid heartbeat.

Your limbs are brought to weakness, frail and shaky against the perimeters of your pants. Sweat sticks to you — your forehead, your skin, your clothes. The strap of your bra feels more mauled into your flesh, branding into your sultry skin. There's an unanticipated rush of heat that throbs out from between your thighs, another whimper muted from your secured lips. Right in the moment, like a natural instinct, you could't help but trail your eyes over to Ghost.

How his biceps flexed and bent underneath you, his distinctive scent stalling at your nose of gunpowder and pine. It was intoxicating, holding you in a trance complete of him; all your focus on your lieutenant. You were known to hold an admiration for him ever since recruitment, his particular set of skills and proficient demeanor that was worthy of your commendation. But now it had shrunk into nothing but merely a hidden, perverted desire that had been brought out in the faults of the anesthetizing matter. Pressing your head deeper into the cloth of his jacket, you force your legs to squeeze together — an aim to rid of the shameful sensations that were coming down at you at the same.

As you doubted it was never going to transpire, Ghost had successfully brought the two of you into the safe-house. No longer in use, abandoned and dead, the short-term sanctuary reserved for you and him only. One story, decently-sized, and ideal for hiding out from potential nearby threats.

You're supported up in his arms for an interval while he inspects the building until reaching the upstairs, in the single bedroom which had been the only one throughout the investigation. He leans downwards to allow you to stable yourself on two unsteady legs from his hold. You stagger over to the solitary mattress and sit on the edge of it, two hands resting on the edge, fingers compressing into the foam. By now, the effects the substance took on your body had evolved into a level of unbearable.

Sweat drapes over your body in a fitted sheet, that vertigo subsiding into a lower degree but adjoining to the intense pulsing of your cunt that you've managed to handle for a while now. You slap a palm to your forehead, down your face, examining the extreme sweat that stains the skin there. Ghost sits at the foot of the bed, close to you, and begins to strip of his vest and his jacket.

"Get some rest, you'll need it in the morning." he advises towards you, proceeding to strip of the rest of his heavy gear.

"Was there not another bedroom?" you ask.

"Just this one," he said, "Why? You ashamed of sleeping with a superior or somethin'?"

Sleeping. To your current perverted head, you take it a more immoral way, heat rushing to your face at the thought.

"No, no, I just... thought you needed more privacy. Wanted to have some alone time, you know?"

He glances to you. "If you're uncomfortable, I can just sleep on the floor, kid — nothin' personal."

"It's fine, Ghost, seriously." you said.

His stare drifts on you for a little while longer before shifting away, bending his upper half into the pocket of his tactical jacket for a lighter version of his balaclava; one that wasn't supported with the hard shell of a skull at the front, but printed with a the design of the skull instead. His eyes were more visible this way, tar-like paint on pale skin around the browned irises. You shyly strip of your own vest and jacket, leaving you in a black tank top and tactical pants. The only light that had really illuminated the room was the tranquilizing beam of the moonlight through the pane of the window, white and glowy.

You slump fully onto the bed and sink into the soften material of a pillow. Your resting position distributes some heaven from the tormenting sensitivity that throbs like hell through your pants. The space on the mattress from behind you droops with his weight, a breathy sigh leaving his lips as he settles close to you; the closest you've ever been with him, almost intimate.

After a slight period of time, he's knocked out in a slumber — but you're left awake, a hand now between your legs as the pulsing is at its height; panties drenched and your heartbeat thumping out of the cage of your chest. You gaze over your shoulder at him where he lays closer facing you, his eyes visibly slit shut with the gleam of the moonlight. He adjusts himself and moves in closer to you in his sleep, towering figure nearly pressed up at you. The adjustment leaves you flustered, shock.

Without hesitations, you remove your hand that nestled from the space of your thighs and slipped through the waistband of your pants; stripping of your pants, gliding into your panties and fingertips feeling the soaked fabric of it before trailing further, rubbing slightly against your cunt. Your back arches and you muffle a whine into your pillow, heartbeat sounding at your ears in impossible volumes. Shame was no longer present, libido taking authority over your body and leading you to do such perverted things while thinking of your superior — who was sleeping away right next to you.

In this sort of mindset you can barely grab control of yourself anymore and find yourself stumbling backwards into Ghost, your free hand over your mouth as you feel the area of his crotch press up against the curve of your ass. One of your eyes twitch, hand in your panties rubbing at your puffy lips while your hips begin circular motions at his clothed crotch. The hand at your mouth fails to stay together, fingers parting from each other and granting the noises from your mouth to spill out. His arm then wraps at your waist, unconscious or not, seemingly pulling you closer to him; a bulge in his pants felt at your panties.

"Lieutenant..." you whisper breathily, looking back at him only to see his eyes were no longer shut — but half-lidded and open.

His arm at your waist travels to your hips, trapping you in the enclosure of his hands while he pushes you down further onto his bulge; an audible whine leaving your mouth with additional pants.

"Look at you," he groans with a rasp in his tone, "Gettin' off on her superior like the needy whore she is."

"M' sorry, Ghost, fuck, needed you so bad..." you whine out as his hips grind against your ass harsher, almost in similarity to thrusting, yourself drunk on him and his cock.

"Yeah, love?" he questions, "Say it, how long have you've been like this for me? How many times have you touched that pretty little cunt of yours to the thought of me every night?"

Your eyes are shot vast, saliva pooled in your closed mouth and your panties moist — slick painting the inner sections of your thighs. Words struggle shape into coherent sentences through your mindless babbles and the disturbance of his erection prodding right at your clothed cunt, but you manage. "Ever since I joined the task force," you say through a half-whine, "Since I've first seen you."

A couple of months was your first appearance on working for the task force. Decently skilled and a couple of rank higher than your first impression of a rookie, barely given any training. That's how long you've yearned for him — how many times you've laid sole right at midnight, in your room of the barracks, a hand down your panties while breaths of weight exhale with personal noises of lust. You project his hand instead of yours in the fabric, veins and a bigger expanse of flesh that stretches your tight cunt out with lengthy fingers.

Now those momentary projections had manifested itself into the real life, the reality where your older superior had himself pressed up against you; hungering after you as much as you did for him.

He has his face in the crook of your neck. "Fucked my fist thinkin' of you," you said, "You and your heavenly body distractin' me on missions... drives me insane."

"Ghost, please." you whimpered.

"Tell me what you need, sweet thing, c'mon." he cooes against your neck, the arms around your waist locking you right to the area of his crotch when all you could do is whine and push yourself down for more of the relief. Your body burns and fits of sweat, the temples of your forehead pounding.

"Need you to fuck me," you pant, "Need you inside so bad."

Ghost places a masked kiss at your jaw at the confession and in an instant movement; you're underneath him, a caging shadow scarcely visible by the traces of moonlight through the glass panes. The loss of friction he once gave from behind you was no longer there, leaving you to press your thighs together once again in hopes to rekindle some of the loss. His palms are flat at each side of your head, the bulging muscles of his black shirt outlining through the material — and the thing you've longed for the most, the bulge that lines and becomes trapped in his fabric confines.

He uses his right arm and his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties, ragging the drenched item down past your knees and left to be discarded on the mattress. His eyes preserve in a mature desire; bleary and focused on the exposed region of wet flesh. You bite the skin of your bottom lip, sheepish to never having another person being so up-close to an area that was so confidential to you throughout a large portion of your life. Two of his fingers slide up your puffy lips, soaked of your collected arousal while he elicits a low gasp from you.

"Fuck, angel, never seen someone so wet all for me." he said.

You had wondered if you should tell him now — after you were the first one to make such a bold move on him, you had to confess the private matter of never having intercourse; the only closest sexual encounter you've had was with yourself. (Those nights in the barracks with your single hand.)

"Ghost, wait—" you stutter out, a palm spread-out at his chest in a way to interrupt him of his doings.

"Somethin' wrong?"

You breathe, your throat gone dry. "I- I haven't done this before." you admit.

"You're a virgin, honey, is that it?" he asked with his accent swarmed of concern, "Never had a man touch you like this?"

"No," you said, "I want you to be my first time..." the admission was brief to a point, sure, but it was what you were so desperate in need of. You reserved this occasion just for him, and it had finally gave life to itself.

"Oh, sweet girl," he caresses your face with both hands, large palms squishing your cheeks and rubbing soothing motions into the skin, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes, please," you whisper, "God, I've waited and waited, only for you to be the first. Nobody else."

