#black sheer window leggings

[wickedlegs]

Sweet morning run!

[apostrophe-9]

[tarjapearce]

Laus Be

WARNINGS: SMUT. Double cock Demon Miguel, Not proofreaded, Mild dub-con, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

A/N: I'm high af on Advil and had to take this out of my system before I forgot. And yeah jskjs. Probably comes out as crack fic jsksj.

[Laus Be - Praised Be]

Summary: A cult offers you as a tribute to the Demon King himself ~

Viscous crimson liquid rolled off your chin as you were forced the goblet on your lips. Some of its remnants seeping and sliding down your throat.

The chants of cloaked figure around you intensified as they prepared their sacrificial lamb for slaughter. You.

They had not only kidnapped and kept you in the shadows for a while, depriving you from external stimuli that could soil what they had in hand.

Silence had turned your biggest company in the dark, stony, fusty and humid cell, you were being fed with selected things. And no matter how much you begged, they never released you.

You didn't know them, neither their faces, as them remained perpetually obscured by the cloaks. The only indicator they were human was the fresh smell of charred flesh in the back of their palms. A skull like spider symbol  burned and forever marked into their skin.

You were kept in the dark until now. Everyone spoke in a foreign language you've never heard before.

One of them dragged you away from the  twisted comfort your cell provided you, another group, bathed you in such delicate oils and perfumes, a common practice among the royals, and finally donned in nothing but a white silky and lace robe.

Then you were taken to another room, more like dragged, a golden chalice brought to you. The sickly sweet smelling concoction stared directly at you, but naturally, you refused.

Do not ever accept a drink from a stranger.

Wise words from your old man came into mind, but the wistful thought was shaken away as the liquid was forced down on your throat. Some droplets staining your angelic appearance. Their cloaked leader seemed annoyed you had ruined the immaculate purity your dress limned.

But it mattered not. Not when you were guided to a different room. A room that immediately lit on its own, revealing several pentagrams carved on the floor and walls. Candles melted, but they seemed perpetually alight, neverending incandescence illuminating and warming the room.

An appalling contrast from your cell, from the place in general. There was no windows, not a glimpse of anything that could dictate you who reigned over the skies. Day or night. Your sense of time had been so warped you couldn't even tell how many days your stance in this place had been.

Your eyes felt heavy, droopy and your body shivered. The perkiness of your breast peeking through the silky and soiled gown. One of the cloaked figures pulled you inside the outer circles of the first pentagram.

The contact of their skin made you whimper. You didn't know what had came over you, but certainly that sweet drink you were forced down a little ago, had everything to do with it.

The gates closed behind you, as the mystery people surrounded you. All of them kneeled as their voices united in an ancient chant.

Your mouth panted as they repeated the chant.

Laus be, Rex tuus [Praised be, Our King]

Your heart thumped harder, as your temperature increased. Heat and fear spreading through your body as the circles of the pentagrams begun buzzing with dark energy, soaring into life.

The chants increased, and so the smoldering heat between your legs.

An Aphrodisiac?

You didn't know not cared. The only thing in your mind was to run, as fiery red eyes emerged from the dark mist that disippated into tangible black spiders. Spiders that approached to you in a freakish speed.

Egredere de requiem tuam!

[Rise from your slumber]

You fell on your knees. The presence of the emerging entity had your insides cry in sheer need. Your body was rioting against all rational thought. Need clawed and begged to be acknowledged, but fear clung so hard you tried in crawling away, only for a hand to reach for your ankle and drag you back.

"No!"

You whimpered as the spiders crawled on you, panic rose at seeing them jumping all over your body, you tried to shake them off in your haste, but a low growl made you still. Deliciously low and dangerous. Your heart and clit pulsed.

No, no, no! Run!

The little crawlers hopped on your body again, to your shock, they melded together, taking the shape of hands that were now caressing whatever exposed piece of skin you had as other tugged and tore at the ceremonial robe, forcing you deeper in the pentagram circles, right before the demon.

Palms brushed on your bare body, by instinct you tried to cover up, a pair of hands stopped you. Black mist hands held your arms above you, wrist together as the rest proded at your outer folds, squeezed your breast together, pinched your nipples, kneaded your hips and ass.

"S-Stop!" You mouth lied and the demon before you smirked. His sharp and well sculpted factions revealed to you. Despite the horns attached to his forehead, he was as beautiful as terrifying. Sharp teeth shone when he plunged his big thumb inside your lips, toying with your warmth and moist tongue.

"Don't fight it"

Raspy and underwordly voice echoed through the walls

The summoned hands ventured a couple of fingers inside your now soaked hole. Your eyes drooped even further. A debauched expression coming through your flushed face. You licked his thumb, and engulfed it with closed eyes as the fingers slid in and out of you.

"Surrender to me"

He growled as another finger stretched your squelching and pulsating cunt. His thumb twirled against your tongue as his body took it's final shape. Broad and well sculpted torso, narrow waist with a sight that made you clench around his fingers and your mouth water. Hard and proud cocks, adorned with thick veins, a happy trail decorating the above.

The chants never stopped, but it didn't matter. You were focused on his deep and alluring voice that called you into the depths of depravity where he came from. You were a sacrifice offered for him to devour.

Pushed on your knees and crawling to him, whimpering as his fingers slid faster out of you, edging you to your first demise.

His clawed hand took gently your chin, holding it open as his other hand took one of his hefty cocks and fed you the tip, you immediately took a hold of the other one, stroking your hand on it. All inhibitions gone as your mouth worked  him. He tasted rich, tangy and so addictive. He cackled at your shameless cock worship. Both mouth and hand wet and warm.

Your tongue was desperate to taste every inch of him, your eyes glowed in the same red hue. Your strokes on his second cock went faster, nearly fisting him between a tight grip. He hummed in approval

"So eager to please" He grunted and pushed deeper inside you, the stretch in your jaw was worth the pain as he slid in and out of your plump mouth. His hand bobbed your head on his length, coating him with a mix of your saliva and his pre cum.

You gagged but he pushed you as deeper as he could, holding your head still as his hips rammed on your lips, Your nose nuzzling and inhaling his musky and tantalizing scent that not only sent your senses in a stronger riot. He growled as your throat muscles clamped around him, tightly, just like your hand.

"Wonder if it's as tight between your thighs"

He rasped with a grunt and thrusted a few more times before releasing your head. A thick thread of his cum connecting your lips with his tip. You gasped, mouth gaping as the soft and wet noises kept coming from his soaked fingers. Your need to hold onto something only increased as your hips moved on their own, sinking deeper ontop of them.

"Pl... Please!" You mewled in between breathless pants. Your flesh soaked and quivered under his ministrations, imploring to be taken

"Are you begging to be destroyed, little one? Is that what you want?"

You nodded and his sharp fangs came into view as a wicked smile stretched in his meaty lips.

"So be it."

You mewled once more as he pulled his summoned fingers away from your slit, snake like tongue curling around them, taking a taste of you. He growled and pushed you to the floor.

Summoned hands immediately taking a hold of your body, spreading your legs for him to take in the sight of you. His lips were brought into sight as he approached your puffed and drenched cunt.

Slimy and amphibious like tongue slid between shivering folds, to then push in inside you. Clawed hands brought your hips against his mouth. Your hands clenched in tight fists at the pressure

His slithering and coiling tongue made you scream at the overwhelming sensation of him instigating your orgasm. His tongue was a bully, just as his hands that toyed with your clit and butthole.

Your nipples, engorged by the constant pinching and pulling. Toes curled in as you came into his mouth. As he left you, your insides felt empty, in dire need to be filled again.

One would think after such ministration the effects of the lust would tame down, but since the chant of the cloaked figures never stopped, your lust didn't subsided either. It only burned with such intensity you were growing to fear.

The handsome devil positioned himself between your legs, his sprung cocks twitched, ready to be plunged. The summoned hands folded you in half, exposing your holes to him.

The fist one rubbed in between your folds, coating it even further in your slick as the other one poked at your second tight hole.

"Oh God!" You cried as he stretched tortuously slow both of your holes at the same time, only to end up in a powerful plow as you mentioned 'god'.

He growled as his hand squeezed your neck, dangerously tight. Your arms restrained above you

"You'll see what a real god , feels like, wench"

Your spine arched as his hips began moving. To say you felt full was a measly thing compared to how your body was being used. Your lower belly bulged everytime he slid in, he pulled out only to plow deeper. Your skin shook by the rough display of power.

The hands that kept feeding your delusional debauchery, held you in place. The room was filled with your breathless and unceasing pleas and needy cries. A lot of 'Yes!' along with 'It hurts so good' and more 'use me!'

Your hips felt like breaking by the hefty weight of his own as they slapped against yours. Your senses were drowning in the sensorial overload he slowly put you through.

Skin burned, your nose kept smelling him, sweet and musky, adding to your already overwhelmed arousal, His taste reminiscing on your tongue, Your eyes locked in his cocks and how these disappeared into you, taking you to a new level of pleasure you'd never thought reaching. And hearing his growls everytime you clenched around him made you reach your second orgasm right away, despite him just starting using you.

"Pathetic" He sneered

His thrust increased in strength, making you spill out broken pleas and incoherent mumblings. The rough friction felt like nirvana itself. Overstimulation was devastatingly delicious.

Hands turned your convulsing form down. Chest flat against the floor, your arms were restrained behind your back by his demonic hand, and your plump ass, up, awaiting to be ruined.

You took a look at the hooded figures, none of them were looking, but they kept kneeling and chanting like their lives depended on it.

The new stretch on both your holes made your eyes roll back and your jaw to slack.

An array of lewd curses flew out your moaning mouth. His cocks fought for which hole came first. Your sobs choked and were replaced by mild grunts and screams as your body lurched forward at the force his god like body exerted on you.

Bot of your holes were shaped into his girths, stretching and welcoming him despite their continuous bullying.

The back of your thighs tainted red by the rough slaps and thrusts.

Another orgasm for you. Both holes clamped and creamed around him, his cue for giving you a little break that didn't last much as he laid on his back and sheathed you ontop, earning a weakened and shivering scream from you.

"I can't!" The hands held you again, helping your hips to move up and down as they spreaded yours ontop of his thighs.

A frown came into his face, with a swift movement of his hands, he made the summoned limbs to sheathe you faster and rougher. Your slick rolling down his thighs. His hand pulled your hair down as you wailed like a banshee in need.

As much as you wanted to close your legs, it was impossible. Pleasure turned borderline painful as his other hand squeezed your throat. The asphyxia only increased the brain splitting sensations.

The demon king only laughed with sultry mockery at your state. He wasn't even half satisfied, and you were already losing your mind.

What was it? Four? five? The clenching and sobbing from you just confirmed the fifth one.

"Giving up so soon?"

This time, he cradled you into his arms and summoned a throne. A throne where he'd sit down and sunk you once more ontop of him.

You shook your head vehemently, trying to get away. Your arms were numb behind your back. Both holes deliciously stretched, empty and a tired face Miguel still found amusing and endearing as to how you reacted.

He was holding back after the third orgasm. Humans felt always welcoming. But you, you felt heavenly.

So tight and delicious. A need he had to sate every year. The past tributes were outright awful. You had been  entertaining him for quite a while now.

His free hand cupped your cheek before his lips crashed onto yours. He moved his hips in a slow motion, trying to give your raving a pause as he took his time in exploring your mouth with his own and his tongue.

Your moist muscle opposed little at the slithering and coiling one that had you breathless in matter of seconds. Your body glistened in sweat. Hair strands etched to your neck, super back and cheeks. Flushed flesh and a dumb gone look that made you even more worthy to look at.

He had ruined you. And it was time to reward your outlasting.

His lips let you go and his hips began moving once more. You couldn't even utter a proper word. Voice hoarse and raspy. Mouth dry.

As he kept pounding and relishing your broken body, you couldn't help but collide against his chest and arch your back, creaming at the base of his first cock as your ass squeezed his second

He took a fistful of your front strands and seized your face as pleasure flooded your senses once more.

"Eyes on me, wench"

Miguel commanded despite your obvious struggle to remain conscious. His pace increased and so did your panting.

Breast bounced mercilessly at his rutting, his lips came closer to yours, you moaned into each other's mouths, before his moved to your neck.

He whispered and groaned things in that ancient language before kissing your tender flesh and biting with his fangs. Marking you as you came with a weakened yelp.

His hand let your arms go to then secure you in a tight embrace while growling and plowing deep enough to have thick spurts of his seed painting your tight and sore walls.

You had achieved what no other lamb had. You had appeased him.

For now.

[starboy-sirius]

may 9 | captivate | @jegulus-microfic | 671 words

Regulus enters the party with one goal: to captivate.

He struts through the painting, the Fat Lady complimenting him as he does so. “My, you look wonderful, dear. Trying to impress someone in particular?”

He hums, a smirk growing on his lips. “Maybe.”

The Fat Lady’s eyes twinkle at him. “Good luck to you, dear.”

Barty and Evan are on either side of him, towering over him like barking bodyguards ready to glare and bite anyone who dares to get too close. After all, Regulus isn’t trying to gain everyone’s attention. He’s after one boy and one boy only. Barty and Evan, who have watched him fail time and time again to seduce the oblivious and stupidly loyal Gryffindor, were all for Regulus’ new plan. 

“Ready for this, Reggie?” Barty croons, winding one of Regulus’ curls around his index finger.

“Honestly, if Potter doesn’t get the hint after this I’ll fuck you stupid instead,” Evan smirks, eyeing Regulus up and down appreciatively. 

Barty glances over at him, smouldering eyes on fire as they dart between his boyfriend and his best friend. He can't say the idea hasn’t crossed his mind once or a thousand times. “Well, now I’m hoping he doesn’t get the hint.”

“Slut,” Evan purrs.

Regulus rolls his eyes at them, but a small grin does grace his lips. “I’m going to need you two to have more faith in this outfit.”

“More faith?” Barty exclaims. “I was the one who designed this little get up, thank you very much. It’ll work, trust me.”

Evan hums. “Maybe we can get Potter on board with the whole thing.”

They walk into the Gryffindor common room, the party in full swing with people already drunk and disorderly. Some are smoking by the tower windows, their eyes ringed red and their giggles floating around in the air with the smoke. Sirius, Remus and James are sitting with their usual gang of friends on the sofas by the lit fireplace. 

It’s safe to say that everyone’s eyes turn Regulus’ way when he enters. Barty smirks triumphantly. 

Regulus is wrapped in lace, his entire torso on display as it peeks through the leafy patterns on the lace top. His creamy skin causes quite the stir at the party, no one daring to dress as seductively as this. He has more skin on show than anyone has ever seen of him before, the long sleeves falling down and hooking over his middle fingers. His long, lean legs are enclosed in sheer trousers that shimmer whenever he walks, making him look like pure sex as he walks in and comes to a halt, eyes searching for the boy he came here for. 

His eyes, thanks to Evan, are lined with a sharp wing of black kohl, bringing out the silver in his eyes and making them look pearlescent. His lips are rosy and shiny, giving the impression that he’s been biting them, or that someone else has been licking and biting them for him. He looks delectable. 

Regulus meets the brown of James Potter’s eyes and lifts one corner of his lips up, eyes glittering like his namesake. James stares at him with a gaping mouth, his entire body frozen as if Regulus has stolen all the breath from his lungs. Sirius is adamantly trying to get his attention, his own grey eyes flickering between his brother and his best friend, trying desperately to understand what is going on. James ignores him, solely focused on Regulus. 

So much so, that when Regulus raises a hand and beckons James over with a crook of his finger, James is stumbling upwards like a newborn deer and tripping over himself to get as close to Regulus as he can. He’s blushing as he walks over, hands fluttering at his sides giving away his nerves. 

Regulus grins like a shark and leans into Barty, listening as his friend whispers, “Mission accomplished.”

“Well,” Regulus hums. “The night is young. Maybe Evan will get what he wants by the end of it.”

[sincerelyneo]

no judgement | l.mk

“i can be your lover or your shoulder to cry on, you can be whoever you like”

💿now playing: no judgement by niall horan

❯ summary: Mark’s shocked to see you at his front door step crying, but he isn’t surprised. You do this all the time - get a new boyfriend and forget about your childhood best friend. And the minute that asshole dumps you, you always want him to pick up the pieces. And he will. He always does.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader (brief mention of yuta)

❯ genre: friends to strangers to lovers? smut, angst

❯ words: 4.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, protected sex, lowkey sub!mark, hookup, rebound sex, glasses kink, big dick mark bc yes, oral sex (m receiving), nipple play, slight begging, yuta is an asshole for the plot, reader is also kinda mean, mentions of cheating (not between mark + y/n), slight unrequited love, use of ‘pretty girl’, reader uses she/her pronouns.

Mark thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. I mean - it would make sense - the last time he’d checked the clock on his desk it was 12:17 am. So, there’s no way the light knocking on his front door is really happening…right? 

He tries to focus on the papers in front of him - a work assignment that was due last week that he’d already managed to get an extension on. He knows his boss will have his balls if he doesn’t have it completed and on his desk by 8:00 am sharp tomorrow (today). 

However, Mark’s fears of premature insanity are put to a quick end this time when the knocking is paired with an unnecessarily loud yelling through his letter box. 

“Mark Lee if you don’t open this door right now, I swear I’ll kick your ass the next time I see you.” 

Now that - the sound of your voice - wasn’t in his imagination. 

You bang harder, clear that you're using a fully clenched fist to make as much noise as possible.  “I’m serious dude, I’ve kicked your ass before, and I’ll do it again. Now open. The. Door.” 

Mark knows he should just ignore you, pretend that he’s sleeping and focus on his work; but, he hasn’t seen you in months, and you are supposed to be his best friend after all. He can’t just leave you out on the street at this hour — he won’t — what sort of friend would he be?

He rises from his desk, removes his glasses, and places them gently on the wooden surface before pinching the bridge of his nose.

You knock (pound) again. 

“‘Alright alright, jeez, I’m coming,” he says, followed by a small curse as he ushers through his hallway to the front door. 

As he swings the door open, he’s almost hit with a nasty sucker punch to the cheek as you simultaneously raise your fist to knock again.

“Woah there, calm down, you’re gonna get me a noise complaint,” he flinches. 

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” you point to the house next door, “That woman has been glaring at me from her window since I got here.” 

Mark peers out of his house, the cold night air nipping at the tips of his ears, and sees his neighbour looking down shaking her head disapprovingly at him. He raises his hand in a feeble apology, with a tight-lipped smile to ease the edge, but it doesn’t, he knows it doesn’t and he knows he’s going to have to do a lot of ass kissing in the morning. 

“Well, Mrs Kim and her husband have just had a baby.” 

He watches you shrug then grimace, “How was I supposed to know that? They didn’t have one the last time I was here.” 