With that, his hands drag themselves down your face, your chest and stomach, and aligning at your thighs. He leans himself down onto the mattress, pinning his body onto the cushioned material. Your legs rest at each of his shoulders and his fingers create a restraint; powerless to thrashing or releasing from his hold. His thumb and index finger momentarily fix up the bottom of his balaclava to the brink of his nose, moving back to the flesh of your thigh. You squirm a little from the long, dragged-out desperation that spread through your body like a disease — a plague of lust solely meant for your lieutenant.

At long last his head descends to that throbbing territory right between your parted thighs, all bathed in your bloomed arousal and swollen clit. You feel his tongue kiss over your skin before running one long stripe up your cunt, lips fully puckering over you. To this new, overwhelming ease —out of the extended period of time with the substance's aches— you throw your head back to the headboard, a breathy gasp leaving you throat each time his tongue comes to work on your cunt. His nose adds to the ecstasy that he sends you right into, nuzzling and prodding right at your clit when his mouth works along your slit.

You stifle a moan, but ultimately fails when his tongue fucks itself right into your cunt, nearly felt at your walls. Whines echo off the boundaries of the room, the double simulation causing your eyes to flutter and your walls to clench around his tongue. Your thighs squeeze at his head while trembling, leaving your fingers to claw at the sheets, each and every assembly of your exclusive noises the nearest experience he would ever capture to hearing heaven — an angel, his very own angel.

"Fuckin' heaven right between your thighs, princess," he praised, running his tongue at the spots he was quick to learn that were sensitive to you, "Needy thing, you are."

"Y- Yes, yes... fuck." you whine.

"M' going to ruin you, bunny," he said amid his pleasuring, "Be the first man to ruin you, and this sweet pussy of yours."

Your thighs tremble, thrown-back head releasing noises of pants and disgraceful moans. His tongue works more diligently now, in the habit of working at your cunt. The ministrations are more faster and insistent. "Oh, Ghost..." you whimpered, bucking your hips onto his face and essentially riding his entire facial structure. He lifts his irises to your fucked-out face, staring in admiration, a raw visual of beauty — open-mouth, tilted head, sheet of sweat over skin, and all because of his own doing.

Rather than alternating between lapping at the exterior of your cunt and pushing his tongue right into you, he makes his mind up of only plunging his tongue in-and-out of you. The more rabid motions of his tongue driving up into you is a whole new degree of euphoria, a knot in your abdomen tying itself at the muscle fucking at your delicate walls. But it's not soon when that knot is unbinding itself, your body writhing under him as your hips roll and ripples of pleasure drive out from the undoing knot.

When Ghost arises from his spot between your now-fully soaked thighs, his mouth and nose are saturated with the liquids of your orgasm; the first orgasm you've had provoked by another person. You spasm, at some state of relief — but not enough to fully satisfy the explicit emotions that fomented right to him. Heavy breaths leave your mouth and his, trembling fingers of yours coming to pull off your tank-top and bra; fully nude and stripped beneath him now. You take notice of his eyes widening for a brief second behind the warpaint — astonished, or whatever he had going on at that unpredictable mind of his.

"Such a doll, baby." he said, inclining down to press a kiss to your lips, straightening his stance above you — towering you. He strips of his own shirt, a broad chest of muscles and pale skin, then lingering a hand down to his tactical pants where he shrugs the cloth down to his ankles; thoroughly peeling away from any fabric, except for his boxers with that prominent bulge at the forefront.

You patiently look up at him through your lashes while he slowly tugs at the waistband of the remaining article of clothing, a sensation at your gut anxious for the release of it. He wastes no time pulling the boxers down, cock smacking at his lower abs. Undeniably, he was as large as you've fantasized him to be — but with more length added, more veins that adorned him and a blunt head that oozed of pre-cum. Your breath hitched at the sight, a slow blink of your eyes while he clamped a fist over himself.

He pumped himself a few times in the fist, never once leaving the perspective of your near-goddess body all spread out for him. The stare in his eyes were darker, more obscured with shadows and a deep, perverted passion that you once obtained; only for it to die down at his domination on you, reduced to your usual timidity. Observing his cock in his fist, you bite your lip, that throbbing sense at your cunt returning in a more intense wave.

In a more bent position over your anatomy, you feel the head of his cock prod right at your entrance and you gasped when it starts in circular movements — gathering some of the remnants of your arousal on the head.

His fingers grasp at your jaw, gently forcing you to make direct eye contact. "Hey, hey, look at me," he whispers, "Relax, honey, it's going to hurt a little since it's your first time, yeah?"

You give him a nod, lip bitten at your teeth.

"If it hurts, we stop, no big deal — got it?"

You give him another nod of reassurance. It was a huge thing to give up, to put trust into the hands of another man — but it was him, your lieutenant, the man you've admired and personally worshipped like your own god. You trusted him with your life, that's how far it was taken, and now you could trust him with taking your virginity; ruining yourself for him.

With the given permission, he slowly fills you up, the head of his cock slipped into your cunt. He groans at the tight sensation, a whimper of your end at his lengthy size inside of you. You already feel so filled, and it was only the blunt head that had been in you. Ghost immerses in how you feel clenched around him, tight and leaving him almost unable to fully thrust himself in; the intimate way your legs bracket at his waist, how your arms wrap his torso like a bandage and your fingers jab at his back muscles.

"Ghost—" you whine out, feeling yourself clench around the head of his cock that left you almost brain-dead — unable to speak, or form a coherent thought at that, "Oh, fuck..."

His large hands keep you confined at your waist, lips pressing at your face while one hand frees itself and cradles you in it. "Still doing okay, sweetheart?" he asks with a genuine concern, and you nod, allowing him to thrust the remaining inches of his cock right into your cunt. Your back arches off the mattress at the sudden movement and the short sting that accompanies it. "Doing so good, love."

He starts out in slow, steady thrusts and you whine with the flow of his hips against yours. Gradually, he speeds up once coming to the realization that you were already adapted to how he moved up inside of you. Your fingers at his back begin to dig deeper, breaking the skin and leaving red marks in the wake. His stamina is a whole stage of extremity than your own, which is why he's able to pound into your cunt without pause.

"You love this don't you, sweet girl?" he pants, "You love having your sweet little pussy filled up by your superior's big cock, huh?"

You rapidly nod with pants between your lips, saliva down the corners of your widened mouth, "Love it s'much, Ghost, oh—"

"My real name, say it, honey."

You whimper, the bottoms of your eyes twitching. "Love how you fuck me, Simon — be rough with me, please, I don't care anymore."

At the your request, his particular set of thrusts afterwards of his are hard and nearing animalistic, right up at your cervix — nearly at your womb. He reduced you to nothing but a writhing, moaning mess where you laid under him; legs fixated at his waist and your arms at his torso forcing him down closer to you.

"Always wanted to fuck you like this, y'know?" he rasps between grunts, "Every-time one of those lowlife rookies eyed you, wanted to bend you over and show them who you belong to," he said, "Fuck in front of everyone like a bunch of animals.

An audible, echoing whine slips from your mouth at his own perverted confession. Who knew he shared the same fucked-up fantasies as you did? (Truly a match made in heaven.)

In the way he fucked into your cunt at a rapid pace, it could be considered animalistic — just like his fantasy. His veined hands caress your waist while every thrust of his hardened cock brushing past your walls and pounding into your cervix extracts an angelic sound from your mouth.

"More, please, please—" you whine out, head thrown back and nails into his skin, "I'll be your girl, 'mmm my god — your only girl, I promise..."

He grunts. "That's right, bunny. I'm the only man who can fuck you like this," he said, "I'll make you remember this night, the first man to ever ruin you like this."

Ghost throws his head back, his posture aligning itself out while his jaw clenches. Sounds of skin-on-skin and a chorus of high-pitched whines along with raspy, masculine grunts leave the safe-house no longer deserted; conducted of sexual nature in its walls. You squeal as he never fails to reach your cervix while he continues to pound into you, addicted to the way your cunt clenches on him like a vice and how your body reacts to his cock impaling it like a natural instinct — clamping on, soaked of arousal just at the mere thought of it settled in you.

The space between your two thighs are messier than the first time, when you found yourself being carried like a bride in his arms, when you ground yourself right to the bulge of his pants. It's sloppy, with a combination of your arousal and his pre-cum painting your inner-thighs like a piece of artwork; the whole scene a scenario of a sexual, brutal renaissance painting.

"M' so close, Simon!" you squeal, "Need you to cum inside, mmph — please..."

"You want that, sweet girl?" he asks, "Want me to cum all inside of your pretty pussy?"

"Yes!"

He chuckles. "You lil' fuckin' whore, all needy like this for her first time."

And with that, Ghost smacks his lips to yours. His tongue laps at each crevice of your mind, a hand coming to grab at your jaw and keep you in position. The results from him eating you out still linger on his tongue, causing you to moan right into his mouth and allow him to eat you all up. Your insides feel raw at this point in the way his cock leaves squishes noises each time he meets with your puffy, sticky folds — cervix bruised and kissed with his overwhelming contact.

"C'mon, princess, show your lieutenant who you belong to," he breathes between kisses, "That's it, I know you can, bunny."

Ghost feels the abrupt stop of your clawing at his back when your cunt spasms around his cock, clenching as tightly when a burst of liquid seeps out and decorates the head of his cock, drooling down the veiny sides. The pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen clit during your orgasm, a loud whine earned at the contact. His cock twitches inside of you at your noise, and at the discernment of your pretty cunt squeezing down on him; in some way telling him to stay, never let you go, claim and haunt you down to never leave your side, never.

With your orgasm already wrapped and concluded, he undergoes one of his own; not long after yours. A gush of fluid plants at your walls and floods past your cervix, felt at the inners of your womb. Sensitivity still contemporary, you find yourself mewling at the impact when it spills to the parts deepest inside of you — coddled in the warmth of his seed, filled to the brim. He's quite the artist himself, painting your insides one of the prettiest tints of white. You capture him in a hug, pressing your face into the open slant of his neck while he sinks in the position for a little while longer. He returns the embrace and massages at your breasts before wrapping you in a full hug, collapsing to your body.

He rearranges the stances of your bodies while in the embrace — him on the bottom, while you lay on his larger structure. Your head rests on his naked chest, tiny pants from your mouth while he is successful in catching after his own breaths; his hand in your hair, petting in comforting strokes while he presses repeated kisses to your scalp.

"How was that for you first time, love?" he asks once in breath again.

"Brutal," you said, "I liked it, though."

"Think that grenade powder had quite the effect on us," he said, "fuckin’ hell."

You nosed at his jaw, kissing at him, inhaling his scent of sweat and gunpowder — addictive. "Never knew my superior could be such a pervert just cause of a little powder."

"Not only the powder, doll," he said, "It's you."

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ simon riley. ꒱#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #oneshot #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

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earthtooz · 8 months

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x : THE JOKER AND THE QUEEN :*+ﾟ

in which: you are the best thing to ever to childe, but what will happen when you find out the truth about his profession?

warnings: 4k wc, fluff to angst, ambiguous ending huehue, childe is a whipped loser in love, set in canon, reader has undescribed trauma with fatui (ooo), reader is not referred to with pronouns or a gender but there is a mention of 'queen' (it's up to you how you see it), mentions of violence, childe being referred to as 'ajax', argument, both reader and childe cry, aether and paimon appearance!

a/n: this one might hurt. apologies. (girl u know i want ur love...)

The sun is radiant gold when Childe walks down his peaceful, routine path, away from the bustling commerce centre and towards a peculiar place that he’s called home in Liyue. There are still a million tasks yet to be completed, but for now, his feet take him to the solitude that waits for him at the end of day.

When Childe arrives at the manor that is his residence in this foreign city, there’s a lifeless kind of calm, the rustling of leaves and flowing stream are the only things to welcome him, but he knows better. Doesn’t need to confirm it when his feet naturally take him upstairs, winding through corridors and towards the balcony that overlooks the horizon.

The view is very picturesque, overlooking the grandiose Liyue mountains that are decorated with incomparable flora and fauna, but you are there, and he can’t bring himself to look anywhere else.

You are the best reprieve for his tiring days, and although he will be returning to the Northland Bank to try and solve some of his troubles, the majority of them can be quelled by your presence alone.

“My darling,” the words slip past his lips without any trouble, and the relief he feels when you turn around and smile at him is insurmountable. Suddenly his hardships dissipate, his lungs are cleared, and his limbs don’t feel as heavy anymore (he can’t think of many people who grin up at him like you do. He hopes you never stop smiling at him like that).

Still, he walks to stand in front of you, and collapses to the floor, resting on his knees by your feet like a faithful jester to his queen. His armour drops and Childe becomes nothing but a man in love before you because there is nothing more human than loving someone more than yourself.

“Why so exhausted, Ajax?” You ask.

“The days are bothersome, my love,” he murmurs quietly, slightly muffled, but he then turns his head to look up at you, arms now hugging your calves. “But coming home to you make them infinitely better.”

“Any good home will bring you comfort,” you deflect, but your words reminds him of a distant, golden memory back in Snezhnaya. The unforgiving, snowy plains had always been his home, the frost that clung to dead tree branches, and the footsteps that he and his siblings left behind in the blankets would were memories of easier times, but here, sitting by you with a chin on your knees, is a memoir of his favourite home.

The sensation of your hand running through his orange locks take him out of his daydreams, and he melts right into your touch, blood-stained hands completely and wholly attached to you. He commits you to memory, savours the feeling of your warmth against his so he can feel it even whilst he’s away from you.

Can a home be a person?

He dares to close his eyes. Here, he is safe. Here, he can rest peacefully.

“How was your day?” Asks Childe, stimulating pointless conversation so that he could talk to you and hear your voice that will power him through the tedious night to come.

You begin to talk about the things you had to do today, about the customers you had to deal with, about the errands you still need to run, and all the pressing orders you needed to attend to- hearing it all places an aching weight on his chest. If Childe could have things his way, you wouldn’t need to work at all. You would live life peacefully by his side, without a day of stress as you roam around Liyue Harbour or anywhere else you would want to go, with him holding your arm (would you return to Snezhnaya with him?).

Alas, life is not so easy nor carefree, but you make it significantly better.

“How pretty is the sunset,” you comment. “Look.”

He almost doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to put any space between the two of you because looking at the sunset means turning around to face the rays that warm his back, but it’s you who asked him, so Childe turns around and observes the gorgeous blend of colours. He then decides that it’s nothing compared to your beauty.

“Yes, yes, splendid,” the orange-haired agrees, promptly turning back around to look up at you, with a sickening amount of love evident in his eyes.

“You didn’t even look properly.”

“I’m looking at something much more important right now.”

You shy away at your lover’s blatancy, pushing his face to the side to break his gaze. “Such unabashed flattery, do you have no shame?”

“None! None at all!”

You sigh, a smile creeping at the corners of your lips, timidity teasing Childe as he aches to see more. Reaching for your hands, he intertwines his around them, feeling light as he basks in the softness of your touch that starkly contrast the roughness of his hardened palms.

His gentle action causes your bracelets to jingle, pure gold and the finest gems of Liyue tinkering quietly against each other. They are gifts from him, he knows because he only buys the best for you.

“Will you be staying tonight?” You ask.

His gaze sadly falls to the ground as a regretful, ‘no, I won’t be’ slips past his lips. Tonight, instead of being in your company and resting beside you under the gentle beams of the moonlight, his dedicated Fatui subordinates will be with him instead. The blood on his hands will accumulate and pool by his feet as outstanding debts and scores will be settled, signed with fear and horror as the silence of Liyue sees an unspeakable monster.

Then, the monster will come crawling to you, fatigued and dirtied with an unrestrained desire to be by your side for as long as time will allow.

“That’s a shame,” you mutter and Childe winces at the disappointment in your tone. “You work too hard, you know?”

“It’s just what I need to do,” murmurs the orange-haired, “wish I could spend more time with you, though.”

“It’s alright, as long as I get to see you, I’m happy.”

He rests his cheek on your knee once more, eyes drooping close. Frighteningly quick, the fatigue he feels from all of his laborious duties catch up to him, latching onto him like a parasite. A nap wouldn’t hurt,

Nothing can take you away from him, not without a fight. He will bear his teeth, slash his swords until the blades dull, until his bow snaps in half, and until all that’s left of him is a pulp that lies helplessly on the floor, the love pouring from his wounds. Childe only hopes that his last moments are spent in your embrace.

But what will become of this warrior when you’re his opponent? What if you are the one he fights against- what then?

When you wake up one, unassuming morning, you wake up alone. No Ajax to accompany you, the only indication that he was here being the breakfast he had prepared for you that sat atop the counter top. The warmth of the meal lingers, meaning that he must not have left that long ago, and you have to wonder how he knows you so well to guarantee that breakfast is still warm by the time you come down.