It’s now when Mark takes in the person standing in front of him, a mere silhouette of his childhood best friend. You’re barefoot, which already raises questions in his mind, and a bottle of wine is in your hand. Your hair is dishevelled and mascara smudged under the bottom of your eye – which makes sense since he can see the faded redness from where he knows you’ve been crying. 

 “So, you gonna let me in or what? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Well obviously, Mark thinks, you’re wearing nothing but a short black dress, covered by a thin sheer blazer leaving your legs completely bare in the middle of winter. Your teeth chatter and he has to suppress the smile threatening to dance on his lips because it reminds him of when the two of you used to mess around in the snow during winter break back in high school.

But he pushes those memories to the side, just like his front door, as he makes enough room for you to slip into his house. As you step inside, you waste no time making yourself comfortable - old habits die hard you guess - remembering how things used to be.

You remove the blazer you're wearing and walk over to Mark's desk, draping it over the back of his chair. Your eyes fall on the sheets of paper scattered across the surface, partially covered by his glasses. You recall that he had stopped wearing them during junior year, opting for contacts instead - a decision you found disappointing. You had always liked his glasses; they made him look kind of... cute.

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

Yes. 

“Nah, not really,” Mark shrugs following in from behind you. 

“Really?” You ask picking up a sheet of paper as you raise an eyebrow, “Marketing campaign for neo gummies, on my desk Monday 8:00 am.”

There’s a smile on your face as you read it because it’s nice to know that the Mark standing in front of you is the same as the one you grew up with. He was always the last person to hand in his college assignments, and school science projects; but don’t get it wrong, he’d always ace them. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve basically finished it.”

Mark’s lying, and you can easily tell by the way his arm reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. It's a mannerism you've become aware of, noticing how he used to do it when you asked him for his opinions on some of your uglier fashion choices throughout high school. 

“You sure?” You add, “I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with your boss or anything. Especially now that you live in this fancy-ass townhouse, your mortgage payments must be crazy.”

Mark shakes his head with a smile, reaching for his glasses and putting them back on. “They’re not that crazy…”

You give him a knowing look, his living room alone is practically the size of most apartments in the city. But you didn’t expect anything less from him, he’d always worked hard for everything he had. He graduated with flying colours, found a high-paying job after college, bought a nice house; and you’re sure that one day he’d secure himself a nice girl to live in it with him. 

What you’re trying to say is Mark Lee had something to show for himself, which is more than you can say after you took a more leisurely approach to college. Mark had always worked a little too hard for your liking, or maybe you just worked a little too easy for his. Either way, he’s the one with his life put together and you’re just…standing barefoot in his living room, looking a mess, with a bottle of alcohol in your hand.  

“Well then, since I’m not imposing, how ‘bout a drink?” You suggest, waving the bottle of wine in the air in an attempt to win him over and distract yourself from your own reality. As shitty as it sounds, you come to Mark to escape the chaos of your own life, so dwelling on comparisons isn't something you want to keep doing.

For Mark though, he knows he shouldn't indulge in a drink – after all, the work assignment on his desk is practically begging to be completed. But he's always struggled to say no to you, and he's well aware that you know that too. It's why you're so comfortable knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning when most of the city is asleep; you know he'll always open up for you.

And that’s exactly why he’s heading into his kitchen and rooting through his cabinets until he finds two wine glasses. 

When he comes back into the living room, he finds you standing by the fireplace. It's not unusual, considering you were freezing just moments ago on his doorstep from your attire. However, what catches him off guard is that you're not warming yourself by the fire; instead, you're holding a picture – Mark's favourite one – taken by his parents on the day you got your wisdom teeth removed.

"No way you kept this," you groan, though there's a hint of laughter in your voice.

"Of course I did. You were completely out of it on anaesthesia, going on about marrying Lee Taemin," Mark replies.

You squeeze your eyes shut, remembering the way you sent the hot senior you had a crush on in your freshman year a DM in your high state. “Oh gosh, don’t remind me.”

But truthfully, that's not the sole reason Mark kept that picture, or why he still chooses to display it despite having hundreds of clearer, better ones of the two of you together. He treasures that particular photo because it was the day you told him you loved him – although you never brought it up again. Mark pins it down to you not remembering from the anaesthetic, but that photo, it’s the last slither of hope he has left. 

“Well, I must say, Mark Lee, you have had quite the glow-up since your high school days,” you laugh putting the picture back on the fireplace. 

Mark can't believe his cheeks are warming up as if he were that same teenager – pathetic, he thinks. And he wants to say the same about you, but he hardly recognizes you. You're a completely different person from the girl in the picture, and while he loves you, truly, it doesn't change the fact that you're a mess sitting before him.

To his defence, it's impossible not to notice it; he saw it the moment he opened the door and saw your smudged makeup and raw eyes – you’re defeated. And even though he knows precisely why, he still asks.

 "What are you doing here, Y/N?"

You swallow, “Can’t I just come and see my best friend?”

“No, you can’t.”

His words carry a double-edged sword, both an accusation directed at you and an expression of the hurt he's experienced from your repeated instances of ghosting him over the last few months. 

You begin pouring yourself a generous glass of the wine you brought along. If you were going to have this conversation with him, you weren't about to do it sober.

“Yuta broke up with me.”

And there it is. You always do this –  get a new boyfriend and forget about your childhood best friend. And the minute the asshole in question dumps you, you always want him to pick up the pieces. 

And Mark hadn't forgotten the name Yuta; in fact, it had been seared into his mind ever since you posted a picture with him on your Instagram account, looking all lovey-dovey. And then Mark had gone into full stalker mode – because of course he did – he always did. But the thing with Yuta was that he was one step ahead. One particularly awful day at work, when Mark wanted to check your account, he found himself blocked.

Honestly, Mark doesn’t blame Yuta, he’d be lying if he said all his thoughts about you were completely innocent, but you’d never blocked him over a guy before. He's accustomed to the isolation, the ghosting, and the personality changes that come with you getting a new boyfriend; but being digitally blocked by you was a new low. It's safe to say Mark had already formed his opinion about your new ex-boyfriend: he was definitely an asshole.

"Why did he break up with you?" he asks, not out of genuine concern, but rather out of selfish relief. Still, he knows it's the right thing to do.

“He found someone else, or I found him fucking someone else,” you spit bitterly, “and do you know what? That fucker didn’t even give me a chance to grab my shoes before he kicked me out.”

You take a long gulp from your glass, the liquid burning slightly as it goes down your throat, and then you flop back on the sofa. Your movements are heavy, weighed down by more than just the alcohol in your system. As you sink into the cushions, a wave of emotion crashes over you, threatening to engulf you completely. It's a moment of vulnerability that you've been holding back, and tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. You try to fight them, push down the rising tide of emotions, but it's futile. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he reassures, quickly taking a seat beside you on the sofa and resting a gentle hand on your thigh, where he begins to rub small, soothing circles into your skin, just like he used to do. "You can stay here tonight."

You groan into your hands, you can’t believe you're acting like this – pathetic – and it has you immediately defensive. “Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, so quiet Mark almost misses it.

“Like what?”

“All judgy.”

“When have I ever judged you, Y/N?” he questions, his tone gentle, “I’m always your shoulder to cry on, we’re past the judgement stage,”

"I don't cry that much," you protest weakly.

“Well…” he starts, that teasing look in his eye you love.

In response, you push his chest playfully, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Because you’ve missed this – missed him.

And that’s the part that always stings the most: how effortlessly you two slip back into each other's company. Despite not speaking for a couple of months, it's like you didn’t lose any time. And perhaps that's why Mark finds it so easy to keep forgiving you, and why you find it so natural to slide in and out of his life and then expect him to mend your broken heart.

Mark grabs the hand you used to push his chest and looks at you seriously but gently, “Seriously, Y/N, you can just be yourself with me, just like it’s always been.”

His words resonate with you, stirring something deep within the pit of your stomach. You meet his gaze with glossy eyes, and in that moment, you feel an overwhelming surge of emotion. Without hesitation, you lean in and press your lips to his. 

It's a tender kiss, soft and sweet just how you expected Mark’s lips to be. And he melts into it just as much as you do, if not more so. It’s like he craves it, like he’s hungry for it. And he is because you – his first-ever crush, the girl he’s been in love with since he could remember – is pressing her lips to his. The teenager in him is jumping up and down right now.

Just as you're about to deepen the kiss, your face bumps into his glasses, causing both of you to pause as they sit askew on his face. Mark blushes and begins to fumble with them, but just as he's about to take them off, your hand wraps around his and stops him.

“Mmmm. Keep ‘em on,” you bite your lip as you reposition them on the bridge of his nose. “I like them.”

“I didn't realize you had a glasses kink,” he teases.

“Neither did I...just like them on you.”

That triggers something inside of him because his tongue lightly sweeps over your bottom lip where he nips it with his teeth. One of his hands reaches up to cup the nape of your neck; the other finds its way to the hem of your dress, intrusive fingers brushing over your bare skin, making you gasp.

He stills.

Did he just fuck this up? Was he reading it wrong?

There’s a fraction of a beat where you just breathe against him, and Mark feels a twinge of self-consciousness. And just when he’s about to apologise, you dive into him and all reservations are thrown out the window as you give him the green light. 

His hand wraps around your waist and he pulls you over his lap to straddle him. It gives him all the access he needs to grab your thighs and lift you up as he stands. He keeps your lips connected as he wraps your legs around his waist, pressing into you just enough to feel the swelling in his crotch. 

If you thought he was hungry for it before, now he’s starving. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, your breasts crushing against his chest. Your hips start to move against him without any control, almost like it’s instinctual. You suck on his tongue and he groans. And God if it isn’t the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard. 

“You feel so fucking good, Y/N,” he says into your mouth, “Are we really doing this?”

You smile against his lips, “We’re doing this.”

You both take that as a confirmation to go harder, kissing like you’ve been starved of each other for years, and Mark supposes you have. His body moulds to yours and you feel his hand wander to your ass making your dress lift as he carries you out of the living room. 

When you see him heading for the staircase you know exactly where his head is at, and when he opens his bedroom door with you still in his arms, you feel wetness pool right between your legs. 

He drops you on the bed so gently and carefully not to hurt you – because even though he’s so goddamn horny right now – he’s still Mark. When your back hits the whites of his sheets it gives you a moment to look at him, his chest is heaving, lips swollen and cheeks flush. His hair is tousled and it makes your blood run cold. 

He looks like pure sex. Hot sex. Good, filthy, all-night-long sex. And you want him, more than you’ve ever wanted any man before in your life.

Mark kneels on the bed in the space between your legs, coming close enough to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and you wonder if he sees you the same way you see him right now. He brushes your cheek gently with his thumb and you lean into his caress and plant a small kiss against his palm. 

His lips meet yours again as his hands slip between you two. They glide up your leg, to your stomach to under your dress, where he finds you not wearing a bra as your nipples pebble under his rough hands. 

Instinctively, your arms stretch over your head, reluctantly breaking the kiss so he can tug the material off and over you, lips crashing back together as you roll your hips into his with desperation and need. 

Mark groans when he pulls away to look at your naked chest in front of him, it’s a picture he thinks. One that needs to be hung up in an art gallery or some shit – actually now that he thinks about it – he hates the idea of you being on display like that for someone else.

His fingers wind themselves in your hair, a delightful shiver skittering along your body as you soften into his touch. You can’t help but grin suggestively as you look him in the eyes, top teeth holding down on your lower lip as your hands creep low enough to hook into the band of his pyjama bottoms. 

Mark practically whimpers as your hand teases at the elastic, “Please.”

The plea has you smiling wider, knowing exactly what he wants. You remove his bottoms without a second thought, the same time he strips from his t-shirt. His cock springs free, thick and long and straining so eagerly for you. 

You get a thrill knowing you’re the one who’s made him this hard and that makes you want to please him badly. So you do, taking control and flipping him over to be underneath you. He gasps at the motion and then he almost cums untouched at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, lowering yourself down just enough to kiss the tip of his cock.

The teasing touch sends a chill right through him. He leans back on his arms just to see you, eyebrows strained as he concentrates, glasses slightly fogged – he wants to remember exactly what you look like like this. You’re intoxicating, strong enough for him to get drunk on.

“So pretty,” he murmurs under a soft breath and you blush.

You lick your lips, focusing on his cock, flattening your tongue from the base all the way up to his head, where the slit is leaking with pre-cum. You hear him suck in a breath and it makes you smile. 

You like knowing he’s needy, teasing him to ignite small reactions, but continuing to do so would only be hell for you; because right now you want nothing more than to suck on his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever taste. 

You wrap your hand around his shaft and don’t waste another second before your mouth is sinking to suck on him. You manage all you can – there’s a lot of him – and use your fingers to move up the length you don’t swallow, stroking him painstakingly slow.   

As you kiss and lick at him, Mark is going mad because it’s your mouth. Your mouth is wet and hot and currently wrapped around him good enough that his thighs have started trembling. 

It’s not long before his hands find your hair and he helps you to slide more of his cock inside, knowing exactly when to stop instead of making you take too much. But he’s big and thick and your mouth barely covers him – which he hates – it feels like a reminder that he’s not made for you. 

The thought has him letting out a growl, which catches you by surprise from the whimpering mess he was seconds ago. The grip he has on your hair tightens. 

“Fuck, Y/N, suck me harder…” The dirty words sound dominant at first, but they trail off as you continue sucking on him, a lot like you’re melting him, and you fucking love that idea. 

The thought of having him be so desperate for you is making you wetter and needier. And it’s that need that has you reaching up to graze his nipples with your fingers. Mark finds the chill of your cold digits distinctive, responding with a mewl that rings between the walls of his room. 

You can't believe such a small touch makes him so…responsive. 

Every tug on his sensitive peak is enough to pull a sound from his pink lips, enough to make him writhe his hips and edge his cock further into your mouth. 

You twist and pinch and watch as Mark’s face twists in the feeling, mouth dropping open to release a stuttered breath. It’s so sensual - so carnal. 

You pull off his cock with a sickening pop, looking up at him with spit-covered lips. “Who would have guessed your nipples would be so sensitive?” 

Your hand stays at a steady pace, stroking him slowly as you speak. Mark shivers from the loss of your warm mouth around him, but there’s still a part of him that’s glad you stopped. But not because he doesn’t want this — he does, so badly — but because he was starting to feel his cock’s overwhelming urge to twitch with his orgasm. And there was no fucking way he was going to cum before he’d even buried himself inside you. 

In a cooling breath, he replies, “Only sensitive for you.” 

Warmth flushes on your face, and the arousal soaking between your legs begs to soak his cock. He’s so cute when he is all red-faced and whiny, eyes closed tightly as his brows knit together. And you suppose his own state of neediness triggers yours. 

“Want you inside of me now, Mark,” you pant, “Need it.” 

“Fuck~” his voice drips like honey as he moans, hands moving to grab at your waist to flip you under him.

You push yourself further up the bed and he crawls after you. It’s only now he realises the lace barrier still on your skin standing between you and his cock. Your panties are dark blue and they look so pretty against your skin.

He leans down, kissing the inside of your knee, letting his fingers slip up your ankle to cradle your smooth calf.

“Sometime tonight,” you tease.

But Mark likes to go slow, he likes to savour in your sight, study your body to remember every detail for his next late-night fantasy. He wants to bask in you being so bare and so ready for him — not your ex-boyfriend — him. 

He skims his hands further up your bare legs until he slides your underwear down and disregards them somewhere on the floor. Then, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, pressing your chests together skin to skin. He likes it like that — being so close and so intimate with you that it's almost raw. 

He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom. You don’t take your eyes off him once as he rips it open with his teeth and rolls it down the entirety of his length. Heat pools in your stomach because this is happening — and that makes your pussy throb. 

He keeps his eyes on yours as he lines himself up with your entrance, pushing inside of you, breathless. You can’t help but sink your head back into the mattress, eyes closing.

“Eyes open.”

You lazily blink them open.

“Eyes always on me pretty girl,” he demands, thrusting into you. 

You’ve never felt anything like him. You feel so full. He’s everywhere. Even your lungs and head are filled with him.

“Taking me so well pretty,” he groans.

His praise has you gushing, whining with the feeling of him stuffing you. It’s not awkward like the first time having sex with someone can be. It feels like you’ve always been doing this.

“You’re okay?” he asks.

He sounds calm, but you can see the restraint that he’s barely holding on to by the tightening in his jaw, and the tension in his brow.

“More than okay. Just fuck me, Mark. Please.”

He brushes his lips over yours and whispers, “Oh I plan to.”

You smile, but it’s quickly gone as he starts to move, fucking you slowly, then quicker and quicker, and harder and faster. The headboard is banging against the wall, surely denting it, and you know if the neighbours weren’t already pissed about your knocking they’d definitely be pissed now. 

And selfishly, you can’t find it in you to give a shit because he’s like a machine, working thrusts into you at all the right angles to elicit sweet moans from your lips. 

You’re panting and groaning like a bitch in heat. Mind fuzzy with euphoria as your flesh slaps loudly together. If college you knew that Mark Lee, your best friend, was about to give you an orgasm she would have laughed in your face. 

But, God, the man can fuck. 

He urges you onto his cock harder, clit rubbing against his pelvic bone, each time your hips connected in powerful thrusts. 

“Oh God, Mark,” you try your best to keep your eyes open, but the pleasure is threatening to consume you. 

“That’s it. Cum on my cock pretty girl. I won’t come until you do.”

The idea makes you want to hold off forever, let him fuck you for hours just to bask in the feeling of your closeness. However, your body disagrees with that sentiment, and suddenly you’re cumming hard. 

“Shit,” he hisses, feeling your walls flutter around his length. 

Mark doesn’t slow down though, he fucks you through your orgasm like a madman, hammering deep to the hilt to chase his high. 

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N…shit…fuck…” He growls a sound so erotic in your ear, you feel like you might cum again.

He sags onto you, his body heavy but not crushing, his skin warm against yours. You touch your fingers to his cheek. 

“I don’t think I can move,” he says, breathless.

“So, don’t.”

The tips of Mark’s ears turn red at the suggestion, but eventually, he figures he needs to move — much to his dismay. He eases out of you, catching hold of the condom and pulling it off his cock. He rolls off of you and out of bed to put it in the trash before he’s back next to you, arms engulfing you in a hug. 

You look up at him and he presses a kiss on your lips before pulling back. “Are you staying?” 

“Do you want me to?”

“I asked first.” He says.

“I’ll stay if you want me to stay.”

Liar.

Mark swallows, “Okay well, I’ll get us breakfast in the morning then, yeah?”

He says it but he knows come the morning you’ll have slipped out in the middle of the night because this isn’t the first time he’s had sex with you. 

Mark has always been your rebound. Yes, he’s your best friend, but he’s also your favourite hookup call when your boyfriend’s being an asshole.