Retrieving a book from the main entrance’s bookshelf, you catch a glimpse of a large box sitting on the entrance table. There is a note beside it, addressed to ‘Traveller’ and signed with ‘Childe’- the name Ajax has supposedly taken up whilst here in Liyue; a merchant name of sorts, he claims.

You mentally note to listen extra carefully for any knocks at the door, but for now, the promise of a day of relaxation and no work relieves you. Being swamped up in all of your duties meant that you kept forgetting to tell Ajax that you were free for the day, but perhaps you’ll surprise him with a filling and hearty dinner. Work didn’t seem to be all that easy for him either, so you’re sure he’d appreciate the gesture.

What you weren’t prepared for, however, was discovering a secret that your lover had been hiding from you all this time- in the form of two travellers.

The anticipated knock on the door came near noon, and two voices from the other side are muffled by the heavy material of the entrance. “Childe said no one would be home, why would you knock?” A high-pitched voice berates.

“Because manners, Paimon!” A male voice retaliates, “even if no one was home, it’s nice to make sure. We shouldn’t barge in without warning.”

“Can you unlock the door yet? Paimon’s dying to know what inside looks like! This property looks so expensive, can you even how much Mora this place is worth! I bet the inside is even-”

The conversation is cut short when you open the door with a soft click, pulling it open slightly. What you’re greeted by, however, is a blond boy with a floating companion, who both wear similar expressions of shock.

“Uh, hello!” You greet with a small smile, feeling slightly awkward.

“Hello, is this Childe’s residence?” The floating one- who you assume is Paimon, asks.

“You’re at the right place.”

“But he told us no one would be home today!”

“He would be right normally, but I have the day off work. Are you two travellers?”

“Yeah, we are! And who are you?”

“My name’s Y/n, I’m Childe’s significant other.”

“Childe has a lover?” Paimon’s eyes widen even more if that was even possible. To be honest, this whole scenario was incredibly entertaining. “Since when!”

“We’ve been together for a while. Has he never mentioned me?”

“No! I didn’t even think he could have one with his line of work-”

“-Uhm, we’re kind of in a hurry, I apologise for cutting the conversation,” the blond boy apologises, giving his companion a look before glancing back at you, friendly smile and shining eyes to match his innocent demeanour. “We’re here to pick up something.”

“Ah yes, I did see it. It is rather big, though, could I trouble the two of you to help me bring it out?” You ask, feeling rather embarrassed to bother your guests, but you don’t feel confident to carry the package alone.

“No trouble at all,” he reassures.

“We can come in, right?” Paimon asks, voice lilting up an octave as mirth shines in her eyes.

“Yes, yes, no need to take off your shoes.” You open the door wider for the two, the floating one flying in first, immediately marvelling at the interior, admiration tangible whilst the blond is a little more reserved, thanking you first before coming in.

What an intriguing pair.

“My name is Aether, and that’s Paimon. I just realised we hadn’t introduced ourselves.”

“It’s lovely to meet the two of you. Do you do business with Childe often?” Your tongue almost strains at the mention of his business name, but if your boyfriend had appearances to keep, then you needed to try to uphold it too.

Paimon flies over to Aether, joining the conversation. “You could say that. Sometimes he causes more trouble than it’s worth!”

“That sounds like him,” you huff, an affectionate smile appearing on your face. “The package is right here, but like I said, it seems quite heavy.”

“Allow me,” Aether volunteers, stepping forward to carry the box by himself. He stumbles a little due to the weight, and you hold your hands out just in case.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

The blond merely huffs before shifting the box to one arm. “No need, we’re troubling you enough already.”

“I see. I apologise, if I had known what time you were coming I would have brewed some tea for you two, Liyue has a very fine selection,” you say, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Aww! Paimon would have loved to try some!”

“Thank you for the offer, I would have liked to try some too, but we are short for time,” Aether explains.

“Then just wait here, I’ll fetch a bag for you to keep on your travels.”

You leave the entrance room before either of them have the chance to reject your offer, and you’re back almost immediately. A new batch you ordered just came in yesterday, so it did not take long for you to try and figure out which one you would like to gift Childe’s… ‘client’.

“Here,” you hand it to Paimon, who hugs the bag closely to her body. “Travellers need to be at their top shape, right? Hopefully this is something that will rejuvenate you on your journey.”

“This is too kind,” Aether begins, “thank you. We’ll make sure to great care of it.”

“It’s fine! Anyone that is associated with Childe are welcomed here, so long as they’re a nice person that is,” you laugh.

“You can bet we’re the nicest of the bunch!” Paimon exclaims. “I doubt he meets many nice people being a Fatui Harbinger and all!”

A… what?

Sensing the sudden shift in your mood, Aether’s eyes widen and he tugs at the leg of his companion. “Uh, it was nice meeting you Y/n! Paimon and I will be off now, thank you for the package and tea!” The last statement is nothing but a blend of words toppled over each other as the two practically hurry out of the estate, door slamming behind them in their rush.

Their abrupt leave didn’t impact you much though, because what did Paimon mean when she said ‘Fatui Harbinger’? Was… Ajax hiding something from you? Or is he Childe? What is the use for a merchant name, anyways? Businessmen don’t usually have identities to keep, but how dire could it be in his industry? After all, second names are only used when wanting to protect yourself from harm, to keep people from knowing who they truly were… a code name for… an organisation like the Fatui to identify them by.

You feel sick, and your hand weakly snakes up to cover your mouth, the other gripping the edge of the table for some sense of stability in your crumbling world.

Memories come flooding back like a tidal wave, drowning you in the heaviness of the thoughts that clasp around your ankle like anchors. It’s hard to push them away, to ease your mind from the nauseating images that still haunt you to this day: the desperation of your family, the cries, the helpless feeling of being a mere pawn in the game of the Fatui.

(It hurts to think that you never escaped. After finally surviving through years of hardship, you’ve returned right into the hands of those who caused it, and the thought reminds you of how defeatable you always will be.

Ajax- Childe, has likely caused devastation similar to the one that wrecked your village years ago. He has blood on his hands, the same ones that have held you tightly against him and stroked your hair. You have kissed his lips- ones that command horrendous acts for others to see through. You love his heart, the same one that probably froze over in Snezhnaya years ago.

You are with someone who has inflicted pain and suffering onto others, and will continue to do so for years to come. But worst of all, you are with a liar, who now makes you question what is and isn’t true.)

Childe returns home at sunset, the rattling of his keys against wood causing fear to crawl down your spine.

“I’m home!” His cheery voice calls from the front door, and to his surprise, you are sitting on one of the more uncomfortable couches that is merely for decor rather than functionality. “My love, why are you sitting there? There are far more comfortable seats for you-”

“Welcome home, Childe.”

He pauses in his steps and feels the world stop momentarily. “Darling? What’s with the name?” The Harbinger tries to laugh, but really, you’re scaring him. Very much so. “Come on, you know you don’t need to call me that. Here, I brought back some food that I thought you would enjoy from-”

“When were you going to tell me?” You’re standing now, slowly stepping towards him as your clothes flow with your every movement. Childe has no time to admire though, not when you and this swirling premonition in his gut is frightening him.

“Tell you what?” The pit in his stomach already knows.

“Must you act a fool?”

“To what?” He continues because it’s his first instinct to lie. “Darling, please tell me what is troubling you.”

“Please don’t play dumb, I just need the truth, especially now out of all times, are you really a…” you plead, voice trailing off as you hold yourself back from shattering. “You’re not who I think you are, are you?”

“Why do you sound so sad? What happened?” He whispers, beginning to feel the back of his eyes burn as tears invade his eyes.

“A-are you really with the Fatui? A Harbinger, too?” The words fall from your mouth like anvils and suddenly the title that brought him pride and honour through the years dulls. His eyes widen, and the gulp of his throat is all you need to know.

“I love you,” large, blistered hands desperately reach for you, aching to hold you still because he’s terrified. What if you slip through his fingers and run? What if you go somewhere he can’t follow? “I love you-”

“Just give me the truth, Ajax. I practically know, I just need to hear it from you,” you choke. The call of his name causes him to cave, a hesitant ‘yes’ slipping past his lips, crushing you with the weight of the truth. You cry first and like dominoes, his tears follow.

“Don’t cry,” he hiccups through his own sobs, hands locking around your wrists like bracelets. “I hate it when you cry.”

“Childe-”

“It’s Ajax to you,” the Harbinger pleads, grip tightening in desperation.

“I don’t know what you are to me anymore!” You retaliate, “this whole time, you’ve been lying to me when you know about what happened. I’ve told you everything, and you still decide to keep this from me!” You stumble away from him with more force than necessary, bumping into a table nearby and causing the vase that adorns it to drop. A shrill crack echoes through the room, and instantaneously, he rushes to your aid, asking if you’re hurt as pieces of fina china lay on the floor, water pooling around his feet.

Mixed in the puddle, are the anxieties and worries that come fumbling out of his mouth. He then pretends like it doesn’t break his heart when you scramble away from him.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” You ask, voice strained and quiet.

“If I had told you, would you have stayed, or would you have ran away?”

Your silence chokes him, filling up his airways with lead as he nervously awaits your answer. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t have stayed.”

Childe’s expression glistens with sadness, so crystal clear that it makes his eyes gleam like diamonds deep from the Chasm. “I see.”

“-But I would have appreciated it hearing from you than someone else.”

“Then how did you found out?” He demands, forcing his tone to be soft.

“If I tell you you’ll go and hurt them,” you murmur. “I don’t want that to happen.”

With one look at you, it’s clear that you think Childe will hurt you too with the way you cower from him, as if he could ever lay a finger on you or even point a blade in your direction, but the vision hanging on his hip feels heavier than ever. It’s a haunting reminder of who he is, and what he is capable of.

You feel miles away, how on Teyvat is he going to pull you back?

“Who are you really?”

“I’m yours-”

“-I’m not in the mood for your flirtatious quips,” you snap, hugging yourself.

“But it’s true, I love you, Y/n, don’t you know?”

“No, no I don’t. I don’t know what else you’re lying about.”

“Oh come on,” he exasperatedly exclaims, “we’ve been together for so long, the day we met you met the real me, as Ajax, not Childe of the 11th Fatui Harbingers. What’s the big deal? Just because I follow the Tsaritsa doesn’t mean I’m not the same Ajax you know, Y/n, please.”

“It’s not only that you’re apart of the Fatui, Ajax- the world is grey, there are things I will never understand. I’m upset because you lied. Like you said, we’ve been together for so long, yet I’m only finding out about this now, so what else don’t I know?” Your voice breaks.

He takes a step forward, but you only take one back, maintaining the distance even though the Snezhnaya native wants nothing more than to just hold you, to secure his place by your side because what can he do without you?

“What else are you keeping from me? What can I trust about you anymore? You say your real name is Ajax, but how can I know that?”

Seeing you so upset, so glum, so devoid of the light that makes you you causes his heart to cease, his throat to dry, and sheer terror to flood through him.

Childe’s seen the face of death, multiple times before, yet he’s never been this scared in his whole life. He’s losing you, he can feel it, but what can he do about it? What can he say that could possibly bring you back? (What good is a jester without the throne he was sworn to entertain? You can’t desert him, he will perform a thousand tricks if it enamours you into staying, will sacrifice more of himself to you if it means you will remain here, safe and sound in his arms.)

You are the reason he returns home everyday, to make sure that you are healthy, happy, and most importantly, that you haven’t left him without a word. If he had to, he would have killed for you, fought anyone and everyone until all that remained of him was the warrior heart that beat for you. But he could have never preempted this, nothing could have ever prepared for him to be the reason that you were leaving.

“I need some space,” you murmur, “to think this all through. Give me some time.”

“What? No,” murmurs the orange-haired. “No, no, no, we can talk about this, right?”

“Talking won’t do anything, I need time alone.”

The idea of being away from you causes Childe to almost sink to his knees and succumb to the bones in his body that ache to beg at your feet to stay. The cry of your name is weak, but so very desperate as he looks at you through a blurry vision.

You’re walking towards the front door, each step you take is another one away from him, away from the paradise that he’s been gifted. There are many ways he can stop you right now, his options are far from limited and although they are physical, they are all very effective, but he surrenders instead. Drops his weapons as he lets you go.

“How long?” Is all that Childe asks.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, hand reaching for the door knob.

“No more than two weeks, please.” Childe doesn’t know if he can handle being away from you for even a day, let alone fourteen.

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll search all of Teyvat if that’s what it takes to bring you home,” he affirms, clearing through sobs just to get the words out. He doesn’t back down without a fight, that’s just who he is, so his next words are etched with certainty and clarity, hoping to pierce your defences with arrows of undying devotion. “That’s a promise.”

“I know.”

You shut the door behind you.

apologies if there is incorrect lore + if anyone is mischaracterised LOL i have only been playing genshin for like a month.

@fallenssun for u :>

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #genshin x reader #childe x reader fluff #tartaglia x reader fluff #ajax x reader fluff #genshin x reader fluff #childe fic #tartaglia fic #ajax fic

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katszumi · 15 days

Text

bakugou hated defeat. he was never one to forfeit anything. if he could challenge the ocean to a battle, he would and sincerely believe he’d win.

once, he admits defeat to the universe and chooses to let you slip through his fingers.

when he began to fall in love with your sweet manner, delicate touch, warm smile and witty behavior, he also began to hate himself.

he hated the way he was when it came to feelings. he knew he wasn’t able to express his emotions like a good boyfriend should. he was intolerable, insufferable. something that couldn’t have mixed with you.

love was a foreign concept to him, something he couldn’t grasp but something he desperately wished for deep down, no matter how many times he brushed it off or ridiculed the idea.

bakugou knew love wasn’t designed for him, and he wasn’t ever going to let his silly imagination deceive him otherwise.

but, he knows his heart never stands a chance. especially tonight when he finds you on the terrace of ua. the night-sky wrapped the area in its darkness, the crescent moon illuminating the brightest color it could, and the silent night bringing the greatest solitude it could.

bakugou attempts to leave you be, but your eyes find him faster than he originally thought, him being pulled into your magnetic, overwhelming aura.

“hey,” he begins, a slight waver in his voice from his nerves. “not enjoyin’ the party inside?”

you chuckle slightly, waving his question off. “just needed some air.”

bakugou nods in response. he folded his arms over the railing, taking in the scenery around them.

it was the last night for the third years at ua, everyone celebrating their triumphs, losses, friendships. it was the last time they’d be within this building all together, the last time bakugou could silently admire you from afar. he’d always think about his last day there, wondering if he’d be shouting from excitement. he wasn’t close to thinking that he’d feel like his whole world was coming down.

you were planning to travel to the united states to start your hero debut, receiving an offer there that you just couldn’t pass up. he remembered the moment when you told him so vividly. you wore a huge smile, basically jumping out of excitement. that was the first time bakugou came to the realization that he couldn’t have you.

truth be told, he was scared of breaking paths with you. anger, sorrow, fear. you shone a light on all of those emotions. it felt like his anchor was gone. breaking every stable piece off of him one by one.

“so, what’s next for you? don’t think you ever told me your plan.”

in his head, bakugou replies with, that was on purpose. he wanted to remove everything from his mind. go with the flow and live in the moment until it was officially time to get started on his new path of life. but, he figured there was no more time to put it off.

“stay in the city for a bit. kirishima talked about collaboratin’ on an agency, so been givin’ that some consideration.” he replies somberly. “i don’t know really, just gotta find something to keep me busy.”

you echoed bakugou’s action from earlier, nodding to his statement. a small sigh parted your lips, partly from exhaustion, but also from sadness.

“you scared?” it came out as a whisper, as if it was a taboo subject to never touch on, and frankly it was when it came to bakugou.

he waited to respond, pausing for as long as he could before the silence turned uncomfortable.

“yeah.” something so simple but spoke so much considering bakugou would never admit such a thing. “you’ll be okay though. you got an offer some of us wish we could have, and i heard the states has good job opportunities.”

“i don’t wanna go.” first it came out as a mumble, bakugou unsure if he just understood the words that came out of your mouth.

“what?”

“i don’t want to go.” this time, your voice was much more stern.

“the fuck you talkin’ about? you’ve been excited for this shit the day you got the letter, now you don’t wanna go? as if.” he was aware that he came off a little too defensive, mostly to shield his heart from catching a little bit of hope, he didn’t mean to come at you so harshly.

you peeled your eyes away from him, purposely avoiding his eye contact. looking at him seemed more like receiving a scolding from a parent more than anything right now.