And he knew that when he first heard you knocking on his front door. He knows you'll never change – and strangely, he's content with that, he’s accepted it. Because even though he knows you'll move on again, he doesn't mind keeping your secrets safe until the next time when you want a man to heal your heart.

Because Mark will settle for being a pity fuck if it means he gets to be a constant in your life.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule III

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: posting this on Father’s day because Mr. Min Yoongi is a daddy 😝

Masterlist, Latibule II

“The renowned Chief of Police, Min Yoongi, who had been missing for a month is now officially assumed to be dead. The Police Department announced on Friday that the memorial would be held a month from now,” the reporter announced with solemn voice as the news shifted to several official photographs of him in his uniform. Damn, he did look good, he thought.

“The whole country mourns the loss of the heroic man who never shied away from danger. He is indeed the loss of our country as thousands of citizens offered flowers and lighted candles in front of the Department,” the view shifted from the reporter to the video footage of the mourning citizens. The front of the Department was indeed filled with mourners, and Yoongi almost smiled. He really almost did if not for Jimin crying dramatically in the middle of the mourners, wearing his formal police uniform as though he was really dead. He thought that Jimin really had a flair for the dramatics. He was laying it thick on the acting, he noted, wailing hard enough to trigger the tears of the other mourners. It would be hilarious, and he would admit he almost laughed if not for the tall man that was caught by the camera for a second. He was standing on the far side of the mourners, unmoving as his eyes were trained on the makeshift memorial in front of the Police Department. He had his hands in his pockets, his face hidden by a black cap. He looked almost nonchalant had it not been for the tension in his broad shoulders.

Min Yoongi only saw him for a second. But one second was enough. He could recognized that man anywhere. One side of his lips lifted, his eyes glinting with something akin to wickedness. With nonchalant movement, he leaned back on the sofa, his legs spread out. In the darkness of the night, only the light from the television illuminated the evilness in his face.

So, he thought, his hyung knew of his death. Interesting.

You were a morning person. Really, you were. You didn’t open your eyes and frowned, unlike your housemate-turned-fake-fiancée, also known as your nuisance. You didn’t get up and decide to terrorize everyone with your dark energy, unlike well…him. You didn’t wake up one day and decided to glare at everyone until you had your coffee…far from the man you had unwillingly adopted.

Wasn’t he too old to be adopted for heaven’s sake, you thought.

You loved mornings, truly you did. You loved opening your eyes and seeing the lights seeping through the sheer curtains. You loved waking up to the sound of birds chirping as they rested on your window sill, unlike Suga who was doing his very best to shoo the birds away from the living room’s window with a heavy frown on his face. You loved mornings and how they represented another day, how they represented hope.

In fact, you loved morning so much that you were up and showering before the sun even shone. You knew he was the opposite of a morning person. But really, you couldn’t categorized him because he was not an afternoon or even an evening person, evidenced by the varying bored, angry, and annoyed expressions on his face. See, you knew he wasn’t a normal person. You knew he wasn’t a morning person.

And that was exactly why you let your guard down.

You were quietly humming to yourself as you stood in front of the shower, letting the water cascade down your body. Your fingers were brushing away the bubbles from your shampoo when the door of your small bathroom opened.

Your peace suddenly gone.

Birds suddenly stopped singing.

Happiness suddenly vanished as you opened your eyes and saw him standing there with his hand on the door knob, his eyes slowly roaming your exposed body appreciatively. It was as though he didn’t want to miss even an inch with the ways his eyes dragged down your body. And then slowly, that stupid smirk returned in his face and it was only then that you woke up from your stupor. He watched you as you scampered to reach for your towel hanging outside the shower stall without even offering to help you. You were huffing under your breath, cursing him with words you did not know you could say.

Suga leaned against the door still leisurely, his hand still resting on the doorknob, an image of a man with so much time in his hand.

“Who knew you’re hiding something pleasant underneath the drab of clothes you’re so fond of wearing?” he drawled as you did your absolute best to hide your damp body with the towel, your eyes throwing daggers at me.

“Don’t you know how to fucking knock?” you hissed at the relaxed man still looking at you.

“Probably not,” he started, “Can’t say my mother was around enough to teach me good manners, though. But I will say that this has been my best decision yet.”

“And it will be your worst if you don’t stop fucking looking!”

He pouted mockingly, “But I’m your fiancé. It’s my right to-“

And then you pulled the shower head, pointed it at him, and blasted him with water. You almost smiled when you heard him cursing as he retreated outside the bathroom. “F-FUCK! Fucking stop! I’m leaving!”

It took more time than you originally wanted to prepare yourself for work and to face the world. You marched out of your room with speed you didn’t know you possessed.

“Going somewhere, angel?” Suga drawled, smiling at you before sipping from his cup of coffee. As if he didn’t do anything wrong the first instance that he woke up today.

“Yes! Away from you!” You shouted before you slammed the door. You could hear him laughing all the way as you left. As if you could escape him if he didn’t let you, he thought.

“You know, I feel like I love you more than you love me. Honestly. There is a power imbalance in this relationship. You finally called me after two weeks that is so hurtful-“

“Seokjin was there,” Yoongi cut him off before dragging a deep puff of his cigarette. “Asshole didn’t even cry.”

Jimin chuckled, his voice holding an amused tone, “He cornered me and asked me where you were. Why would he cry when he suspected you’re still alive, hyung. You know how perceptive Jin hyung is.”

“Not even a little? Damn,” Yoongi replied. Of course, he could fool anyone in this world but not him. After all, he did grow up with him. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him that you were truly gone.”

“He didn’t believe, did he? You’re a terrible actor, Park Jimin.”

He halfheartedly listened to Jimin as he dramatically told him how he went to acting school for a while because of an assignment, how he was top of his class, and how he was depressed at work because Yoongi wasn’t around to make his bleak days brighter.

All that noise and all he could think about was where the fuck you were. Yoongi raised his brow, his eyes shifting for the nth time on the road. It was already dark and you were not yet home. He didn’t know why he hated that, or why his attention was focused on the road instead of the information Jimin was now giving about the fucking traitor who would soon walked down with him to hell.

“-maimed him until he broke down and told me that their boss is also- are you ready for this, hyung? Are you ready for this?- a police officer, too. Looks like somebody’s idolizing you too much,” Jimin reported over the phone, his voice hinting an excitement at having to torture and extract information from the man. Yoongi straightened when he finally saw you walking on the dark road.

Ah, finally, he thought. You were home. He ended the call without saying goodbye to Jimin before he he put off his cigarette. He unconsciously smiled before walking to you. You looked tired, your eyes focused on your steps when you bumped on something that clearly wasn’t supposed to be there.

You were rubbing your forehead before looking up at the wall slash chest of the road hazard, also fondly called as Suga. He looked down at you with an amused gaze.

“You’re late, angel. Where have you been?”

You squinted at him. “Work. What about you? What are you doing out here, Suga? Were you waiting for me? Hmm?” You stepped closer to him as you bombed him with questions.

He stepped back, his cheeks warming up quickly before showing you his bottle. “N-no! I’m out to throw trash! Don’t be assuming-“

You glanced at the bottle with an unimpressed look on your face. “That’s an unopened bottle, sir.”

He blinked rapidly before unscrewing the cover of the water bottle and chugging the contents down as though to prove a point. You raised your eyebrows at him before shoving him the paper bag you were holding.

“What’s this?”

“A phone, asshole. It’s not brand new, but you do need a phone,” you stated casually, walking ahead of him to your house. You wouldn’t tell him that you were worried about him while you were out and working. Not even if a gun was pointed at you. Nope. He had enough ego to last twelve lifetimes. He didn’t need to know.

You missed the completely surprised look on his face. Or the fact that he was looking down at the old model of the phone in his hand with something akin to a confused awe. He knew you didn’t have a lot… and yet you chose to spend what little money you had to buy him this. Meanwhile, in his pocket was the cellphone he stole from your neighbor today.

He sighed. Guess he had to return it to your neighbor tonight.

You should be careful, he thought. He was starting to see you as something other than a means to an end.

Latibule IV

[stvharrngton]

kinktober: day twenty three

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

kink: window/balcony sex

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, unprotected p in v, sex on a balcony, old money!steve, r and steve just got married

word count: 0.9k

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @wheel-of-hyperfixation @mooonyweasley @steveshairspray @jjmaybankswifes-blog

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

The sun was setting, pretty pinks and oranges decorated the skyline of Rome, Italy. The streets below your hotel room bustled as cars drove by, twinkling light and street lamps flashing in the distance.

You sat on the balcony of your hotel room in a white satin robe, flute of champagne in hand, the warm breeze flowing through your still styled hair. Steve appeared behind you, his shirt unbuttoned with the bow tie undone, still snug under the collar and a pair of fitted black boxers still on. A cigarette in his mouth ready to light.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek before he lit the smoke in his mouth.

You hummed at the feeling of his lips on yours, your mind flashing back to having them on every inch of your body not even twenty minutes ago back in bed. You had eloped, the boy whisking you off to Italy to get married in private, something about not being able to stand the judgemental looks of his father as he married the woman he loved.

Steve spared no expense, as usual, only the finest treats and gifts for his girl. Your dress was glamourous, although abandoned long ago, the hotel the fanciest place you had ever seen. You watched him carefully as he took a seat in one of the comfy chairs on the balcony, his lips forming a pout as he blew the smoke from his cigarette.

He caught your eye, a smirk tugging at his lips, “What’s on your mind, love?” he asked.

“You,” you said nonchalantly with a giggle.

He nodded his head at you with his arms outstretched as he stubbed out his cigarette, urging you take your rightful place on his lap. You took your seat gladly, knees digging into the plush cushions either side of Steve’s hips.

His fingers came to mess with the belt that was tied at your waist, pulling lightly until the robe came undone with ease. The white satin barely covering your still naked body, the frilly garter still sitting snugly around your thigh, your sheer stockings dawning on your legs.

“What about me?” Steve breathed, his fingertips teasing your stiffening nipples over your robe. His tongue darting out to lick at his lips as his eyes raked over your body.

“Oh, just about getting you to myself for the rest of my life, Harrington. Not much.” You pursed your lips in a smirk, your body involuntarily leaning into his touch, pushing your chest out into Steve’s large palms.

“Mm,” Steve hummed, “can’t wait to show you off to everyone back home as the new Mrs. Harrington.”

The satin of the robe fell to the side as Steve began to pull your hips against him, letting his mouth wander to your tits, tongue circling the pert buds of your nipples. You keened at the feeling of his lips on you, not that it was the first time that night.

“But for now,” he started, warm brown eyes flitting up to you, “how ‘bout I show you off to everyfuckingone in Rome, hm? Bend you over this balcony and fuck you stupid?”

That’s where you found yourself now, your hands braced on the thick tan stone of the balcony, the hem of your robe fisted in Steve’s hand. His boxers were shoved down his thighs, just enough to free his cock from its confines. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your hip as he fucked his cock into you, nice and slow.

He’d sink into you to the hilt, his bush tickling the peach of your ass as he buried himself inside of you. Your warm, wet walls swallowing him whole, clenching around his length as you tried your best to keep quiet.

Steve had other plans for you, snaking a hand round to your front and up to your neck, his fingers pinching at your jaw. He started hitting in deeper, his hips grinding against your ass as he fucked you.

“Come on, honey, wanna hear you,” Steve breathed out, in between grunts and groans, “want everyone down on the street to hear how good Steve Harrington fucks his girl.”

His words made you mewl, keening as you moaned loudly. The way Steve was so casual with it, how the dirty words came so naturally to him made you go insane. Had your cheeks heating up and your pussy fluttering.

“Oh, Steve, fuck—,” you managed to stammer out, your heart racing and bubbling up into your throat. He had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your jaw slack as you inched closer to your orgasm.

You felt his lips on your neck, wet and sloppy as he breathed in your ear, his hips still rolling against yours. Not a care in the world.

“You like when I fuck you like this, baby? Like when I fuck you nice and deep, for the whole world to see? Fuck— could fuck this pretty little pussy all day long.”

Steve didn’t miss a beat, no stuttering or stammering, no skipping over his words. His thick cock stretching you out as his words swam around your brain. The guy in the next room to you, or below you could see and you wouldn’t care, Hell, the entire city of Rome could be watching, listening, and you couldn’t give a damn.

Not when Steve was fucking you like this.

[lingerina]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 // day eight

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 ➛ voyeurism 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➛ gp!yujin (ive) x fem!reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➛ 1.5k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ degradation, spanking, choking, dirty talk, tummy bulge, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➛ one fateful look into your window evolves into a routine of ruined boxers and a trash full of used tissues nearly every night. 𝐀/𝐍 ➛ i blacked out for this one lol. i didn’t intend for it to be this long but 😮‍💨🤌🏼 i hope y’all enjoy.

Having your apartment unit across from her was a blessing and a curse for Ahn Yujin.

As a sleep-deprived and overworked college student, she typically drew her curtains closed in the early evening because sunlight was the bane of her existence. Any type of light, really. She preferred the warm light of her desk lamp that barely stretched through all four corners of her room, but even darkness was her best friend.

One that’s equivalent to the devil on her shoulder that told her to sleep when she’s dozing off in the midst of studying.

She did end up falling asleep once, and had woken up when nightfall had long made its arrival. The first thing she did upon getting up was shuffle towards the window to close her curtains, but found herself rooted to the floor when she discovered the silhouette of two people through the sheer curtains on the other side of the building. 

They were fooling around in bed. Getting a somewhat censored show for free had definitely woken her up, along with the raging boner protruding from her boxers. Watching the shadow of a phallus disappear into the woman sprawled on her back, observing the way her legs rise and wrap around the other’s waist to pull her closer, filled Yujin’s head with images that she wished were more than just a daydream.

And it occurred almost every night.

Two silhouettes through sheer curtains.

Except it seemed like a new person was being brought home each time, and Yujin wished she was amongst the lucky handful.

Just when she thought she could get away with jacking off to a neighbor getting dicked down, the sheer curtains in their unit were fully open one random night. Panicked, Yujin swiftly drew her own curtains closed but peeked through between them out of curiosity.

To discover that it was you, the pretty neighbor that she frequently passed by on the way to school. The pretty neighbor who also frequented the café down the block from university. The pretty neighbor that started greeting her due to the dozens of run-ins over the course of two months.

To discover that you were the needy slut who brought home different people to sleep with.

Yujin desperately wished for her turn. If it wasn’t already a routine to watch then, it was definitely a routine now. 

You were bold to have sheer curtains, but you’d grown even bolder to have them open for potential lurkers to see. A few partners seemed concerned about it, but you somehow persuaded them to continue forth.

And then it seemed like you were doing it on purpose.

It seemed like you were doing it on purpose when one morning, Yujin threw her curtains open and caught a delectable view of you getting dressed. Having a full-length mirror against the wall opposite of your window was a gift–a feast–for her eyes as her gaze traced over your naked breasts and pert nipples, typically littered with fresh bruises and marks from your rendezvous the previous night. She got a view of your cute ass whenever you slipped a skirt on and turned your hips to look at your own reflection.

It became a struggle to suppress the urge to march up to you and fuck you against the wall every time you greeted her. She saw right through that gorgeous smile of yours. That in your pretty little head, resided the filthiest thoughts because why else would you get run through by half the women on campus and willingly put it on display for onlookers?

Ten minutes ago, Yujin was caught staring into your bedroom window as you were undressing.

Ten minutes ago, she had watched you scribble on a sheet of paper and held it up to your window.

Ten minutes ago, she went searching for the unit number that she saw on that paper.

And now, the reserved and studious Ahn Yujin has you bent over your small dining table, her cock pummeling your aching cunt and earning throaty moans from your kiss-swollen lips. You claw at the surface of the table, grunting as each thrust lurched your body upwards, forcing your tits to drag over the cold surface. Neither of you exchange anything more than a ‘hello’ and a ‘good morning’, so hearing her mutter the most degrading things in your ear causes you to drip even more.

“Such a pretty little whore,” she remarks between gritted teeth, one hand squeezing your hip while the other frequently swings down on your reddened ass. “Can’t get enough dick, huh?”

“You’ve–augh!–been watching me?”

You yelp when her palm lands on your burning cheek once more. She pauses to slink her arm around you, drag her hand up the valley of your breasts, and wrap around the base of your neck. With her chest pressed against your back, the feathery touch of her lips on the junction of your neck sends a chill down your spine.

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

The combination of her sliding out to slam back in, her hand striking your ass thrice, and her fingers squeezing at your throat has your eyes rolling back and shutting. 

“You know damn well you had your shit open for everyone on the block to see. Why so?”

Her words go in one ear and out the other, even if she’s saying it to you right there. “Not enough dick in the world for you? This little pussy-”

You wail when she grabs at your naked cunt still stuffed full of her dick, your engorged clit pulsing against her touch.

“-isn’t getting stretched out enough?”

The force of her grip on your neck drags you off the table and straightens you up. 

Your first impression of Yujin, a colleague that you frequently pass by, was definitely not that she is handsy or rough. Gentle or reserved, but not aggressive and… mean.

Your mouth falls open as her massive cock is shoved back in, stretching you open unlike anyone else, and filling in the deepest crevices that you didn’t think could be reached. She palms at your lower belly, and you moan at being beyond full.

“Feel that?,” she chuckles. “Greedy little whore.”

Keeping her hand in place, she tests another turn, thrusting upwards and nearly bursting at the feeling of her dick bulging against your tummy. She’s fucking your brains out, rendering you speechless and mindless. Not a thought runs through your head, which feels light as a cloud. You only muster choked moans and whiny pleas as she has you under her mercy.

This could be a once in a lifetime opportunity for her. She finally gets to experience this in person, and not just as a show through her window.

She’s going to play out all her fantasies, even if it will take her all night.

She pins you on your back on the table, and you make a mess. Your release puddles on the surface beneath you, spattering all over her pelvis and dripping to the floor. It’s plentiful, filthy, and glorious.

She moves you to the couch, and it doesn’t take long for you to create the same scene.

When you finally make it to your bed, when you think you can’t possibly have any more to give, she pulls out and gets drenched once more in your squirt. She didn’t think a view so lewd and filthy could be so pretty. 

Your words slur when her cock runs through you again. Only this time, the priority is her. She pushes your legs up and subjects your aching cunt through another round. You have reached the brink multiple times and she’s now dangerously close to hers. The advantage of you barely recovering is your walls closing so tightly on her, suctioning her in and creating the most friction for her veiny girth.

Your back arches as she bottoms out. She hugs your thighs against her chest, pinning herself in the depths of your pussy as her load fills you. A few shallow thrusts force every drop back into you, bringing you to ecstasy as she reaches hers. You gently press a hand to your lower tummy, a brief bulge of her cockhead fucking you brainless serving as a reminder that only Ahn Yujin can satiate your needs.