“i mean, the united states? i’ll be there alone, no family, no friends. it’s not the money or opportunities i’m concerned about, bakugou. it’s about my happiness.” you explained. “isn’t that something you’re thinking about too?”

bakugou weighs his options. he thinks he has nothing else to lose, but he also considers the fact of you breaking his heart even more than it is. besides, you were smart, he knew you were going to take the offer anyway no matter how bad your nerves were eating you up.

“you can’t think with your heart about things like this, y/n.” he knows he’s an asshole. he knows you’re looking to him for the reassurance you want to hear but he just can’t give it.

“i’m not! i just want to be happy doing the things i love and that’s not possible in an environment i cant stand to be in.”

“you don’t know that yet.”

“i’m getting a pretty good feeling.”

“because you’re scared.”

you shrug, “so what? you don’t know how i feel. you’ll be here with your mom, dad, and all of your friends. i’ll have to start over from scratch in a country i know nothing about.”

he scoffed, his eyes darting away from your figure. “right because you know exactly how i feel.” his tone bled with sarcasm.

“you don’t tell me how you feel for anything, so sorry for taking an educated guess.” you retorted.

“you never ask to begin with.”

“as if you’d even tell me. you think i haven’t noticed you avoiding me these past couple of weeks? you don’t even talk to me anymore.”

now the roles reversed, you stared at him, bakugou not daring to look into your eye.

he shifted in his position, beginning to become uncomfortable. he replayed in his mind what he should’ve done moments ago instead of coming to speak to you.

“nothing to say?” you were playing with fire, not caring that you were poking the bear. “guess that’s not anything new. you just do whatever you want, say whatever you wish without thinking of the other person, because you’re ‘katsuki bakugou’. the man who cares about none other than the title of being the number one hero.”

“that’s not fuckin’ true and you know it.” he snaps his head towards you.

“do i?” your eyes searched his. “maybe a few months ago i would’ve, but you’ve been treating me like an outcast recently. i thought i mattered to you! i thought we were something!”

“what do you want me to say here?”

“i want you to be honest.”

bakugou clenched his teeth, his jaw sharpening from the action. of course he wanted to be with you, there was no other girl that he could imagine being with. but it just couldn’t work. you weren’t made to be with a monster, and he didn’t deserve to enjoy something so sweet as you.

so, bakugou opted to refuse the truth once again, brushing her off.

“you’re just too good for me.” he simply replies. “don’t waste your potential here. go to america.”

bakugou takes no more time to indulge in your erratic behavior, so he leaves you at the terrace, the noise of the party being heard the moment he opened the side door.

he wanted you more than anything. if the universe loved him a little more, then maybe things between you two would work out. but because of his shitty luck and vexatious attitude, you two just didn’t match.

he also knew there was just someone you were bound to fall in love with in america.

bakugou wasn’t going to lead you on to make a stupid decision. even if that meant destroying himself in the process.

the morning after, your name wasn’t to be found on any of his socials, and his messages to you turned green. if he didn’t know before, then he definitely knew now that he burned anything he had with you.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 month

Text

Between Fire and Stone

Daemon Targaryen/Strong!female

summary: anxious about her approaching union to Aemond, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen seeks comfort | word count: 2.8k~ | warnings: incest, reader is described with strong features, fingering, p in v sex, arranged marriage, Daemon being a cheeky cunt

A/N: idek what I was on to write this cos I'm not usually a Daemon girlie but here we are besties. Tysm @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for beta-ing 😘 appreciate you

The cold mist nipped at the skin around her ankles, a shiver running up her spine as she struggled through the jagged rock towards the Dragonmont. Her fingers brushed against the stark stone for balance, the other holding the lit torch to light her way before her in the darkness.

It was one of her favourite things, taking a stroll through Dragonstone in the hour of the wolf. Peaceful. Quiet. Something she could have all for herself. Away from the prying of her maidservants and the overbearing boisterous nature of her brothers. Though Jace, now a man grown, still held onto those immaturities.

Yet another thing that set her apart from her siblings.

For she, only a mere year younger than Jace, was considered a woman, ripe for marriage and bearing children, whereas the same hastiness was not pressured upon him. She knew her mother had never intended to bestow such responsibilities on her, but she understood, it was inevitable. As that time loomed ever closer, she found herself roaming her home more often, as if to savour the feeling of once being a child.

Where her brothers could seek adventure with their dragons once they were big enough to saddle, her egg had not hatched in her cradle. She would not inherit the birthright of the blood of Old Valyria, yet another judgement cast upon her that only inflated her sense of belonging at her mother's side. With her moonlit hair and pale lilac eyes, each of her children could not have looked more different.

Before the incident, there existed only one other soul who could truly fathom the depths of her solitude. No dragon. Ceaseless taunts. The notion of isolation, even amongst one’s family. Any semblance of camaraderie had been extinguished the day Lucerys took his eye. That defining moment when Aemond—her uncle—seized his birthright had marked the fracture in their familial bonds. In the aftermath, her mother, alongside her new husband Daemon, orchestrated a grand scheme to mend the shattered relations, a plan that involved her betrothal to him at an opportune moment.

Try as she might, she couldn't conjure the image of herself as his wife. The thought of residing in King's Landing under his roof refused to coalesce into a coherent vision. It remained an elusive spectre, haunting her thoughts with its intangible uncertainty.

Whispers of tradition and duty echoed in the hallowed halls of her childhood, spun by the gentle tongues of Septas who spoke of the sacred rites of marriage. Tales of Lords and Ladies, of the solemn exchange of vows, and the anticipated consummation on the wedding night. Some stories painted a picture of pleasure and intimacy, of unions founded on mutual desire and affection. Others whispered of duty, of sacrifices made for the sake of one's spouse, regardless of personal inclination.

Caught in the web of uncertainty, she pondered which version of Aemond awaited her, a tender partner or a distant lord, bound by duty and tradition. The unknown loomed before her like a shadow, casting doubt upon her heart and stirring a quiet fear within her soul. She knew not what to expect, but the uncertainty itself was enough to unsettle her, to sow the seeds of apprehension in her mind. And as the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, she couldn't help but wonder, which path would her marriage tread, and would she have the strength to endure whatever lay ahead?

Amidst the towering peaks of Dragonmont, she sought solace in the embrace of ancient flames and the soothing hum of Vermithor's slumber. Here, amidst the rugged terrain and the ever-watchful gaze of the dragons, she found a fleeting sense of peace.

But it was not the Bronze Fury that sang to her.

“Hen ñuhā elēnī:

Perzyssy vestretis,

Se gēlȳn irūdaks…

Ānogrose.”

She felt the rush of heat at the nape of her neck. Daemon stood straight, back facing her, his voice near-matching the hum of Vermithor’s deep exhales.

“It is late, Princess.” Unlike her, Daemon remained as he dressed during the day, shown when he turned to face her, with the self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “What troubles you?” he asked.

She tried to raise her chin, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil that stirred within.

“My fate,” she said, her careful steps drawing ever nearer. "I am to be wed to Aemond, but I fear what awaits me in that union.”

Daemon hummed, as if curiously amused.

She had known no father figure since Laenor. And though she knew sooner than her brothers the truth that lay beneath the careful picture her mother had forged, since she had been wed to Daemon, he had taken practice with his own daughters and become almost a father to her alike.

She felt his eyes sink over her once before returning to her eyes.

"Marriage is a weighty matter," he said. "But is it the marriage itself that troubles you, or something more?”

She did not miss the lilt to his voice. The one, that like his eyes had done many times before, made something squeeze in her gut. A fire burning bright. A feeling that brought her shame.

He was her mother's husband.

“I cannot say exactly,” she confessed. “Perhaps it is leaving Dragonstone. Mother and my brothers. And being alone in the capital with no face I recognise with trust.”

Daemon nodded almost indistinctly, his fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair back over her shoulder, admiring her hair loose of its usual braids. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, a sensation both familiar and disconcerting. She fought to push aside the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, the warmth of his touch conflicting with the knowledge of their complicated relationship.

"Leaving behind the familiar can indeed be a daunting prospect," Daemon acknowledged, his voice a velvet caress, “But fret not. Within you resides the same fire that fuels your mother's resolve. Embrace it. You are as much Targaryen as any of them.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze, at the way he seemed to see straight through her defences. She knew she should be wary of his advances, of the way he danced on the edge of propriety with his words and his touch. But there was something undeniably alluring about the way he held her gaze, about the way he made her feel desired and understood.

"Thank you, Daemon," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your support means more to me than you know.”

Daemon's smile was a slow, seductive curve of his lips, his eyes alight with a fire that mirrored the flames of the Dragonmont.