That your high sex drive can finally get a few days of rest and recovery.

When Yujin slowly removes her softened cock, her cum spills out of you. It dawns on her the damage that she’s done to you: her marks atop the faded ones of others, the cum that stains your sheets and all the other places she’s ruined you in, the tremble of your thighs, and the fucked out pleasure on your pretty face.

She admires her work until your eyes slowly flutter open, and you peer up at her with a small smile.

Since then, your curtains have remained closed. What happens between you and Yujin stays between you and Yujin, leaving just your silhouettes through the sheer curtains being the only preview for any curious onlookers to see.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 4: Zeus, God Of Thunder]

A/N: Can you believe we're already 1/3 done with this series?? I sure can't! I hope you enjoy Chapter 4. I'm so excited to show you where we're headed. The times are indeed a-changin'... 😉

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 7.3k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs @minttea07 @babyblue711

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You unzip the floral suitcase that Alicent gave the nurses to pack for you. Inside are the hundreds of greeting cards sent by people from the Atlantic to the Rockies; downstairs, Eudoxia is distributing a dozen bouquets of flowers throughout the house with appropriate grimness, and more arrive each hour. You lift cards out of the suitcase by the handful and lay them down on your bed. Every movement feels slow, every thought muddled, bare feet in cold wet sand that swallows you to your ankles. The windows are open, the sheer curtains billowing. The wind whips in off the ocean, smelling of brine and sun glare, life and death.

Aemond emerges from the bathroom in a gale of steam. He finishes adjusting his eyepatch and then dresses himself: white shorts, blue polo. Aemond wears a lot of blue. It is Greek, is it American, it is the Democratic Party, it is the color of the sky that was once believed to hold Olympus, it is everything he’s ever been or wanted to be. He’s humming The House Of The Rising Sun. It’s the first time you’ve truly been alone since the night before he caught his flight to Tacoma.

Beneath the greeting cards you find the books, cosmetics, and three new sundresses, none of which you ended up wearing home. Alicent bought you a plain black shift dress, matching gloves and flats, and opaque sunglasses to hide your face from the journalists who waited outside the hospital. And there is one last item to unpack. At the bottom of the suitcase is a clear plastic bag containing fabric, white dotted with bruises of common blue violets. At first you are confounded, and then you turn it over to see the dark, saturated stain of crimson. It’s the sundress you were wearing the day you were rushed to Mount Sinai to have Ari. The nurses hadn’t known if you wanted to keep it, burn it, bury it.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, like he’s surprised by the question. He goes to his writing desk and turns the chair around so it’s facing you. He sits, crosses one leg over the other, leans back and hides his hands in his pockets. His tone is gentle, but his gaze is hard. “By the time I heard that you’d had the baby, it was already over. You were out of surgery, he was in an incubator, and that was the immutable reality. I figured there was nothing I could do at that point to improve the outcome. And that’s true. Me flying back early wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you should have been there,” you insist, eyes wet, voice quivering. “You should have known him like I did.”

“Winning Washington was important.”

“Washington is a basket of votes, Ari was our child, he was real.”

“No one told me he was dying—”

“Because you didn’t pick up the fucking phone.”

Aemond is incredulous, like he couldn’t have heard you correctly. “It’s not like I was playing golf or drinking myself under some bar, I was campaigning 20 hours a day and it worked.”

“Nothing on earth could have kept me away from you when you got shot in Palm Beach.”

“So maybe it wasn’t just about Washington,” Aemond says, and his words aren’t gentle anymore. They are razored, dauntless, daring you to battle him. “It’s about the whole picture, it’s about the momentum. If I had underperformed in Washington, the dominoes would fall in Kentucky, and Utah, and Virginia, and then at the national convention in August, and then against Nixon in November. I don’t have the luxury of disappearing from the public eye to sit adoringly by your bedside when we both know there isn’t a single goddamn thing I can do to help.”

“It would have made you look like a better man.”

“But not a better president.”

And like a fracture being snapped back into place, you remember what Aegon said on that bloodstained night in Florida: You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you. You stare down at the ruined dress entombed in plastic, still clutched in your hands. You don’t dare to let Aemond see your eyes. You’re afraid you won’t be able to disguise the betrayal glistening there. You ask, a whisper, a whimper: “Why aren’t you sad?” I thought you loved him. I thought you were always so worried about him.

“Of course I’m sad,” Aemond says, more kindly now, patiently, like he’s speaking to someone who can’t be expected to comprehend. “But it’s different for the mother.”

You can’t reply. If you do, something lethal will pour out, smoke and poison and arrows, something that shoots to kill. Ari was quietly interred at the Targaryen family mausoleum in Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park. It had felt so wrong to leave his tiny casket there in a silent stone prison full of strangers.

Aemond is behind you now, trying to knead the tension out of your shoulders. And for the first time in two years, you wish he’d stop touching you. Your belly hurts, your head hurts, your heart hurts, you are a garden blooming with bruises and scars. “I know you aren’t in your right mind. Everything will be better soon. I promise.”

Tears gather on your eyelashes. “I miss him.”

“We’ll have others. Here, let me take that…” Aemond grabs the bag holding your ruined dress and it’s out of your reach before you can think to resist. “You should get ready for dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply numbly, now gazing down at your empty palms. Aemond leaves with his grisly parcel, and you never see it again. But once he’s gone you don’t shed your black mourning dress, blood-soaked pad, bandages, and shake loose your hair and step into the shower. Instead, you walk around the bed to pick up the mint green rotary phone on your nightstand. You speak to a series of operators before you reach the Harbour Rocks Hotel in Sydney. While you listen to the ringing through the intercontinental wire, you sit down on the bed. You’ve never felt low like this. You’ve never felt so unmoored from everything you had believed about your life.

A gruff, familiar voice answers. He’s just waking up, slurping on his morning coffee, dabbing his moustache with a napkin. “Hello?”

“Daddy, I don’t think I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“What?” he asks, and immediately he is no longer groggy but desperately concerned. Your parents are away on a month-long tour of Australia and often incommunicado. By the time they received news of Ari’s death and called Mount Sinai in hysterics to speak with you, you had told them not to rush home. You were about to be released, and they would not make it in time for the funeral regardless. Aemond insisted on a swift, private ceremony, a detour on the drive back to Asteria, like it was something he couldn’t wait to put in his rearview mirror. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“Aemond, he…” He’s not the man I thought he was. I don’t know him, I don’t trust him. “He’s not acting right, he’s not…he didn’t…Daddy, it’s like he doesn’t care. And I don’t want to be here anymore. Can I fly down to Tarpon Springs when you and Mama get back? Can I stay with you for a while? And then…and then…” You don’t even know what words you’re looking for. They don’t exist in your universe.

 “Listen, honey,” your father says with great tenderness. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” You’re trying to stifle your sobs so no one downstairs hears you.

“You’ve just been through something terrible. So terrible I can’t even imagine it. And of course you’re feeling out of sorts. But Aemond is your husband, he’s your protector and your ally, your best friend, your partner in life. He’s not the one responsible for what happened. You can’t misdirect your heartache at him.”

“But he’s…Daddy, there’s…there’s something wrong with him.”

“Oftentimes, it’s easier for women to talk about their emotions, both good and bad. But for men—especially men like Aemond who are so self-disciplined by nature—it can be like pulling teeth to express themselves. They don’t like to be vulnerable. They actually think they’re failing in their commitments to their wife if they let her see how much they’re struggling. Aemond is hurting just like you are. He might not show it in the way you expect, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Of course he cares.”

How do you know, Daddy? Have you cut him open and studied his brain, his ropy nerves, the dark chambers of his heart? “I thought he saw me like you see Mama, I thought he included me in everything because he loved and respected me, but that’s not it. He just needs someone to help him get elected, that’s all Ari and I were to him, and I can’t…I just can’t…the thought of him touching me now…”

“Sweetheart, Aemond is a good man,” your father says. “He does love you. He does respect you. And he’s doing such incredible things for this country. I have friends in Florida who’ve been voting Republican since Hoover, but they’re crossing over for Aemond. They think he’s the one to clean up this mess. Vietnam, poverty, civil rights, the riots, the shootings, the hippies, the drugs, the Russians, the Chinese, someone has to pick up the pieces and create something that makes sense. Do you think Nixon or Humphrey would end the war by this time next year? Do you think either of them would compel the South to enforce voting rights or desegregation?”

“No,” you say, closing your eyes. But that doesn’t mean I can forget what I’ve learned about Aemond.

“Here, your mom wants to say something.” Your father vanishes; your mother’s voice comes piping across the copper submarine cables that span the length of the Pacific Ocean. You wonder—randomly, distractedly—if any of the wires connecting you to Sydney run through Arizona, the place Aegon told you he didn’t want to leave.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Mama.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, distraught, hearing the exhaustion and misery in your voice. “You’ve got the baby blues, and no baby to hold good and close to help them run their course. I’m so sorry. It’s just awful, so awful.”

You speak before you know what you’re going to say. “I don’t want to be married to Aemond anymore.”

“You’re confused, sweetheart. Your hormones are all over the place, you’re in pain, you’ve just had major surgery, and after this year with all the stress from the campaign and that horrific shooting in Palm Beach—”

“He’s not like Daddy.” Tears are flooding down your cheeks; your voice is hoarse. “I thought he was, but he’s not.”

“You cannot make a mistake like this,” your mother says, and she’s turned from silk to steel. “If you do something drastic now, you’ll wake up in a month or six months or a year and realize you’ve ruined not just your life, but the chance this country had at a better future. Don’t you realize what’s at stake here? Every marriage goes through tough times. Every husband needs to learn how to care for his wife, and every wife how to best support her husband. That’s natural, and you’ve only been married two years. Of course you and Aemond are still learning how to navigate life together. It only seems so much worse because of what’s happened to the baby.”

Is she right? Am I wrong? “I don’t know,” you say weakly.

“If you leave now, what happens?” your mother demands. “You abandon the campaign and Aemond’s support plummets. You are a divorcee, a sinner, a failure. You don’t get your son back. But you do lose everything you’ve helped build. Marriage isn’t an experiment, ‘oh let’s give it a try and if we hit any bumps we’ll call the whole thing off.’ No. It’s a covenant. Marriage is for life.”

Yes it is, in just about every faith, and certainly for the Greek Orthodox Church. You are suddenly consumed by mistrust for your own body, this flesh that failed your son and now is deceiving you with doubt so heavy—like cold iron or lead or platinum—it masquerades as truth. How could you imagine a life after Aemond? What waits for you in Tarpon Springs besides the promise of an eventual remarriage that is banal, powerless, bleak, exactly what you’ve always plotted so willfully to avoid?

“Do you understand me, honey?” your mother asks, and she’s soft and kind again. “I don’t mean to be strict with you. My heart breaks for you, and I love you. I’m not trying to upset you. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

“Yes.” There are people getting massacred in Vietnam right now; there are people who can’t afford roofs over their heads. Who am I to complain? Your tears have stopped; your breathing is now slow and measured. “Yes, Mama. I understand.”

After you’ve hung up, you stay where you are for a long time, your hands folded limply in your lap and gazing at the paintings hung on the pale blue walls: small replicas of The Birth of Venus, Romulus and Remus, Prometheus Bound, Perseus Rescuing Andromeda, Echo and Narcissus, Jupiter and Io. Then you get up to sift through the greeting cards you’ve piled on the bed, not really seeing them. Only one captures your attention. Only one jolts you out of the fog like a flash of lightning through dark churning clouds.

You take the card Aegon gave you back when you were still a mother and set it upright on your nightstand, consider it for a while, wander into the bathroom to scrub the despair from your skin and change into something less somber for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re playing Battleship with Cosmo by the edge of the swimming pool while all the other children splash around, howling with laughter and diving for toys they throw to the bottom and then fetch with their teeth like golden retrievers, G.I. Joes and Barbies and Trolls and even a waterlogged Mr. Potato Head. The nannies are observing intently, poised to leap in if anyone should appear to be at risk of drowning. If Ari had lived, I wouldn’t have wanted nannies to raise him, you think. I would have wanted him to have a normal childhood. I would have wanted to know him.

“Your turn,” Cosmo says with a grin. He’s the one who looks the most like Aegon, or how you imagine Aegon must have looked before the pills and the booze and the long caged decades. His hair is so light a blonde it’s nearly white, his eyes huge and glimmering and mischievous. Battleship is a bit advanced for a five-year-old. Cosmo keeps guessing the same coordinates over and over, so you periodically lie and tell him he’s sunk one of your ships. When you launch a successful attack against his, he seems to think it’s fair game to relocate the vessel to a more advantageous location.

“D7.”

He picks up his aircraft carrier and repositions it. From the record player drifts California Dreamin’. “Nope! Nothing sank!”

“Wow. I’m so bad at this.”

Cosmo is snickering. “Yeah, you are. Really bad.”

“If I got drafted, the Army would be better off leaving me at home. I’d just be a nuisance.”

“What’s drafted?”

“Never mind. Your turn to guess.”

“J12!”

The grid only goes up to 10. Nonetheless, you slap your own forehead dramatically. “Oh no, not again! You sunk my battleship!”

“Yay!” Cosmo cheers, then turns to the Jacuzzi. It’s brand new, just installed last month. “Mom, did you see? I’m winning!”

You glance over at Mimi. She has passed out, her latest Gimlet drained and her head resting atop her crossed arms, propped on the rim of the Jacuzzi. “Uh, Cosmo, run inside and ask Doxie to make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, okay?”

“Okay.” He scampers off, toddling on reckless little legs.

With no shortage of difficulty, you manage to stand. Each day your abdominal muscles feel less like they’ve been shredded and then mended with threads of fire, but the pain is still bad, very bad, and there are spots of skin on your belly that are numb when you skim your fingertips across them. You will have a long vertical scar like Aemond’s, an irreparable reminder of the blood you’ve paid to the cause. And for all your anguish, this particular fact doesn’t torment you. It is proof that Ari existed, however briefly, however futilely.

You amble over to the Jacuzzi, your roomy lavender dress flowing in the wind, and shove one of Mimi’s shoulders. “Mimi, wake up. Get out of the water.”

She mumbles incoherently in response. You reach for her before remembering you can’t lift anything. You look around. Alicent and Helaena are on lounge chairs at the other end of the pool; Alicent is trying very hard to look interested while Helaena shows her about 100 different butterfly species pictured in a kaleidoscopically colorful book. Criston is off giving Ludwika a tour of the property, flanked by a flock of Alopekis hoping for treats. Ludwika is Otto’s wife of six months but only newly arrived, 30 years old, perpetually unimpressed, modelesque, golden blonde, if Barbie was from Poland. Aemond, Otto, and Viserys—his sparse threads of silver hair hanging like cobwebs around his gaunt face, grimacing and clutching the armrests of his wheelchair—are conspiring on the lawn between the main house and the pool. They haven’t noticed your predicament. Fosco is sauntering by wearing some of the tiniest swim shorts you’ve ever seen. He is the son of an Italian count, gangly and chatty and from what you’ve seen almost certainly addicted to gambling.

“Will you help me move Mimi, please?” you ask him. “I’m afraid she’s going to drown.”

“Of course, of course, no problem. Let me handle it. Do not hurt yourself.” He has her half-dragged out of the Jacuzzi before Mimi startles awake.

“What’s going on?” she slurs. “Put me down, I can walk.”

“I doubt it,” you say.

“You are alright?” Fosco asks Mimi as he steadies her on the cement, wet with pool water. She clutches at his forearms helplessly.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Mimi, go inside,” you say. “Eat a sandwich. Tell Cosmo you’re proud of him for winning Battleship.”

“Battleship? Well, that’s just ridiculous. He’s five. Five-year-olds can’t play Battleship.”

“And yet you will congratulate him regardless.”

She can feel your impatience, your judgement, sharp like wasp stings. Mimi retreats like a kicked dog to the main house, somehow summoning the will to remain mostly upright.

You look to Fosco. “Do you know where Aegon is?” You want to see him, but you also don’t; each time you’re in the same room now is a disorienting storm of familiarity, curiosity, painful reminders, annoyance, awkwardness, longingness to again feel as close to him—to anyone—as you did during those fleeting moments at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.

Fosco chuckles. “Where is he ever? Napping, sailing, drinking, on the phone with one of his lady friends. I could not say. I have not seen him recently.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.” The music stops—the record needs to be flipped over—and now you can just barely hear what Aemond, Otto, and Viserys are discussing.

“And you criticized me for going too young,” Aemond says to Otto. “What’s your age difference with Ludwika? 40 years?”

“She’s good publicity. She defected from the Eastern Bloc in search of the American Dream.”

“Being married to you?” Aemond quips. “I think she found the American Nightmare.”

“Speaking of wives,” Otto continues. “I assume since yours had one surgery, that’s how all the future children will need to be born, is that right?”

Aemond nods, frowning. “Yeah. And the doctors said she shouldn’t have more than three. It weakens the uterus, I guess, all that slicing and suturing. Do it too many times and ruptures get more likely, and those can be fatal.”

“Very unfortunate,” Viserys rasps. “Children are our greatest legacy. I wanted at least ten, but your mother…well…after Daeron, it just never happened again.” And you know that this is just one of the ways in which Aemond had planned to win his father’s admiration: by contributing more new Targaryens to the dynasty than anyone else. Now that’s impossible.

Otto sighs wistfully. “To have a brand new baby to parade around in the fall…that would have been wonderful.” For the first time in two years, you can sense that you have disappointed him. Fosco is watching you, uneasy, ashamed, sorry without knowing what to do about it.

“Absolutely,” Aemond says, as if this is not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. “But it’s done now. There’s no sense in dwelling on what might have been. We must look forward. It’s feasible that…well…if we try again and get good news by October, we can announce in time for Election Day…”

You can’t listen anymore. Your belly aching, your bare feet hurrying through warm emerald grass, you traverse the lawn and disappear into Helaena’s garden, painstakingly tended and continuously expanded since she was a little girl. There are marigolds and daffodils, tulips and roses, azaleas, asters, butterfly bushes, chrysanthemums, lilies and lupines, sunflowers, violets, life blooming in a hundred different shades. There are tiny statues too, tucked away in random places, stone angels and untamed creatures, alligators and turtles and rabbits and cats, the only sort the Alopekis will tolerate. At the very center of the garden is a tall circle of hedges with only one opening, an arched doorway cut into the thick lush green. You’ve been here before, though only with Aemond. On a property shared with so many family members—and the occasional intrusive journalist—it’s a good place to escape prying eyes. You pass through the threshold with a hand resting absentmindedly on your belly, as if you’re still pregnant. You keep doing this. Each time you remember you’re at the end of something rather than the beginning, it carves you open all over again.

Around the inside perimeter of the circle are twelve sculptures positioned like numbers on a clock: eleven Olympians and Hades, confined to the Underworld. In the middle of the clearing is the largest stature of all, a wrathful Zeus hurling lightning bolts and surrounded by a gurgling fountain of glass-clear water. Under the shadow of Zeus, Aegon is sprawled on the ground and smoking a joint. “So you’re hiding from them too, huh?” He gives you a sly, welcome-to-the-club smirk, then offers you his joint. “Want a hit?”

You shake your head, not taking another step towards him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He is confused. “Done what?”

“Any of it.” I told him about my life before. I made the mistake of thinking I could go back.

Aegon still doesn’t seem to understand. “You’re scared I’m gonna snitch?”

You shrug, evasive. It’s not just the fact that he knows. It’s the sensation that you’ve unlatched something—an attic room, a jewelry box, a birdcage—and now you can’t get it locked again, and the door rattles with every footstep and storm wind, and you are no longer Aphrodite or Io but Pandora, a hunger growing in your stitched womb like a child.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” And that’s always how he says it, not what’s the matter or are you alright or what did I do or how can I fix it?

“I’m kind of…embarrassed, I guess.”

“Embarrassed,” Aegon echoes. “Because of me?”

“I feel like I said and did a lot of things that were out of character because I was emotionally compromised.”

“They were out of character for who you’ve been trying to convince everyone you are since you married Aemond, sure. But they weren’t out of character for you.”

He’s treading too close now, arrows piercing their mark, a tremor near the epicenter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Au contraire, I have acquired many interesting revelations recently.”

“Where’d you learn French? From Mimi?”

His smile dies. “Boarding school.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to be around Aegon without either hating him or letting him see parts of yourself that you’re trying to drown like Icarus in the waves. You glance yearningly towards the doorway cut into the hedges.

All at once, Aegon is furious. “You don’t want to talk to me? You want to go back to how it was before, you want to pretend Mount Sinai never happened? Fine. You got it. Wish fucking granted. Whatever you have to do.”

He turns away from you. You flee from him. But that night when Asteria is hushed and still—Aemond, Criston, and Otto are attending a fundraising dinner in Philadelphia, and you are temporarily excused from accompanying them as you recover—you creep down into the basement of the main house to apologize. Mimi sleeps in a bedroom on the second floor, but here Aegon can keep odd hours and drink and smoke to his heart’s content, and even entertain clandestine guests, girls who are beautiful and giggling and never invited twice.

Aegon isn’t here. He might be passed out somewhere, or at a party, or maybe even upstairs with Mimi, and something about this idea twists through your mending guts like a blade. In his absence, you take a quick look around his room, something you’ve never done before. You hadn’t had any interest; it wouldn’t even have occurred to you. There’s a large green futon, a matching shag carpet, a television, a bookshelf full of notebooks and paperbacks—Kurt Vonnegut, Harper Lee, Sylvia Plath, Truman Capote, Ken Kesey—and vinyl albums, a record player, and his two acoustic guitars. The first is unpainted maple wood covered with stickers. I’d rather be nowhere reads one; Burn pot not people proclaims another. The second guitar is the souvenir he bought in Manhattan, an aquamarine blue six-string.

There's something strange on his end table. Along with a dozen empty cups is a full ashtray, and there’s a folded piece of paper tucked underneath. You slide the paper out and open it. It’s the receipt you used to solve the long division problem in your hospital room.

Why would he keep this? you think, mystified. There are footsteps above your head, and you quickly return the receipt to where you found it and leave before your trespass can be discovered.

When you emerge from the basement, Fosco is waiting in the hallway and carrying a Tupperware container filled with something that resembles kourabiethes, Greek shortbread cookies. “I thought I saw you sneak down there. What were you looking for?”

You scramble for an explanation. “One of the dogs is missing. Alicent wanted me to check the basement.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” He passes you the Tupperware container. “These are for you. I hope they are not too bad. I baked them myself.”

“Are they…” You shake it. “Biscotti?”

“They are ossi dei morti,” Fosco says. “Bones of the dead. We make them to remember loved ones we have lost. They are hard, so you should dip them in coffee or tea before you try to eat them.”

You open the lid. Inside are long thin cookies coated with powdered sugar. You inhale almond flour, cloves, cinnamon. And you are so touched you cannot find your words.

“You know, there still places in Italy where mothers wear black for years to mourn their children.” This is not trivia; it is an acknowledgement. Your son is gone. There is no shame in the grief that is left behind. In another house, it would be expected, it would be required.

“Thank you, Fosco.”

He smiles warmly. “We are in this together, no? We are pieces of the same machine.”

Then he plods off towards the living room, sliding a rolled-up horse racing program out of the back pocket of his tight plaid pants.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re in Louisville, Kentucky, where thunder quakes the eaves. An hour ago, Aegon was popping Valium and leisurely plucking at his pool water blue Gibson guitar, slumped against the wall, nipping at a flask filled with straight Bacardi. But he’s not anymore. Now he’s gathered around the small color television with you, Criston, Otto, Fosco, Helaena, and Ludwika. The news is just breaking. There was a civil rights protest at the University of Kentucky in Lexington one hour to the east. Someone threw a rock, or someone claims someone threw a rock, or someone threw something that was mistaken for a rock, and in any event the situation escalated from there and local police who were monitoring the demonstration opened fire on a crowd, killing five students and injuring another dozen.

Outside, word is spreading through the crowd of over 2,000 people that have gathered for Aemond’s planned speech at the historic Iroquois Amphitheater, a New Deal project finished in 1938. Rain is pouring, and the venue has no roof. Aemond is already 20 minutes late. The voices are becoming louder, more demanding, more wrathful. They’re shouting that Aemond is too afraid to face them now, that he’s trying to figure out what his statement will be, that he’s cowardly and calculating; and if President Lyndon Baines Johnson was here tonight instead of cursing his bad stars up in Washington D.C., he would certainly have something to say about the capriciousness of voters who love you, hate you, carry you higher, drag you down, all without ever knowing you.

In truth, Aemond is not stalling on purpose. He’s in the bathroom trying to get his prosthetic eye in. It’s been giving him hell all afternoon. He wears his eyepatch at home, but he’s never made a public appearance without his glass eye clean and perfect in his voided socket.

“He’s going to have to say something about it,” you tell the others as you watch the news coverage.

“Say what?” Otto snaps. “If he doesn’t treat those dead kids like martyrs he’s going to get booed off the stage. If he condemns the police he’s going to lose the suburbs. They’ll run to Humphrey now and Nixon in November.”

The weather report called for storms—which is why Alicent, Mimi, and the children are already back at the Seelbach Hotel for the night after a long day of shaking hands and smiling gamely—but no one expected it to get this bad. The room you’re huddled in is just off-stage, so you can see it all: the wind ripping signs and flags from people’s hands, drenched clothes, sopping hair, snarling faces, rain turning puddles to rivers. The stomping of boots is now as loud as the thunder. Rocks and bottles are being pitched at the stage.

“Is America always like this?” Ludwika asks, scandalized.

“No, not at all,” Otto says. “Goddamn animals…”

Aegon replies, not taking his eyes from the television: “You’d be mad too if cops were shooting your friends and the only graduation present you had to look forward to was getting disemboweled by guerillas in Vietnam.”

“I’ve had it with you and your Marxist bullshit! You want to liberate the dispossessed masses? Why don’t you start by donating your monthly drugs and rum budget to the—”

“We should cancel,” Fosco says. “Just call the whole thing off. Tell them Aemond is sick or something.”

“That’s the headline you want? ‘Senator Targaryen hides from grieving supporters who braved a thunderstorm to see him’?! Just give the White House to Nixon now!”

“I don’t think we can cancel,” Criston says softly. “I think if we tried to leave, they’d swarm the car.”

“It’s a riot,” Otto moans, rubbing his face with his hands. “This is what happens when you court voters like this, college kids and hippies, professional malcontents…”

“Aren’t there police outside?” Ludwika says anxiously.

“Yeah, a handful,” Criston tells her. “And if they try to do anything this will erupt and we can add to the body count in Lexington…”

You leave them and follow a hallway to the men’s bathroom; on the periphery of your vision, you can tell that Aegon is watching you go. You push the door open and find a row of stalls and three sinks, one of which Aemond is standing in front of as he stares into his reflection and attempts to shove the prosthetic eye into his empty, gore-red left socket. His suit is navy blue, his hair neatly slicked back, his shoes so polished they’re reflective like a mirror.

“Fuck,” he hisses, flinching. His right cheek is wet with tears of frustration and agony. It’s July 26th, and tomorrow are the final three state conventions in the Democratic primary. Humphrey is almost certain to take Utah; Virginia will go to Governor Mills Godwin, who is only running in his home state to control the delegates and will hand them over to whoever he feels is most worthy in August. But Aemond is the favorite to win here in Kentucky. Or at least, he was an hour ago.

“What can I do? What do you need?”

“You can’t do anything. It’s…it’s this goddamn nerve pain, it feels like I’m being fucking stabbed, I can’t get the muscles to relax enough…”

Like an apology, you say: “Aemond, the crowd is getting out of control.”

“So you came in here to rush me?”

“No, I’m here to help.”

“You’re not helping. You’re doing the exact opposite.”

“I think you should give this speech with your eyepatch on. It looks good, and you’ll be as comfortable as possible, and the crowd won’t have to wait any longer than they have already.”

“No.”

“Aemond, please—”

“No! FDR didn’t make speeches in his wheelchair and I’m not making mine without my eye in.”

“Do you want me to get you Aegon’s pills? Rum, weed?”

“You don’t think I’ve already taken something?” He tries to force his eye in again and strikes his fist against the sink when he can’t.

Then you ask gingerly: “Do you know what you’re going to say about the shooting?”

“Get out!” Aemond shouts. “You’re making it worse, just get the fuck out! Go!”

You bolt from the bathroom, hands trembling, throat burning. You don’t want to return to the television where the others are standing; you’re worried they’ll be able to tell how upset you are. You go to the edge of the stage, arms crossed protectively over your chest, and peek out into the crowd. Above their chants and jeers and howled threats, lightning splits the sky.

I don’ t think we’re going to be able to find our way out of this one. I think this is the end of the road.

“Hey,” Aegon says, tapping your shoulder. “Back up.”

“I’m fine here.”

“No you’re not.” He grabs your arm and tugs you farther backstage. Seconds later, an Absolut Vodka bottle explodes into crystalline shrapnel where you were standing. You yelp and Aegon gives you a little eyebrow raise. I told you, he means.

“Someone has to go out there,” Otto says, still lurking by the television. Fosco is comforting Helaena, who is quietly weeping; Ludwika is watching the news coverage in horror, surely reconsidering all her life choices. A sixth University of Kentucky student has been declared dead. “We can’t wait.”

“No we can’t,” Criston agrees. Then they both turn to you expectantly.

Your blood goes icy. Tonight was meant to be your first official appearance since the baby. Your hair is up, your dress a navy blue to match Aemond’s suit, gold chains around your wrist and throat, a gold chain of a belt. You thought you were ready. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Don’t you look at her,” Aegon says, sharp like a scalpel, like a bullet, like something that punctures arteries and lungs. “They’re throwing glass. You figure something else out, don’t even look at her.”

Otto relents, perhaps halfheartedly. “No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Criston starts heading for the bathroom to get Aemond. Otto is watching the television again, his face vacuous as his ambitions are carried away by a flood of rain, wind, rage, blood. Aegon snatches his guitar from where he left it by the wall. He tosses the strap over his head, gives the strings a few experimental strums and retunes them, starts walking towards the stage.

“Aegon, what are you doing?” you ask, panicked.

“Someone has to distract the crowd.”

“No, stop, you can’t—”

“Hey,” Aegon says. And when you glance past him at the uproarious, storm-drenched frenzy, he turns your face back to his to make sure you’re listening. His hand is insistent but gentle, his voice steady. “Don’t go out there. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, startled.

He gives you one last small, parting smile, a flash of his teeth, a daring glint in his murky blue eyes. Then he’s out in the torrential rain, soaked to the skin in seconds. His frayed green Army jacket clings to him; his hair is ravaged by the wind. As he takes his place behind the microphone, a stone that someone has hurled skates by him and nicks the apple of his left cheek. You can see a trickle of blood snaking down his sunburned skin before the rain washes it away; you feel a desperate gnawing dread that someone will hurt him, not just here but anywhere, not just now but ever. The crowd is still seething, shouting, stomping their feet to join the inescapable growl of the thunder. Aegon’s pick flies over the guitar strings as he begins playing, raindrops cast from his fingers like spells. At first, you can barely hear him.

“Come gather ‘round, people, wherever you roam

And admit that the waters around you have grown

And accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone

If your time to you is worth saving

And you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is settling down now. Some of them are singing along. You can feel that Otto, Ludwika, Fosco, and Helaena are gathering around you, but you don’t grasp anything they’re saying. You can’t tear your eyes from Aegon. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, this radiant sunbeam of a man, a light in dark places, a constellation that whispers myths through the ink-spill indigo of the night sky. How could you ever have hated him? How could you ever have thought he was worthless?

“Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pen

And keep your eyes wide, the chance won’t come again

And don’t speak too soon, for the wheel’s still in spin

And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s naming

For the loser now will be later to win

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Aemond and Criston appear beside you at the edge of the stage; Aemond’s prosthetic eye has at last been successfully placed with no lingering evidence of a struggle. You expect him to apologize for what he said in the bathroom, but he doesn’t. Instead he says when he sees Aegon: “What the hell is he doing?”

“Saving your career,” you reply simply.

“Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call

Don’t stand in the doorway, don’t block up the hall

For he that gets hurt will be he who has stalled

The battle outside raging

Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Now Aegon peers pointedly off-stage to where Otto Hightower is gawking. Aegon beams, throws his head back to get his dripping hair out of his eyes, comes back to the mic.

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land

And don’t criticize what you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly aging

Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Everyone you can see in the crowd is singing and swaying. It’s not just a Bob Dylan song from 1964 but an anthem, a prayer, a rallying cry, a dire warning for the powers at be.

“The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast

The slow one now will later be fast

As the present now will later be past

The order is rapidly fading

And the first one now will later be last

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is applauding and whistling. Aegon steals a glimpse of where you are standing backstage, checks that Aemond is still there with you and that he’s ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aegon broadcasts with a wicked grin. “I am now proud to present the next president of the United States of America, Senator Aemond Targaryen!”

And Aemond is crossing the stage, no trace of pain or self-consciousness or prey-animal fear, no mere mortal but someone chosen by the gods, and the rain is slowing to a drizzle, and the clouds are opening to let through rare pinprick aisles of daylight, and the riotous spectators are now his disciples, exorcised of any rage they’ve ever felt for the scarred senator from New Jersey. He and his family are not the enemy; they are the solution. They are revolutionaries who have bled for the cause. They bring with them the change that is required. Aegon steps back and the rest of you join him in a semi-circle like a crescent moon behind Aemond. When you walk out onto the stage, the cheers swell to screams.

Aegon takes off his guitar and then leans into you. “He’s lucky you aren’t 35,” Aegon whispers, soft lips that curl into a smile as they brush your ear. And he’s teasing you but he’s not mocking, he’s not mean. He’s so close you share the same atmosphere, the same gravity. “Maybe when he finishes up his second term you can start building your resume for your first.”

“I want your endorsement.”

“From the disgraced former mayor of Trenton? What an honor. You’ll have to fight for it.”

You ball up a fist and playfully bump your knuckles against his chin. He pretends to bite at you. And you laugh for the first time since a doctor and priest entered your hospital room 13 days ago. Aegon slings an arm around your shoulders, pulls you against him, soaks you in his rain.

“Today in Lexington, we lost six brave and brilliant souls,” Aemond says, his voice booming through the amphitheater. A hush ripples through the crowd as they listen, enraptured. “Their sacrifice was for the most noble of causes, but they should never have been forced to pay the ultimate price. They deserved long, full lives in a better America than the one we now call home. This tragedy is a symptom of the sickness that has infected this nation, a fatal failure to empathize with our fellow countrymen, a deafness to pleas for justice, a blindness to mercy. But the remedy is within all of us, for it is our own humanity. When we purge the diseases of war, prejudice, and ravenous greed, we will reclaim our best selves—our true selves—and our nation will at last be cured.”

The amphitheater is illuminated with not only strobing lightning but the flashbulbs of cameras. The journalists have arrived just in time.

[pin-k-ink]

knife’s edge // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, implied age gap, dub-con, punishment and reward system, power play, dom/sub relationship, blowjob, fingering, begging, hair pulling, degradation, mentions of violence and injuries, spanking, facial, belt whipping, praise kink, face fucking

wc ⇢ 6.7k

a/n: i am not happy with this one at all

The inky blackness of night cloaked the abandoned factory district in deep shadow, the dim glow of the waxing moon filtering through shattered panes of grimy glass offering little illumination. Your ragged breaths echoed sharply in the cavernous silence, each rapid footfall sending plumes of dust and grit swirling into the still air in your wake.

You risked a frantic glance over your shoulder, heart hammering a staccato rhythm against your ribcage. The curse's formless shape undulated through the gloom behind you with horrific, boneless grace—an amorphous mass of writhing miasma capped with wicked curved appendages that scraped in screeching arcs against the cracked concrete hallway with each slithering surge forward. Jagged claws of solidified cursed energy aimed to ensnare, tear, and rend any flesh within reach.

A fleeting memory sliced through your mind's frenzied whirl — Gojo's voice carrying that unmistakable lilt of teasing amusement as he'd drawled something about being on your "best behavior" during this training exercise. His smug confidence had rankled you at the time, fueling your burning desire to prove yourself more than a bumbling student constantly needing rescue from their mentor.

But now, harsh reality crashed through those foolish delusions in waves of cold, jagged terror. You were hopelessly outmatched and ill-prepared for confronting this particular curse born of manifested nightmares. Its presence alone incited paralytic dread laced with a phantom ache of crushing loneliness echoing from some primal depth. Heedless of the stunted whimpers tumbling from your trembling lips, it closed in with relentless, inexorable hunger.

You redoubled your pace, lower legs shrieking with the exertion of maintaining your panicked sprint. Up ahead, the hallway fractured off into a labyrinth of shadowed corridors and forsaken antechambers. Fighting the icy lances of panic penetrating your frantic thoughts, you arbitrarily flung yourself down the second passageway on the left, restraining a scream as the curse's barbed tendrils whipped around the corner in pursuit.

How had you allowed yourself to be lured so far from the staging area where Gojo awaited your safe return? Stupid, stupid overconfidence. Surely he would berate your rashness before grudgingly coming to your aid...if you survived this ordeal long enough to earn his scorn. You swallowed back a hiccuping sob at that grim prospect, legs pumping harder in sheer desperation.