"Ah, but my dear Princess," he replied, his voice low and husky, "you have yet to discover the true depths of my support.”

She felt her throat close up, the feeling mirroring somewhat what happened between her thighs.

What could he possibly mean?

“Do you fear it?” he asked. “The act of consummation?”

Her cheeks flushed crimson at Daemon's bold question, his words sending a jolt of both arousal and apprehension coursing through her veins.

“It… is perfectly normal, I would think,” she answered, words failing her.

"Princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing caress against her skin. "There is no shame in feeling uncertain. It is only natural to have doubts, especially when faced with such intimate matters.”

She felt he was circling her, as dragons did their targets. And felt her heart thumping in her chest.

“With Aegon, I dare say, I would join you in your uncertainty. But Aemond, on the other hand… is a different matter entirely.”

“How so?” she asked, breathing out when he disappeared out of her line of sight, his presence at her back, fingers draping past the material of her dress.

“I am afraid he may be less… forthcoming with expressing his desires,” he purred. “He may be cold, or at least that is how it may be interpreted.” Her eyes met his with bated breath as he appeared on her opposite side, closer. “He may not be so adept with the pleasures of a female body.”

She swallowed, a chill settling on her front, her body reacting thus. He remained silent, as if daring her to say what he knew was already on the tip of her tongue. So, she took the plunge. “And…you are?”

Daemon smirked smugly, and she knew she already had her answer., “What do you think?”

Her heart raced. Her mind struggled to contemplate whether she should be honest or not, for she had heard stories and rumours. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, playing with fire in the form of her mother's husband, but there was a part of her that couldn't resist the allure of his confidence, his charm, his undeniable magnetism.

"I... I suppose I never considered such matters," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the admission.

Daemon's eyes danced with amusement as he stepped closer. "Perhaps it is time you did," he murmured, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her spine.

Her skin vibrated with anticipation as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of his overwhelming presence. She knew she should pull away, should put an end to this dangerous game they were playing, but the lure of Daemon's charm was too strong to resist.

“Mayhaps I could demonstrate and put your worries to rest,” he suggested, crossing the imaginary but daring line seemingly without fear. “Rest assured, my experience in such matters is... extensive."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to maintain her resolve, her body betraying her with every flutter of her lashes, every quickened breath. “But… you and Mother—”

Her lips clamped shut with the bruising of his grip in the softness of her waist, urging her back to the rocky, hard wall. Only now, when faced with the Rogue Prince, did she realise just how small she truly felt.

“Your mother is preoccupied with her own affairs," he replied, his voice dripping with a dangerous allure. "She won't concern herself with our little... indiscretion.”

The realisation sank in that she was alone with Daemon in the secluded confines of the Dragonmont, far removed from the prying eyes of the world. And yet, she still felt her lips go dry when he hung the torch and trailed his touch upon her skin where he was taking her skirts with it.

She could not hide her nerves, or the beating rush of arousal, “Bu—but… with Aemond, I must—”

The air felt warm as her skirt was rucked around her hips. She squeaked when his calloused fingers swept through her folds, ashamed to find she was affected by what he was doing to her as her slick coated them easily.

Daemon chuckled, a pleased hum in his chest that she was wet and ready, while his other hand busied with the laces of his breeches, “Sweet girl. When my dear nephew has his cock buried inside you on your wedding night, he will not know the difference.”

His words, combined with the tight circles he applied to the forbidden bud tucked between her legs, had white hot pleasure burning in her veins. Her lips were parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was look upon his pleased face with a hedonistic expression, feeling very much like they were doing something deliciously wrong but could find no reasonable excuse to cease.

“Do not look so surprised. I have seen the way you watch me. Are you not ashamed for looking upon your own mother’s husband with lust?”

The more he touched her, the more arousal he coaxed forth, the sound lewd and forbidden in the raw silence of the Draognmont. She could not answer his question without subjecting herself to further embarrassment. Even so, attempting to concentrate enough to form words as his two forefingers slid within her tight, hot walls, was near impossible. She gasped quietly, the feeling so foreign and yet not unpleasant. And like Daemon in any other scenario, while his motions were forceful, somewhat brutal, they were calculated, without effort. Like it came innately. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, his digits buried deep inside curved towards him, stoking a fire at the hearth of her.

“Answer me.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes—I am ashamed—”

It was all she managed before the feeling began to crest, building and building as if she were climbing some great height and was about to tumble off. But she only exhaled shakily as Daemon withdrew his fingers from her fluttering, sensitive walls, using the moisture to lubricate himself with a careful caress of his manhood.

He chuckled at the wounded expression on her face. “No need for shame, Princess.”

She caught the glint of his ring as he wrung the fabric of her skirts in his fist. Her eyes widened as the head of his cock disappeared easily between her swollen folds, with no real full feeling until he pushed forward, both with hesitation and a sort of evil excitement.

Her back pressed against the jagged stone, her lips only parted to suck in air where it had left her lungs. It was a feeling she could describe very little, the sting of being stretched around him painful and yet once sheathed fully inside her, hips pushing against her own. Daemon wrapped his fingers around her fleshy thigh to tug her leg over his hip, a flash of white hot pleasure creeping up her spine. He only grunted, her slick ridges gripping him greedily without any effort on her part.

For a few moments, he stayed like that as if waiting for any complaint, but when he found none, began a steady rhythm, fingers creating crescent-moon shaped welts in her skin. He did not share in her reaction. He simply raised one corner of his lips in a pleased manner, watching her face, treating it very much as a lesson in pleasure more than anything else.

She could scarcely think with the violent push of his hips, the notch of his belt stabbing into her each time.

“My nephew does not deserve this perfect. little cunt.” He grunted from the effort. “Tell me, Princess—when he is fucking you with his narrow little prick, will you be thinking of this instead?”

Her eyes slipped shut, her head tipped back and fingers coming to her own mouth to muffle the lewd sound that threatened to come out. Her perceived embarrassment at her own enjoyment of this only seemed to motivate Daemon further, and he widened her hips with a soft nudge of his knee against her leg and groaned at the way she tightened around him.

“You liked that, didn't you?” He breathed against her face, looking briefly down between them to watch how he rooted himself inside her over and over, as if unable to believe this was really happening. “I bet he won't make you this wet. I doubt the little cunt will even know how to make you come.”

Her skirt fell from his hand as it drew down between them, and she resisted the urge to squeal when he began to apply pressure in tight, sure circles around her bud.

“You shall have to teach him those pleasures.”

Her fingers gripped his forearms tight as she climaxed, her tight, hot walls spasming around him uncontrollably. It was so utterly different to the way she had pleasured herself before. This time, the forbidden combination of Daemon stretching her open around him and the pleasure he coaxed from her with his fingers meant that this peak seemed to drain her entire body of energy. Her body feeling boneless in his hold, that if he let go, she would surely lose her balance.

A flash of fear cracked like lightning across her subconscious. Surely he did not intend to spill inside her?

He did not overstimulate her for much longer as he neared his own end. Rather, he savoured the feeling of her warmth sucking him in for just a few moments more before pulling out, stroking himself vigorously to completion, warm ropes of his spend coating her lower stomach.

In the quiet dead of night with only her laboured breathing to echo within it, she felt her eyes could not keep up with her mind as she glanced back up at him. His rapidly cooling seed began to dribble towards her thighs, swiftly covered by her skirts once more as Daemon lowered her clothing back into place. The reality of the dangerous and yet delicious sin she had committed with him began to rise into clarity.

Upon his fingers shone the damning proof of his sordid claim on her, pearly in the glow of torchlight. “What a waste. I’d have liked to see it dripping from you.

But that pleasure… I shall save for my nephew, sweet girl."

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

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aemondsbabe · 4 months

Text

Into the Woods

summary: in nature & deepthroating || you just can't resist aemond after he's been riding

pairing: aemond x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, public kind of (they’re in the middle of the woods and no one shows up but it’s still public ig???), dirty talk, deepthroating, gagging on a cock, oral sex (m receiving), cum, swallowing cum, brief spitting, crying but it’s good, allusions to oral sex (f receiving), aemond treating vhagar like an oversized housecat, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.9k

a/n: happy day six of 12 days of smuff! halfway there!!! i hope y'all enjoy this, frankly, depraved one!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @hoosbandewan!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“And one more step, sweetling,” Aemond says from behind you, his hands firmly on your waist as he helps you climb down from Vhagar’s enormous saddle. Finally, both of your feet touch the earth once more; you can’t help but let out a relieved sigh, no matter how many times you ride Vhagar with your husband, you’re always thankful to make it to the ground in one piece. “There we are,” he says with a smile, spinning you around and sweetly pressing his lips against yours, “Perfect, as always.”