When the next turn presented itself, you instinctively banked hard to the right, hurtling through the decrepit doorway of what appeared to be some kind of dilapidated manager's office. Dim moonlight filtered through the filth-streaked windows, casting the skeletal shapes of rusted desks and chairs in stark silhouette across the debris-littered floor.

You twisted in mid-sprint, fruitlessly hurling the few feeble cursed tools you'd had on your person towards the curse as it rapidly filled the doorway. Their meager defenses ricocheted off a shimmering barrier the curse erected with mocking ease. Your breath sawed from your lungs in panicked bursts as those razor-tipped appendages sliced through the space you'd just occupied, sending shreds of plaster and splintered wood exploding in all directions.

There was nowhere left to run. In blind panic, you scrambled backwards on your hands and feet as the curse's oozing grotesquerie filled the open doorframe, blocking any hope of escape.

Suddenly, something sharp and unyielding sliced into the meat of your palm, causing you to cry out in pained surprise. You looked down to see the jagged remains of some kind of metal pole or rebar protruding from the crumbling floorboards—the very shrapnel strewn across the office that your desperate retreat had led you straight into.

The unforgiving shard of rebar punched clean through the soft center of your hand in a blossoming spiral of agony and blood. Your scream hitched in your constricted throat as scorching lances of whitehot pain lanced up your arm. Tears blurred your vision, leaving the curse's steadily encroaching form obscured and wavering in your sight.

The twisted groaning of stressed metal snapped your gaze downward just as the compromised floor buckled beneath your weight, splitting like a crumpled Jenga tower along the lines of its pre-existing fractures. The gore-slicked rebar came suddenly free from its entrapment with a meaty slurping sound, pitching you backwards as your already precarious perch vanished from beneath you.

You plummeted in a dizzying freefall, the decrepit office warping and careening away above you in smears of grey and brown and black. Instinctively you flung out your arms, mouth gaping in a soundless scream as you plunged downwards into the bottomless unknown of the abandoned factory's shadowed depths.

Time itself seemed to unravel into surreal slow-motion as your trajectory carried you into the diffuse path of moonlight slanting through a shattered window high above. Silver-edged debris tumbled alongside you—jagged splinters of wood and twisted scraps of metal glinting like macabre confetti amid the freeze-framed droplets of your blood blossoming in faint crimson blurs.

Then, with a violent percussion of displaced air, something rocketed into you from the side—a solid, immense force that knocked what little breath remained from your lungs in a strangled wheeze. Powerful arms like bands of steel locked around your torso, violently arresting your plummet as your failed to process what was happening.

Head spinning, vertigo graying the edges of your vision, you dimly became aware of the world blurring past in streaks of shadow and dim light as you swung in an upward arc, abruptly changing trajectories with dizzying velocity. The whiplash intense enough to make you cry out hoarsely as cold panic lanced through you anew.

Just as abruptly, the disorienting rush of movement slammed to a boneshaking halt, your body folding in on itself with the force of the deceleration. You found yourself crushed against a solid plane of warmth and wiry muscle, every nerve ending screaming in protest as your savior's bruising embrace constricted tighter around your ribcage. The guttural growl rumbling through the steel-banded arms holding you immobile reverberated straight into your rattled bones.

"Dammit, girl—you make trouble follow you around like a hellhound on a scent trail, don't you?"

The familiar, sardonic drawl finally pierced the roaring in your ears. Gojo's distinctive smokey timbre ignited a fresh surge of tremors— though born of relief rather than mortal terror this time. You sagged bonelessly against his chest, quaking with reaction as the abyss you'd narrowly avoided plunging into slowly reasserted itself in your reeling awareness.

Gojo simply held you pinned flush against him, stance braced with preternatural solidity despite the physical feat of force he'd just exerted. With your face pressed into the juncture of his shoulder and neck, his unique scent of sandalwood and citrus enveloped you in a cloak of reassurance. You clung to that steadying anchor desperately as you struggled to rein in your haywire senses.

He seemed content to allow you that reprieve, not bothering to immediately extricate himself as the pounding of both your thunderous heartbeats gradually subsided to a more measured cadence. At last, when you'd stopped trembling quite so violently, Gojo shifted infinitesimally—just enough to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up towards his.

"Y'know, when I said to be on your best behavior, I didn't mean to go seeking out new and perilous ways to get yourself killed on my watch, bad girl."

Gojo's voice still maintained that undercurrent of sardonic cool, but you detected the faintest hints of...something else bleeding through. An edge of anxious relief perhaps, buried beneath the outward mask of nonchalant irreverence he always wore. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw with maddening tenderness at odds with his tart rebuke, sending your pulse into a frenzied gallop once more.

"Gojo-sensei, I-I'm so sorry," you stammered, scarcely daring to draw breath too deeply in his embrace for fear of surrendering to the urge to bury your face against his neck and simply exist in that space for a thousand reassuring moments. "I got overconfident and careless and put myself in danger by wandering off. You were right, as usual, and I—"

He cut off your self-flagellating apology with a gruff tsk, index finger pressing firmly against your parted lips. "Hush now. I can already see those pretty eyes filling with crocodile tears that will make me go all soft and stupid again."

The sardonic smirk he flashed you ignited a spark of bristling indignance in your chest—but it was a welcome reprieve from the icy terror currently waning through your system. Gojo's gaze roved downwards, searing gaze flickering over you in a blatant sweep from head to toe. Whatever he saw in his obscenely casual inspection made his jawline tense perceptibly.

"Looks like our little curse didn't take too kindly to you wandering off the beaten path either," he remarked, deceptively mild drawl betrayed by the subtle edge of strain hardening the words.

You followed the weighted path of his hawkish regard to where the tattered remnants of your uniform clung in bloodied tatters, entire swaths torn away to reveal expanses of gashed and rapidly-purpling flesh glistening with crimson. A vivid flush bloomed across your cheeks as you hastily sought to cover yourself, hissing as the incidental movement tugged at your lacerated skin.

Gojo clucked his tongue again, more chidingly this time. "Easy there, slugger. Let's not go scrambling around until we get those battle scars properly dressed."

Before you could protest, Gojo was moving again - shifting his grip to cradle you securely against his chest with one arm while his free hand extended outward, palm glowing with an ethereal purple luminescence.

One disorienting transition of vertigo later and the ruined factory surroundings had been replaced by a cozily appointed interior.

The incongruously homey space you now found yourself in appeared to be some kind of living quarters - though imbued with distinctly more luxury and refined appointments than the standard student dormitories would allow.

Rich hardwood floors were covered in plush area rugs of deep crimson. The walls were adorned with elegant-yet-minimal furnishings and intricately patterned tapestries in jewel tones suggesting an Eastern influence. Various artifacts - porcelain vases, statuettes, and inscribed metal wall-hangings - were interspersed with a few strategic pops of color and indirect lighting to cultivate an ambiance of cultivated tranquility.

"Comfortable?" The rumbling baritone against your ear made you start slightly as Gojo carried you towards what appeared to be a bedroom sectioned off by opaque partitioning screens.

You opened your mouth to reply, but any words withered on your tongue when he shifted his hold to deposit you with infinite care atop the bed - as though you were the most precious of fragile burdens. The sheets were a sleek dusky charcoal hue offset by the warm burnished glow of brass lamps casting flattering illumination across the space.

Gojo crouched in one fluid, boneless motion beside where you lay, all lazy power and effortless masculine grace barely restrained beneath that veneer of irreverent cool. His gaze was immediately drawn to the sluggishly bleeding gashes marring your exposed skin, sharp azure irises hooded beneath lowered lashes.

"Let's get you decent first, hmm?" He lilted in that sinfully smooth timbre, already working to divest you of the tattered remnants of clothing still clinging to your mangled form.

You flushed hotly, opening your mouth to offer token protest, but his pointed look swiftly quelled any objections before they could sound.

"Don't get shy on me now, pretty girl. I've already copped an eyeful of everything you've got thanks to that curse taking talons to your outfit." One corner of his lush mouth quirked upwards in that irresistible smirk that never failed to spark a flicker of defiance in your core. "Might as well make the most of the situation, neh?"

With deft efficiency and hands belying an almost reverent delicacy, Gojo stripped you down to your bared skin, blatantly allowing his piercing gaze to map every purpling contusion and seeping laceration in the process. You remained motionless, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of shattering this suspended reality into shards of mortified embarrassment and pining desire.

Gojo clicked his tongue in a noise of disapproval as his inspection catalogued the extent of your injuries. His thumb traced the lurid weal of a deep gash carving across your ribcage, featherlight and ghosting over the sensitive abraded skin but eliciting a shuddering exhalation from your parted lips all the same.

"Such a mess you've made of yourself, babygirl," he chided in a low, dark purr that seemed to resonate straight through the shallow surface of your flesh and delve molten paths into the viscera below. "Clumsy, clumsy girl wandering off and courting disaster like it's a favored lover. Maybe you need reminding why it's safer to stay close...and who exactly you belong to."

Gojo stood and moved across the room, giving you a momentary reprieve from the heated intensity of his presence. You watched him retrieve a wooden basin and an array of glass jars and cloth wrappings, absently tracing your fingers over the stark patterns of blooming bruises and lacerations. Though the sting of your injuries still pulsed in time with your elevated heartbeat, it felt muted somehow - a distant discomfort overshadowed by the lingering warmth of Gojo's touch and his dark, heated words still reverberating through your mind.

When he returned to your side and crouched on the plush rug once more, you couldn't help but tense slightly at his proximity. Gojo's lips curved in an inscrutable half-smile, as if privy to the chaotic whirl of your thoughts. Dipping a clean cloth into the basin of herbal-scented water he had prepared, he began gently sponging away the streaks of blood and grime from your abused skin with meditative focus.

"You know," he began conversationally, breaking the weighted quiet between you. "I had a feeling assigning you to run solo for this particular exercise was inviting disaster." His gaze remained fixed on his ministrations, calloused fingertips brushing featherlight over the shredded gashes scoring your abdomen as he cleaned each one with almost ritualistic care.

"You've always had a penchant for acting first and regretting the consequences later." Gojo's tone was a strange blend of wry affection and pointed reproof. "That wild spirit and impulsive bravery are what make you such a marvel to train...but they're also what consistently lands you in hot water requiring my intervention."

You wanted to protest, to insist that this time you had been cautious and level-headed right up until the curse overwhelmed you so unexpectedly. But the words shriveled up unspoken on your tongue as memories of your rash overconfidence resurfaced with a flush of shame. Gojo was right, as infuriatingly often seemed to be the case when he turned that penetrating stare and spark of dark wisdom upon you.

"I cannot even begin to fathom what could possess an otherwise reasonably bright girl to forsake all her training at the first sign of danger," he continued, words hardening into a disapproving rasp. You flinched inwardly, knowing the scolding was deserved but still bristling at being spoken down to like a petulant child.

Gojo's touch stilled abruptly, his thumb and forefinger capturing your chin in an uncompromisingly firm grasp that forced your gazes to lock. The vivid azure of his eyes bored into you with searing intensity from beneath his silvery lashes, commanding your rapt focus.

"Do you have any idea how close I came to losing you tonight?" His words emerged in a gravelly undertone that seemed to reverberate somewhere deeper than mere sound.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke over your stillborn attempt with quiet yet immutable authority. "Too close. Far too close for comfort, little one."

Gojo's thumb traced the plush arc of your lower lip with deliberate reverence, the blistering heat of his touch raising delicious sparks of sensation despite its apparent innocuity. "I don't take kindly to situations where I am mere inches from watching light fade from those gorgeous eyes of yours. Do you understand me?"

Any residual defiance flickered and died beneath the scorching promise of intent blazing behind the shrouded azure regard holding you hostage. All you could manage was a tremulous inhale and the barest fraction of a nod in acknowledgment.

Something indecipherable flashed across Gojo's expression - both a subtle easing of the taut line of his jaw and a perceptible deepening of the shadows clouding his eyes. His hand slid from your chin to cup the back of your neck, fingertips lightly caressing the sensitive skin as he pulled you forward until the briefest whisper of distance remained between your brow and his.

"Let this be a lesson to you then," he murmured in a voice rendered incalculably darker by its lowered register. "Stay close to me from now on where you belong, understood? No more foolish detours or reckless stunts serving only to test my stamina in constantly retrieving you from harm."

You found yourself mesmerized, lashes fluttering in a hapless series of blinks as his breath fanned warmly over your parted lips. There was simply no other response than a breathily murmured, "Yes, Gojo-sensei. I understand."

The barest ghost of a smile - one of grim satisfaction rather than mirth - curved the edges of his sinful mouth. "Good girl."

The heavy-lidded intensity of Gojo's gaze seemed to scorch straight through to your very core as the silence stretched taut between you. His thumb traced idle patterns along the racing flutter of your pulse just beneath your jawline, touch tantalizingly light yet possessive all the same. You shivered at the implication behind such a disarmingly tender caress coming from your mentor.

"You test me at every turn, don't you, my pretty thing?" The words emerged in a low, molten rumble tinged with thinly veiled exasperation and something infinitely darker—a banked smolder of bone-deep desire he made little effort to conceal. "Never quite able to simply mind your place and stay obediently out of harm's way, constantly seeking new ways to throw yourself into the line of danger until I'm forced to intervene..."

His fingers trailed lazily down the sloped column of your throat, following the racing thrum of your pulse until his palm settled in a burned brand over the thundering cadence of your heart. You couldn't help the tremulous hitch of your breath as his calloused thumb grazed the swell of your breast, the barest suggestion of weight behind the touch.

Gojo's eyes glittered mercurial beneath the fan of his silvery lashes as he watched your response with rapt attentiveness, gauging your reaction to his calculated escalation. You were pinned motionless beneath the heated intensity of his undivided focus - the blazing epicenter of a storm waiting to break.

When he spoke again, his graveled baritone had lowered a ruinous register, each dark rumble seeming to sear across your feverish skin like a scorching caress unto itself.

"I'm sorely tempted to finally take you firmly in hand once and for all, babygirl. To show you exactly what lies in store each time you defy me so recklessly and necessitate my...intervention." He curled his fingers ever so slightly, delicious suggestion laced through the subtle rasp of hardened fingertips grazing the taut bud beneath the thin fabric covering you.

Your spine arched in an involuntary bow of pleasure-edged shockwaves, a broken whimper falling from your lips before you could bite it back. Gojo watched the display of responsiveness with naked hunger flickering across his austere features.

"Yes...that's what you crave, isn't it?" He mused in that same sinful, smoke-ruined tone that seemed to curl molten tendrils of liquid heat low in your belly. "My undivided attention and reprimand for each infraction, each reckless display where you've failed to heed my instruction..."

Gradually, with agonizing deliberation, Gojo shifted to loom over you with coiled dominance thrumming through every steel-banded muscle. His free hand traced a scorching path down your torso, insistent fingertips hooking beneath the thin fabric at your hip and exerting gentle but implacable pressure.

"But such willful disobedience cannot go entirely unpunished, can it?" He purred, pupils dilating as his gaze raked over your form with incandescent hunger. "Not if you're to finally learn some modicum of discipline and self-control..."

With deft surety, Gojo relieved you of the final scant covering as his sinful lips curved in a lush, dangerous smile. A fraught moment of charged suspension stretched between you as his reverent gaze roamed freely over the newly bared flesh. Then, with infinite tenderness at odds with his thunderous promise, he cradled you against the scorching plane of his chest and lowered you back to the plush bedding in one fluid motion.

"Perhaps a few lashes from my belt are in order for the way you've acted out, my willful little girl," Gojo rumbled as he braced himself above you, gaze devouring the way your thighs reflexively parted for his settling weight. "And you will count each one aloud and thank me for it, won't you?"

Your lips parted in a soft gasp at the sheer filthiness of his implication. Your pulse thundered so loudly you were certain he could hear the erratic drumming. Yet, with a heady thrill of realization, you discovered that you didn't want to resist - didn't have the strength of will left to resist him in this.

Gojo's hand slipped beneath the sleek fall of your hair, fingers curling around the back of your neck in a deceptively light but immovable grasp. The gesture was an unspoken command, an assertion of control that demanded your total surrender.

"Say it, kitten." The words emerged with the softness of a blade honed razor-sharp. "Tell me how badly you need to be taught some much-needed obedience...or else we'll simply have to continue these exercises until the lesson sticks."

Your breath shuddered from your lungs, eyes fluttering closed as a delicious shudder rippled through your entire body. It took all your remaining shreds of willpower not to arch into the heated cradle of his hips already settling against the apex of your thighs.

"Please, Gojo-sensei," you finally managed, voice quavering with need. "Teach me a lesson. Punish me until I've learned my place..."

A soft exhalation escaped Gojo, half-swallowed by the faint rustle of the bedsheets. His grip on your nape tightened fractionally as his other hand slid down the slope of your ribcage and across the dip of your waist.

You were powerless to resist the slow roll of his hips - the delicious pressure grinding against your exposed core in a way that made your lashes flutter with dizzying pleasure.

"My good girl," Gojo praised with a wicked glint in his azure gaze. "Now let's see how long you can keep up the obedient act before you're begging me to stop, hmm?"

With a sly, predatory grin, Gojo rolled off of you to stand, leaving your body buzzing with anticipation and the phantom heat of his weight pinning you. You lay there, breathless and quivering, as his fingers flicked open the clasp of his belt with a metallic snap.

"You remember the rules, don't you, kitten?" Gojo rumbled, leisurely tugging the belt from its loops with a sinuous slide of leather and metal. "No counting or pleading until the very end, or else I'll start over."

He stepped towards the edge of the bed, looming over you in a manner both protective and menacing. Your pulse spiked into a rapid tattoo as the coiled length of leather whispered through his palm in an anticipatory slide.

"Spread your legs and arch that ass up for me like a good girl," he instructed. "You've earned a good punishment for nearly getting yourself killed, haven't you?"

The words sparked a jolt of hot shame deep within you, but that only fanned the flames of your desire. Your body reacted before you could think to deny his command, thighs parting and hips canting upward until the vulnerable curve of your rear was bared and presented to him.

"That's it, my perfect little toy," Gojo crooned, the soft sibilance of his words underscored by the telltale shift of leather and metal in his grip. "You've always been such a good listener, haven't you?"

A tremor rippled through your muscles, the instinctive flinch of anticipation, and a ragged whimper tore from your throat when the first blow landed with a deafening crack. You bit down on the knuckle of your thumb to silence the cry, a futile bid to restrain the sound.

"No no no, pretty girl," Gojo chided, his low baritone rife with dark amusement. "Those sounds belong to me. Let them out."

You shook your head, eyes squeezed shut in a futile attempt to deny him, even though you knew it was impossible. His free hand settled in a proprietary weight between your shoulder blades, pressing your upper torso flush against the mattress.

"Don't be stubborn now, kitten," Gojo chastised, voice a husky purr as the leather of his belt slid across the abused skin of your ass. "You know the rules...and I'm going to make you scream those numbers for me."

The leather snapped again, a blistering stripe of searing agony lancing across your exposed flesh. The cry ripped from your throat sounded foreign and primal, and you were suddenly grateful for the muffling effect of the thick bedding.

"Count." Gojo's tone brooked no argument.

"Two." You managed the word past gritted teeth, hands fisting the sheets with white-knuckled force.

"Good girl," Gojo purred, the sound rich and honeyed as the cool leather whispered over your abused skin. "Let's try for three, hmm?"

A third searing swat landed, and then a fourth. Each one wrung another pained cry from your lips and brought your hips straining against the restraining hold of his palm.

"Five," you gasped, barely registering the tear that slipped down your cheek. "Thank you, Gojo-sensei."

The next lash was gentler than the ones before it, but no less effective in eliciting a breathless gasp and a shudder of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"S-six," you stammered, barely able to string the syllables together.

"You're doing so well, baby," Gojo murmured, his words a soothing rumble that belied the merciless sting of leather as he brought the belt down across your flesh once more.

You lost count of the swats, each one a searing brand and yet an exquisite pleasure in its own right. With every number that fell from your lips in a broken sob, your thighs slickened further with a shameful gush of wetness. You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt the press of his palm between your shoulder blades, grounding and comforting and unbearably hot.

"Shh, sweet girl, it's almost over," he murmured, his voice a velvet purr that seemed to seep beneath your skin and burrow into the core of you. "Just a few more. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," you whimpered, tears slipping free despite your efforts to stop them. "I can do it, Gojo-sensei."

His chuckle was a dark rumble. "My good, obedient little girl. Always eager to please, aren't you?"

His hand moved from between your shoulder blades to stroke gently along your flank, fingers tracing idle patterns across the bruises marring your flesh. A sharp contrast to the stinging burn still radiating through your abused flesh.

"Are you ready for the last one?" He asked, the question almost playful.

"Yes." You breathed the word, the single syllable a soft exhale.

"That's my girl," Gojo murmured, his approval warming the pit of your stomach. "Let's see if we can make this one really count, shall we?"

The leather snapped against your ass in a devastating strike, eliciting a cry that was half pleasure, half pain. Your thighs trembled as your back arched, body instinctively seeking more contact with the unyielding surface of his palm.

"Seven." The word came out sounding more like a moan.

Gojo's hand smoothed over the abused flesh of your ass, his touch maddeningly gentle and yet still stoking the flames of desire within you. You couldn't stop the whimper that escaped your lips as his fingers teased the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, the feather-light touch eliciting sparks of heat along your spine.

"There, there," he murmured, the words a dark rasp that sent shivers through you. "I think that's enough punishment for now, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Gojo-sensei," you breathed, your voice sounding foreign to your ears.

"Good girl." His fingers ghosted over your slickened folds, teasingly light and yet eliciting a gasp of pleasure.

"But if you want to earn the privilege of a reward, you're going to have to earn it first," he continued, his words a low growl that reverberated straight through you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as his thumb traced slow circles around your clit, the sensation sending tendrils of molten heat coiling through you. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped you, or the way your hips bucked against his touch, seeking more friction.

"I'm not hearing a yes, kitten," he chided, the words a dark purr.

"Yes, Gojo-sensei," you managed, the words coming out in a breathy whisper.

His fingers teased your entrance, dipping just barely into the slickness gathering there. A low groan escaped him, the sound reverberating through your body.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me, aren't you?" He growled, his voice a low rasp. "All spread out and aching for me to fill you up, aren't you, babygirl?"

"Yes, Gojo-sensei." You repeated the phrase like a mantra, unable to form any other coherent thoughts as his fingers curled inside you.

"Look at you, taking my fingers like such a good little slut," he murmured, the words punctuated by the wet sounds of him pumping his digits in and out of you.

You couldn't help the way your hips rocked against his touch, the sensation eliciting sparks of pleasure along your spine. Your back arched, thighs trembling as you sought more friction.

"That's it, take it all," he urged, his voice a low rumble. "Feel how tight you're gripping me, baby. So wet and desperate for me, aren't you?"

"Please," you whined, the word emerging as a broken plea. "I need more, Gojo-sensei. Please."

"Such a needy little slut," he chuckled, the sound sending shivers through you.

He removed his fingers, eliciting a whimper of protest from you, before his palm came down hard on the already abused flesh of your ass, the resounding slap echoing through the room.

"Up," he commanded, the word a rough bark.

You scrambled to obey, limbs shaky as you pushed yourself upright. Your thighs were slick with your own arousal, a sight that only intensified the burn of humiliation. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped your throat, a combination of humiliation and desire.

Gojo stood in front of you, his pants unbuttoned and his cock fully erect. The sight was enough to make your mouth water, but he seemed determined to draw this out, his expression an inscrutable mask as he appraised you.

"On your knees," he commanded, the words a low growl.

You sank to your knees before him, the movement sending a jolt of pain through your ass as it came into contact with the plush rug. His cock was mere inches from your face, the tip glistening with precum. Your breath caught in your throat, your mouth watering as you took in the sight.

"Suck it," he commanded, the words a low rumble.

Your hands trembled as you reached for him, fingers curling around the base of his cock. He let out a low groan as you stroked him, the sound sending shivers through you. He was rock hard, and you couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips as you felt the weight of him in your palm.

"Good girl," he murmured, the words a low rumble.

You opened your mouth, tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock. He tasted musky and salty, and you couldn't help the way your body responded, a rush of heat pooling between your thighs. You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hips bucked forward, and you nearly choked, but managed to steady yourself.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice a low rasp. "That's it, baby. Just like that."

Your tongue traced the underside of his shaft, reveling in the feel of him filling your mouth. Your jaw ached, but you didn't care, lost in the sensation of him. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping tightly as he fucked your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. You swallowed him down, moaning around his length.

"Shit," he cursed, his voice a guttural growl. "You're so fucking good at this, aren't you, slut?"

The words sent a thrill of pleasure through you, and you couldn't help but whimper in agreement. You wanted him to keep talking, wanted to hear him praise you, wanted to hear him degrade you. His cock pulsed in your mouth, and you knew he was close.

"Gonna come," he growled, the words a harsh rasp.

He pulled out, his cock springing free from your mouth with a wet pop. Your eyes widened as he pumped himself in his fist, the sight of his swollen, leaking cock almost enough to make you come undone.

"Beg for it," he commanded with a low snarl.

"Please," you pleaded, your voice a desperate whimper. "Please, Gojo-sensei. Please come on my face."

"Fuck," he swore, the word a guttural growl.

You closed your eyes as he came, warm spurts of cum landing on your cheeks and lips. You licked your lips, the taste of him bitter and salty. You couldn't help but whimper as his seed trickled down your face, his musky scent invading your nostrils.

"Clean it up," he ordered, the words a low growl.

You complied, using your fingers to scoop the mess from your cheeks and licking it from your fingertips. The action only seemed to arouse him further, and his cock twitched in response. You couldn't help the moan that escaped you, the sight of his renewed erection sending a rush of heat through you.

"On the bed," he commanded, his voice a rough rasp.

You scrambled to comply, the ache of your bruised and battered body momentarily forgotten in the anticipation of what was to come. Your legs trembled as you climbed onto the bed, spreading them wide for him. Your pussy throbbed, the feeling only intensifying as you watched him step out of his pants and stalk towards you with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"So needy," he purred, the words a low rumble.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he knelt between your legs, his gaze raking over your exposed body. You felt like an offering, a sacrifice laid out for him to devour. His cock was hard and swollen, and you couldn't help but writhe beneath him, desperate for him to fill you.

"Patience, kitten," he murmured, the words a dark chuckle.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into the tender flesh as he dragged you closer. Your skin tingled at the sensation, the anticipation nearly overwhelming. He lined his cock up with your entrance, the tip pressing against your slickened folds.

"Please," you begged, the word a breathless whisper.

He leaned over you, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours. You could feel his breath against your skin, the heat of him making your pulse race. You ached for him, the empty void within you seeming to expand until it threatened to swallow you whole.

"What do you want, kitten?" He murmured, his voice a low rumble.

"Fuck me, Gojo-sensei," you whimpered, the words emerging as a strangled moan.

He pushed into you, his cock filling you up in one swift thrust. You gasped, the sensation nearly enough to send you over the edge. His cock stretched you open, the fullness sending sparks of pleasure through you. You arched into him, your hips grinding against his as he began to move inside you.

"So fucking tight," he growled, the words a low rumble.

You writhed beneath him, lost in the feeling of his cock pounding into you. His hips rolled against yours, the friction sending bolts of electricity through you. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You moaned against his mouth, his tongue exploring yours.

"Come for me," he commanded, the words a ragged order.

You cried out, the pleasure ripping through you as you came undone beneath him. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him for all he was worth. He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he slammed into you. The sound of skin against skin was a symphony, the feel of him moving within you almost too much to bear.

"Fuck, kitten," he growled, his voice a husky rasp.

His hips jerked as he spilled inside you, his release sending you spiraling into another wave of pleasure. You clung to him, the orgasm ripping through you with an intensity you'd never experienced before. Your entire body shuddered, your muscles clenching around his cock as you milked every last drop of his cum.

"Fuck," he groaned, his cock slipping out of you with a wet squelch.

You whimpered at the loss, the feeling of him leaving you making you want more. You could feel his seed leaking out of you, trickling down the insides of your thighs before you felt the telltale trickle of wetness. The realization that he'd made you squirt was nearly enough to send you spiraling into another orgasm.

"You're a mess, kitten," he purred, the words a dark chuckle.

His fingers traced the rivulets of wetness on the insides of your thighs, the sensation sending shivers through you. The bedsheets were soaked beneath you, your juices and his cum mingling in a puddle of filth. The sight only served to arouse him further, and his cock twitched, already half-hard again.

"So messy," he murmured, the words a husky rasp.

He reached up, tracing a finger through the mess of his cum and your juices on your cheeks. You whimpered as he brought the digit to your lips, the taste of him making you crave more. He pressed his thumb into your mouth, the weight of it a welcome sensation. You sucked on it, savoring the flavor of him.

"Fuck, that's hot," he growled, his cock already fully erect again. But he knew your body couldn't take it, not after everything he'd put you through.

He rolled off of you, and you immediately missed the heat of his weight on top of you. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. You sighed, the feel of his skin against yours sending shivers through you. His cock pressed against your ass, and you couldn't help but grind back against him, eager for more.

"Greedy little slut," he murmured, the words a rough chuckle. "Stay still. I’m trying to take care of you."

He pulled the blankets over the two of you, cocooning you in the warmth of his body. Your muscles ached, and the bruises and welts on your skin throbbed, but you didn't care. The exhaustion and pain were a distant afterthought, overshadowed by the euphoric bliss that came from being sated by the man who had trained and taught and tormented you.

"You did so well, my sweet, filthy girl," he purred, the words a soft murmur against your hair. "So obedient, even when I had to punish you for nearly getting yourself killed."

Gojo cupped your face in his hands, eyes twinkling with both relief and mischief. "You really had me worried there, yknow," he chided gently.

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, kissing you with a jovial intensity. His kisses trailed along your jaw, up to your ear where he murmured, "Don't think you can get away with stunts like that." His teeth grazed your earlobe playfully.

Laughing, you tried to squirm away, but he captured you in his arms. "No escaping your punishment," Gojo teased, raining kisses along your neck and collarbone. His fingers danced along your sides, finding all the spots that made you squirm with giggles.

Finally, he relented, pinning you beneath him with a roguish grin. "There, I'd say that covers it for scaring me half to death." His expression softened as he brushed a few stray hairs from your flushed face. "Just don't go risking that beautiful smile again, okay?"

[miguel-ohara-wifey]

Spiderverse men when they catch you masterbating

Headcanons

Rating: 18+

Peter B Parker

-Peter’s always been a competent lover, although he’s had his doubts about his performance before. It wasn’t anything you two couldn’t work through. All things considered your sex life is quite vanilla.

-You’ve made attempts at kinks in the past but neither of you were feeling it at the time. You two just settled on your physical relationship wouldn’t be anything remarkable.

-That was ended one day when Peter came to your place early from Spider-Maning. He entered into the apartment not immediately making his presence known. He then heard your muffled moans and groans, and the intelligible shouting of a movie playing somewhere. Innocently presuming something must be wrong.

-He shoved his vision through a tiny crack in your doorway. Seeing your comforters pulled just above your hips, with one hand wiggling underneath as the other strangled your mouth shut.

-Adjusting his view, Peter spotted a man in the porno on the tv in your room. Covering a woman’s mouth, as he had her bent over a table. Teasing “Yeah you want them to hear us huh?”, as he started roughly planting himself inside of her. Taunting how loud she’s being, how he denies her the thrill of the being spotted like this. And based off of you simulating the man’s actions. You were fully into it.

-Peter should probably stop watching, but it was far too educational not to. He’s been searching for how to enrich your sex lives. But either nothing clicked or you simply were too embarrassed.

-Soon his own length started an ache as he watched you so excited to being silenced by a a grip on your mouth. To be bent over a table in front of clear windows, easily noticeable by passerby’s. He knew exactly how to make you feel even better now, be pleasured the way you deserve. He figured now was the time to make himself known.

-He bangs his fist against the wood of the door twice, signaling his entrance into the room. As you heard his voice bounce off the walls of your place. You rushed to the remote, pressing the button which reduces the scene of the porno to black. Shooting a look at him wide eyed trying to play off what, even if he didn’t see, what he definitely already heard.

-He grins with an obvious erection in his pants, pushing the door completely open. Taunting how this is why you go to the video store so often. The heat of embarrassment dwarfs the heat of arousal your body held just moments ago.

-Moments after he climbs into bed with you, trailing his left fingers along the left side of your jawline. Planting a quick kiss on your mouth.

“Let’s go to the dining room honey…got a surprise for you.”

Miguel O’Hara

-Miguel and you have always been adventurous, he’s down to try anything with you twice. Bondage, gaging, roleplay, spanking, biting, clawing, etc. He’s all for whatever keeps him in charge and makes you pleased.

-Never was that more apparent when he was drifting between sleep and wakefulness at 2 am. After a long day of working, he decided to check into bed alongside you. With the icy comforters and sheets enveloping him beside you, as his back faced you. His mind was cradled between trying to sleep and being awake. Blissfully on his way to slumber.

-Until he heard you huffing and sighing with next to no intervals in between. Pressing and depressing air from your lungs by sheer force, also as if you’re forgetting too due to something else.

-Then he feels your legs kicking in place under the cover of your shared blanket. Your muscles surely strained by the self imposed, in place exercise. You were clearly horny, and like someone with a headache trying to put a cold rag on there head. When headache medicine isn’t available. You don’t have Miguel’s dick to satiate it. So your fingers suffice.

-Miguel shots his grip towards your wrist, the one permitting pressure to be applied through your vagina. Before you can try to turn around, Miguel’s already on top of you. He’s pinned both your wrists at your sides, you huff previously excited breath across his cheeks. As he’s hovering above you, he inquires in Spanish what made you think that pussy belongs to you.

-You play into the role of the brat which Miguel can’t get enough of, his black boxers already tightening at your needy whining. You attempt to push and shove your way out of his grip. But he just tightens it, almost threatening to crush your dainty wrists compared to his almost Herculean strength.

-Despite the lightless room which boxed you two in, you can see his shit eating grin. Miguel adores when he bosses you around, he feels best when he’s in control. And such an attitude registers amazingly in the bed room. Sure his looks help, but goddamn does he know how to make being submissive feel even better.

-He erases the distance between his lips and your right ear, speaking in plain English. For you to ask nicely for him to fuck you. You don’t want the foreplay to end.

-So you resolve to keep squirming, feeling the wetness already spilled from your pussy to your pants rubbing against his bare thighs. As you tried to kick free. But his body weight itself is the cage, there’s no way to push him off.

-But the fact you tried makes his smile grow, as he whispers again with a chuckle at the start.

“Time to teach you a lesson about touching yourself without my permission Bebita…”

Hobie Brown

-Hobies never been the type to be insecure about your sex lives. Sure his career as a rockstar, his activism, and his usual spidermaning has pulled him away from you more times than he would’ve liked. But all and all it hasn’t damaged your relationship. Doesn’t help you get awfully lonely when he has to embark on a serious mission or concert without you.

-It’s you who gets insecure for the both of you in all honesty. How an accomplished rockstar, superhero, and champion of the people would pick you? After years of dating you’ve yet to deduce how in the sea of supermodels, celebrities, and fellow rockstars who’ve thrown themselves at Hobie. He pushed them all aside and pulled you out, choosing to stay with you. You can’t understand, sometimes it frustrates you.

-Manifesting when he was away again, and you tried to swirl your fingers at your g spot as he was gone. You imagined it was his fingers, expect thinner and shorter. And he’d actually be good at it. Sure you do your best to come by your own hands if hobie was unavailable. But you’re largely unsuccessful, and porn made by men isn’t entirely helpful. You try and try, your growing anger at yourself hits a breaking point.

-Growling like a pissed off puppy on the couch, grabbing a pillow beside you and throwing it at the window. Hobie got hit instead right as he came through, it smacked right on his palm as his spidey sense warned him moments before you threw it.

-You stood up and ran towards him, once he stood on the floor of your home days earlier than he said he’d be back. You hugged him, he chuckled patting your back. He asked if you missed him, you laugh off how of course you didn’t.

-He then spots the used vibrator on the floor, you had forgotten about it. Only when his eyes drew upward next to the couch. Did the memory set itself back into your skull. Before the embarrassment could hit you, like seconds before shock settles in after a punch in the gut.

-Hobie asks almost innocently if you know how, cause he can tell that vibrators looks barely used. And considering how easily you got up to hug him. Your body isn’t pleased at all. You solemnly admit to him, not able to look him in the eyes.

-He grins, taking your hand and heading to bed. Inquiring how he must be away too much for you to not know how to do this. You two have certainly had sex, fantastic sex. But it’s been so long since then, and the fact you’ve never learned how to get yourself off on your own.

-Hobie now feels obligated to teach you how, considering his life will only get busier. And for now you two will have to be apart for longer than he wishes. He’ll certainly help you through it in every way possible.

“Don’ worry love…I’ll help you out real nice.”

Spider-Man Noir

-Noir’s extremely attentive, almost overbearing in some ways. But you two were usually on the same page in regards to that. One day you come down with a flu, the worst one you’ve experienced in your life. You need to take off time from work cause your body’s functionally unable to do anything besides the bare necessities of life.