Even after so many years together, you still blush at his compliments. “You were right about going riding today,” you admit with a small sigh, thinking back to him finally convincing you to accompany him earlier that morning, “It was absolutely breathtaking as usual.”

Aemond merely smiles and leans in to kiss your forehead, lilac eye soft as it meets yours, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, my love.”

Finally, he turns to Vhagar with a bright smile, the only time he ever smiled fully, with his teeth. “Se ao gōntan rōvēgrie tubī tolī, ñuha gevie riña,” he said brightly, stroking his hands along her rough scales as if he were petting an enormous cat, “Kirimvose, Vhagar.” He whispers, downright reverently, and rests his forehead against her for a moment, as if he were trying to communicate telepathically with the giant beast. (“And you did great today too, my beautiful girl.”) (“Thank you, Vhagar.”)

And for all you know, maybe they are, for it‘s at that moment that Vhagar grumbles contentedly, the pattern of it familiar to you now. She swings her massive head around to sniff Aemond, huffing in a way that sounds pleased, even to you, like she’s just as happy being with him as he is with her.

Finally, her huge, breathtaking orange eyes fix themselves on you. Your heart leaps in your chest, it always does, and you can’t imagine there will come a day when it doesn’t. Steadying your breath, you lift your arm in the smooth, calm way Aemond showed you many years ago, and extend your hand out. Your breath catches as she leans in and you glance at Aemond, who is still rubbing away at her side and murmuring Valyrian praises, a soft smile on his face. Vhagar huffs as she sniffs your hand, her warm breath fanning over your arm, before another loud purr rumbles through her, evidently pleased with you in some way you’ll never understand, before turning her head back around and resting it against the forest floor, an indication that she’s done for the day.

Aemond pulls away from her with a sigh, patting her once more before taking your arm and leading you from the massive forest clearing in which the dragon resides. “It’s a pity she’s too large for the Dragonpit,” you say sadly as you and your husband walk hand-in-hand down the narrow, winding path that leads back to the Red Keep, “I hope she doesn’t get lonely out here.”

Aemond huffs out a small laugh, smiling as he turns his gaze toward you for a second. “Truthfully, I think she likes it out here,” he murmurs thoughtfully, “She needs some solitude, I believe.”

“She’s very much like her rider in that way,” you smile, bumping your shoulder against his, “Always needing alone time.”

Aemond is quiet for a second, sinking into that contemplative silence he so often went to after a long day. Just when you’re ready to accept that the rest of the walk back would be done in silence, he speaks again. “Never from you, though, my love.” He says lowly, squeezing your arm a bit tighter as he does.

You look over at him with a soft smile, the evening sun shining through the canopy of leaves overhead lights his pale hair in a golden halo, making him look every bit as ethereal as the Targaryen’s are rumored to be.

The light in his hair makes you think back to earlier that day, makes you think of every time you’ve ridden Vhagar with him. You think of how commanding he is on the saddle, how regal and elegant he looks with the breeze blowing through his long hair. How free he looks, how happy. On dragonback is truly where your beautiful husband shines, where he’s most himself.

It makes a familiar heat burst to life within you.

Suddenly, you feel nearly dizzy with how badly you need him. How badly you need to please him, to worship him like he’s one of the Gods.

Unable to contain yourself further, you come to a quick stop before pressing him back against the thick trunk of a tree, catching him so off guard that he has no time to react and lands with a soft thud against the bark.

“What — ?” He hardly has time to voice the question before you’re pressing your lips against his desperately, letting out a shuddering, high-pitched moan as you press yourself against him. The kiss is more teeth and tongues than anything else, Aemond determined to keep pace with you as he pulls you ever tighter against him, his length already hardening in his leather riding trousers at your eagerness.

Finally, you pull away from him with a soft, shy smile, teeth biting into your lower lip. “Where in the Seven is this coming from?” Aemond asks, peering at you with amusement.

“I need you,” you nearly whimper, grabbing at his leather tunic, “Now.”

His eye widens, glancing around the forest before flicking back to you, “What, here?” You merely nod, and he huffs out a small laugh, “Sweetling, why not wait until we’re back in our —.”

“I can’t,” you sigh, cutting him off yet again as you trail kisses down his jaw and neck, “Need you now.” You murmur before sinking to your knees, though you don’t miss the way his eye darkens as your knees plant themselves against the earth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, fingers immediately running through your hair, smoothing it out in the way he always does, “My love —.” He starts again, and you can sense the refute coming.

“Aemond, if I don’t, I fear I’ll die.”

“You’ll die?” He laughs, blushing despite himself, as he cups your cheek gently in one hand, sighing as you lean in and press warm kisses against the outline of his hard cock through his pants, “We definitely don’t want that… get on with it.” He pants, lightly tapping your cheek in a way that makes your eyes flutter, the casual dominance of it sending you into a tailspin.

Your hands shake with need as you quickly unlace his breeches, your groan almost as loud as his when his hard length springs out, his cock already throbbing and dripping before you even wrap your hand around him.

You peer up at him through your lashes as you finally grasp his length, whimpering at the way it twitches against your palm.

Just as you’re about to lean in and lick the tip, he stops you with another gentle tap against your cheek, “Open.” He commands simply, and you blush deeply as you comply, opening your mouth in a perfect O shape as you look up at him. You watch as he gathers spit in his mouth before he leans forward and nearly connects your lips before spitting harshly into your mouth, chuckling at the breathy moan you let out as it settles against your tongue, “Good girl, sweetling.”

His simple praise is enough to have your center aching and you continue with more determination as you wrap your lips around the head and suck gently, using your hand to stroke his length as you do.

The effect is instantaneous, a proud heat stirring in your belly as Aemond’s head falls back against the tree, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously as he lets out a gruff moan. His fingers twine through your hair as you begin bobbing your head over his length, slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth, savoring the heavy feeling of him resting against your tongue.

You focus on breathing through your nose as you take as much of him into your mouth as you can, until your nose rests firmly against the warm skin at the base of his cock. His length swells into your throat, making your eyes water as you look up at him, watching the way his chest heaves as you try not to gag.

Finally, he looks back down at you and growls low in his chest, resting a hand on the back of your head as you work your mouth over his cock, not enough to push your head down but enough to remind you he’s there.

You moan around him, one hand braced against one of his thighs while the other comes up to cup his stones, gently kneading them in time with your gags around his length, a few tears streaming down your cheeks as you let him prod at the back of your throat.

“Gods,” he rasps, sucking in air through his teeth, “You want me to breed that sweet little throat, my love?” He asks, his voice low, nearly menacing, as he gazes down at you, lilac eye almost black enough to match the patch that covers the other one.

You nod around him as best you can, determined to keep him in the back of your throat until he meets his end and, lucky for you, that doesn’t seem too far off.

“Sweetling,” he rasps, fingers tightening in the hair at the back of your head as he ruts his hips against you, spearing your mouth somehow further down on his cock, a handful of times before he groans loudly, eye rolling back in his head as his length pulses in the back of your throat, his spend pouring into you.

Your eyes water as you take all he has to give, fingernails digging into the leather covering his thighs as you swallow around him. Finally, he relaxes and you pull off of him and suck in deep lungfuls of air, coughing a little as you wipe a hand over your mouth.

Aemond pulls you up to him, cupping your cheeks gently as his thumbs wipe away your tears. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he whispers reverently, eye sweeping over your face as he takes in your flushed cheeks and rosy lips, “You did so well for me.”

“I always hope to please you, husband,” you say with a soft smile, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips before sighing as he trails kisses down your jaw and throat.

Before you know what’s happening, he whirls you around, pressing your back against the thick tree where he once was. You open your lips to ask what he’s doing but he silences you with another kiss.

You gasp as he sinks to his knees in front of you, a mischievous smirk on his face as he pulls up the skirts of your gown. “So well, in fact,” he starts, pressing kisses up the inside of your thigh, “That I think my good girl needs a reward.”

Any reply you had waiting dies on your lips as a moan escapes you at the first swipe of his deft tongue against your soaked core, your hands tangling in his hair in the same way his had in yours. Yes, you thought as you tilted your head back against the tree, The Targaryen’s are absolutely sent from the heavens.

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