-You insisted to Noir you don’t need to be watched and can take care of yourself. His habit of overcompensating gets the better of him, and regardless stays with you for a few days on end.

-Doing your dishes for you, cooking for you (with your supervision naturally), and pressing you to stay in bed. Sure the cold was bad but you hate depending on others. Sure noir taught you how to trust and rely on other people. Cause if he can excel anywhere it’s helping people.

-However with your cutting headache, blistering coughs, and your nose being choked by snot. Your patience for his insecurity is thin. You bubble it up not to take it out on him. He’s just trying to help, but goddamn a few moments of privacy would be nice.

-You had to achieve such while protecting his feelings, you know how he’s spent a lot of his life alone. Weather out of unfortunate life circumstances or self-infliction. So the few people he has in his life, it’s hard for him to notice when he’s being clingy.

-Your plan now is to hide the tomato soup cans he bought you. And kindly ask him to get some more from the store. He promises he’ll be right back with the soups. As you then print off a list from your pencil to a paper. Telling him while he’s there might as well get everything else you need. He’s more than willing.

-Once he’s gone, you can finally satiate your horniness. Of course you two haven’t had sex since you’ve gotten sick. You didn’t want to pass around the cold, the last thing Spider-Man needs is to get sick. But you have a hot rod magazine under your bed just in these scenarios.

-Sure they’ll do in absence of your one and only, with your favorite page propped up on your pillow. The naked beautifully toned man staring back at you. As your fingers mined through the space between the walls of your vagina. On your back, with your eyes pushed as far back to keep your vision on the pornography.

-You take your time, having ensured on the list you got him stuff at the back of the store. Which will take him ages and the lines will surely add up in the time it takes.

-Noir bursts in halfway through, seeing everything. Your position, the magazine. Realizing with his detective skills, that you lied to get him to leave the house. You sit up and try to explain away. However, he takes it in stride how he was being overbearing. He sits on the edge of the bed as you get up to sit beside him. How you’re sorry you didn’t just say anything directly, and he promises to trust your word when he’s not needed.

“Thanks darlin, I know I can be…a lot…”

[wingedblooms]

Heart of the Night Court

This meta is a continuation of theories in forbidden secrets, blooming dreams, and bright as the dawn, as it narrows in on Illyria, Ramiel, and their connection to Wyrd. Please avoid if you do not want to read hofas spoilers. 

Facing Ramiel

The northern region of the Night Court is where Ramiel, one of the three sacred sister peaks, is located. It is considered the heart of Illyria and the Night Court. 

Ramiel. The sacred mountain.  The heart of not only Illyria, but the entirety of the Night Court.  None were permitted on its barren, rocky slopes—save for the Illyrians, and only once a year at that. During the Blood Rite.  Cassian soared toward it, unable to resist Ramiel’s ancient summons. Different—the mountain was so different from the barren, terrible presence of the lone peak in the center of Prythian. Ramiel had always felt alive, somehow. Awake and watchful. (acofas) [...] Ramiel rose higher still, a shard of stone piercing the gray sky. Beautiful and lonely. Eternal and ageless. (acofas)

Cassian describes Ramiel as alive, awake, and watchful, and so very beautiful as she rises from the earth. Likewise, Feyre emphasizes that Elain is alive and somehow infinitely more beautiful as she rises from the ground after she is Made in the Cauldron. Her legs are even bare, which remind me of the barren terrain, and her sheer nightgown might even be a hint for thin places, as @offtorivendell observed. Elain’s strength has also always been different than her sisters, just like Ramiel among her sacred sister peaks.   

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water.  And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.  Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare.  The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live– Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again.  Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

As each spring dawns on the world, Ramiel is crowned with three stars, and the Illyrians—who we learned may have been the Asteri’s soldiers and therefore may carry on rituals that would have benefited them—honor bloodshed on her land rather than new life. 

No wonder that first ruler of the Night Court had made this his insignia. Along with the three stars that only appeared for a brief window each year, framing the uppermost peak of Ramiel like a crown. It was during that window when the Rite occurred. Which had come first: the insignia or the Rite, Cassian didn’t know. Had never really cared to find out.  The conifer forests and ravines that dotted the landscape flowing to Ramiel’s foot gleamed under the fresh snow. Empty and clean. No sign of the bloodshed that would occur come the start of spring. (acofas) 

Some even seem to take great pleasure in the killing that is permitted during this rite, and Ramiel, which we know is alive and watching, is forced to witness it every year. Azriel calls it a week of pointless bloodshed, but we know now that is likely untrue. @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell and I believe the Asteri may have created or warped an existing rite to suit their needs. @silverlinedeyes pointed out that this spring rite reminds her of the Great Rite, and that made something click for me: perhaps the Blood Rite is the Night Court's Great Rite. Is the secondlight from slain warriors absorbed by the land? And do those few who reach the stone, which I suspect might be the Maiden in this rite, provide firstlight to the cache hidden in Ramiel’s heart? Is it any wonder the winds around her howl, and her land is often frozen and inhospitable?

The mountain neared, mighty and endless, so wide that he might as well have been a mayfly in the wind. Cassian soared toward Ramiel’s southern face, rising high enough to catch a glimpse of the shining black stone jutting from its top.  Who had put that stone atop the peak, he didn’t know, either. Legend said it had existed before the Night Court formed, before the Illyrians migrated from the Myrmidons, before humans even walked the earth. Even with the fresh snow crusting Ramiel, none had touched the pillar of stone. (acofas)

The shining black stone on Ramiel’s face is able to heal and transport those who touch it. In acosf, it knew where Nesta’s friends were needed most and sent them to the River House. It is also on the southern face of the mountain, which in the northern hemisphere, is the part of the mountain that receives the most sunlight. Cassian tells us that he doesn’t know who put it there, but legend says it was before humans even walked the earth. While it is very likely that the Asteri warped it (into a tool to sustain them, like the gates in Lunathion as @merymoonbeam so cleverly pointed out), I believe it may have also originally been linked to the Cauldron. 

In hofas, we discover that Ramiel used to bear the Cauldron on her land:

“The Cauldron,” Nesta said hours later, pointing to yet another carving on the wall. It indeed showed a giant cauldron, perched atop what seemed to be a barren mountain peak with three stars above it. Azriel halted, angling his head. “That’s Ramiel.” At Bryce’s questioning look, he explained, “A mountain sacred to the Illyrians.”  Bryce nodded to the carving. “What’s the big deal about a cauldron?” [...]  “All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.” (hofas) […] The snows around Ramiel parted, revealing a massive bowl of iron at the foot of the monolith. Even through the vision, its presence leaked into the world, a heavy, ominous thing. “The Cauldron,” Nesta said, dread lacing her voice. […] “The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced…those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage.” (hofas) 

I wonder if long ago, before the Asteri desecrated them, the stone and Cauldron together resembled this depiction of Wyrd: 

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin…they were like tattoos. […] “And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

This depiction is interesting because it mirrors, almost exactly, the figurine Nesta assumes is the Mother in the House of Wind: 

It was a fire. Not her father’s neck. Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.  Another log cracked, and Nesta flinched. But she remained sitting there. Staring at that carved rose. (acosf) 

For some reason, she needed to set Elain’s rose, half-hidden in shadow, next to this depiction of what appears to be Wyrd. In hosab, the Under-King also described Wyrd as a mother to all, which is why I theorized that she is actually a triple goddess: Mother, Cauldron, Fate. They are three parts, or faces, of the same force. The three sacred sister peaks and three blessed Archeron sisters are intentionally linked to her. Perhaps the moon in the female’s hands isn’t just a moon, but a world too. Immediately after this scene, the House of Wind shows Nesta her heart in the lovely darkness of the mountain, which she calls the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. 

Heart racing, Nesta lifted the lantern in one hand and gazed at the darkness, untouched by the light from the library high, high above. The heart of the world, of existence. Of self.  The heart of the House.  “This…” Her fingers tightened on the lantern. “This darkness is your heart.” [...] Let the darkness sweep in. Embraced it. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered into it. “You are my friend, and my home. Thank you for sharing this with me.” (acosf)

Nesta embraces the heart of the House of Wind, which naturally makes me recall the heart of the Prison asking Bryce to open her heart to it…it might sing again. Awaken. There was a beating, vibrant heart locked away, far beneath them. We’re not sure exactly how Avallen might have affected the Prison island, and I suspect there is more to come with that plot thread. While I had always hoped the Valkyries might re-establish themselves as an intercourt army in the Middle, which does not have ties to any court in particular, I can also appreciate the possibility that they might ultimately settle on the Prison island instead. It would be incredible to see Pegasi return and for the Valkyries to learn how to fly on them. 

This plot is related to the core thread driving us forward, and it is something that can occur in a book that is centered on Elain and Azriel. Together, they have the vision and gifts needed to map the secrets of the land, starting with the sacred sister peaks, which I believe will ultimately help them restore Wyrd. This would fit all of the seeds Sarah has planted for the third sister’s arc with Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen. It would also be powerful for a character who has been underestimated and ridiculed for gardening to heal the land and the very source that created it. 

As I said prior to hofas, this exploration will inevitably bring them to the very heart of Ramiel. As a bearer of Wyrd, the source of life, Ramiel may even be the heart of the world, not just the Night Court. Will they discover that she was once very different? Did she change, as her sisters did, when the Asteri burrowed into her heart? Or was it because the Cauldron, Wyrd’s physical form, was warped into a tool of destruction by the Asteri and later removed from her land? Were the Illyrians created to guard the Cauldron since it was the Asteri’s most precious weapon? And is that why, as @cassianfanclub wondered, the Asteri were so desperate to reach the stone at the top, where the Cauldron was once depicted? Enalius may have prevented it from falling into their hands as he defended the Pass, which would’ve been a critical turning point in a rebellion. Unlike the rite they currently use to honor him, Enalius’s defense was in the service of life, which is what made Nesta’s sacrifice so inspiring. Her sacrifice is now depicted in the heart of the Court of Dreams, which is dedicated to building a better world.

Descending into Ramiel

We learn that Ramiel may be hiding secrets from Eris, of all characters: 

Eris shrugged, and Nesta knew Cassian monitored his every breath. “There are three of them, you know. Sister peaks. This one, the mountain called the Prison, and the one the Illyrian brutes call Ramiel. All bald, barren mountains at odds with those around them.” “We don’t know why they exist, but do you not find it strange that two out of the three have underground palaces carved into them?”  […]  Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.” “I thought Amarantha made the court Under the Mountain herself,” Nesta said.  “Oh, she decorated it and made us act like a sorry imitation of your Court of Nightmares, but the tunnels and halls were carved long before. By who, we don’t know.” (acosf)

He tells us that the three sacred peaks are sisters. Sacred is another word for blessed. And two out of three of them have been at least somewhat explored, but the third? Still mysterious. No one was curious enough to see what lied beneath her beautiful face, at her heart. This is such a lovely parallel for the three blessed sisters, and seems like a clear hint for the third one in particular. 

In hofas, we receive confirmation that these secrets might be connected to the Asteri, who are known as Daglan in Prythian lore: 

“They fought the Daglan and won, she went on. Using the Daglan’s own weapons, they destroyed them. Yet my parents did not think to learn the Daglan’s other secrets—they were too weary, too eager to leave the past behind.” (hofas) 

-

Vesperus backed up a half step, hissing at the gleaming weapon. “We hid pockets of our power throughout the lands, in case the vermin should cause … problems. It seems our wisdom did not fail us.” “There are no such places,” Azriel countered coldly. “Are there not?” Vesperus grinned broadly, showing all of her too-white teeth. “Have you looked beneath every sacred mountain? At their very roots? The magic draws all sorts of creatures. I can sense them even now, slithering about, gnawing on the magic. My magic. They’re as much vermin as the rest of you.” (hofas)

Bryce concludes, after Vesperus is able to draw the power from her secret cache below, that there is a firstlight core in the root, or heart, of the mountain. We see what happens in Avallen when the land is forced to contain magic where its ley lines overlap, rather than allowing it to flow as it should: it binds the magic of the land and causes it to wither like a plant with root rot. And that seems to explain why the sacred peaks are so odd: barren yet thrumming with power. 

I have theorized that the caches of power may need to be released leading up to the restoration of Wyrd, and I suspect there may be clues—especially within Ramiel—about how the Asteri warped and bound her to the land. If Elain is as tied to the land as we suspect, this could also strengthen whatever magic she possesses. 

In the cavern illustrations Bryce views in hofas, we see what might lie beneath Ramiel, maybe even the entire Night Court:

Scenes of a blessed land, a thriving civilization. One relief had been so similar to the frieze of the Fae male forging the sword at the Crescent City Ballet that Bryce had nearly gasped. The last carving before the river had been one of transition: a Fae King and Queen seated on thrones, a mountain—different from the one with the palace atop it—behind them with three stars rising above it. A different kingdom, then. Some ancient High Lord and Lady, Nesta had suggested before approaching the river.  She hadn’t commented on the lower half of the carving, which depicted a Helscape beneath their thrones, some kind of underworld. Humanoid figures writhed in pain amid what looked like icicles and snapping, scaly beasts—either past enemies conquered or an indication of what failure to bow to the rulers would bring upon the defiant.  The suffering stretched throughout, lingering even underneath that archipelago and its mountaintop palace. Even here, in paradise, death and evil remained. A common motif in Midgardian art, too, usually with the caption: Et in Avallen ego.  Even in Avallen, there am I. A whispered promise from Death. Another version of memento mori. A reminder that death was always, always waiting. Even in the blessed Fae isle of Avallen. (hofas) 

This might merely be a hint for the Asteri secrets that remain buried in the earth. But I agree with others (including @offtorivendell, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and @silverlinedeyes) who have wondered if this Helscape is in fact a hint that Prythian, and the Night Court in particular, is tied to Hel. We learned that the worlds in the Maasverse are tied together through ley lines, and the veil between worlds is thin where these ley lines overlap—like the lines in a star. 

That may be the true meaning of star symbols throughout the Maasverse, and the one specifically found in the Prison that is connected to the Starborn: as I theorized pre-hosab, it is a compass rose, and it seems to be linked to other places in the grander tapestry of the universe. There is power in the space where the lines meet; these lines represent ley lines. Certain people (Asteri, Starborn, etc.) are able to use that power to travel, communicate, or even light up entire worlds. Depending on how those lines are woven in certain areas, they might even be able to draw you to one place more than another. That may explain why the Prison seems more connected to Midgard. So, could Ramiel be more connected to Hel, and the Middle to…Erilea?

I wonder if Elain, Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen’s exploration in the heart of Ramiel might lead them to Wyrd’s Temple in Hel, except @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, and I think she goes by yet another name there: Chaos. It’s possible they could use black salt or another substance to achieve this, as @offtorivendell and @cassianfanclub have discussed, especially with Elain’s sight. I am personally hoping for a physical trip to Hel and Ramiel might possess a doorway, or rift, as @offtorivendell has theorized. 

The black boat that Aidas led Bryce and Hunt into was a cross between the one that had brought them into Avallen and the ones that carried bodies to the Bone Quarter. But in lieu of a stag’s head, it was a stag’s skull at the prow, greenish flame dancing in its eyes as it sailed through the cave. The eerie green light illuminated black rock carved into pillars and buildings, walkways and temples. Ancient. And empty. Bryce had never seen a place so void of life. So … still. Even the Bone Quarter had a sense of being lived in, albeit by the dead. But here, nothing stirred. […] “It’s like a city of the dead,” Hunt murmured, draping a wing around Bryce. Aidas turned from where he stood at the prow, holding in his hands a long pole that he’d used to guide them. “That’s because it is.” He gestured with a pale hand to the buildings and temples and avenues. “This is where our beloved dead come to rest, with all the comforts of life around them.” […] Before Aidas could answer, the boat approached a small quay leading to what appeared to be a temple. A figure emerged from between the pillars of the temple and descended its front steps. Golden-haired, golden-skinned. […] “The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again.

This sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It sounds an awful lot like other beliefs in the Maasverse:

Bryce asked, because some small part of her had to know after what she’d seen of the Mask, “When you die, where do your souls go?” Did they even believe in the concept of a soul? Maybe she should have led with that.  But Azriel said softly, “They return to the Mother, where they rest in joy within her heart until she finds another purpose for us. Another life or world to live in.” (hofas)

-

“We’ll collect the dead tomorrow,” Manon said, her voice low. “And burn them at moonrise.” As both Crochans and Ironteeth did. A full moon tomorrow—the Mother’s Womb. A good moon to be burned. To be returned to the Three-Faced Goddess, and reborn within that womb. (koa)

Wyrd (Chaos) is the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. And that is where people rest in joy until they are reborn. Could this be where the spirits are migrating on Starfall?

We know the Princes of Hel are intergalactic helpers, so a trip to Hel or an encounter with a Prince (Bryaxis? Thanatos? Even Balthazar, if he isn’t Elain? 😉 still my favorite crack theory) might give us insight into their role in Prythian. It could also involve Azriel’s peculiar magic that makes him, like Ramiel, so different from even his Illyrian brothers. Let's be honest, he’s always had a Prince of Hel vibe—down to his reverence for Wyrd (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Chaos)—that I would love to see come to fruition. 

Beyond Azriel himself, I also think we will learn the origins of the Illyrians in the heart of Ramiel. Were they connected to Hel before the Asteri made them their soldiers, like @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell theorized? Or were they an experiment like the blessed sisters? Did the Asteri put humans (hence the ears) into the Cauldron after it was imbued with their void magic and create beings of night and pain who could combat enemies, including demons? This might be another reason why the three most powerful Illyrians are a match in power for the three blessed sisters. 

Together, they balance opposing forces as @silverlinedeyes previously theorized. They seem to represent the forces of Void and Chaos, and their power can be combined in the space between to achieve impossible feats (eg, physically healing the Cauldron and the rip in the world). All three sisters seem to be chosen bearers, or conduits, for Wyrd (Chaos), so I wouldn’t be surprised if we see another example of this in a different way for Azriel and Elain, and/or a scene where they are all linked magically.  

My lips tugged toward a smile. But Rhys stared at all of us, somehow assembled here in the sun-drenched open grasses without being given the order. Our family—our court. The Court of Dreams.  […] He surveyed them all again—and held out his hand to Cassian. Cassian took it, and held out his other hand for Mor. Then Mor extended her other to Azriel. Azriel to Amren. Amren to Nesta. Nesta to Elain. And Elain to me. Until we were all linked, all bound together. (acowar)

Since Ramiel is connected to Wyrd (Chaos), and there may be a doorway to her temple in Hel, this journey will likely also uncover secrets about her. Will her story come from illustrations in stone, members of Hel, or…my personal favorite, Wyrd herself? I believe that is one of the many reasons she gifted Elain with such powers, including sight: so she could tell her story to someone who could see differently. Someone who could see the creator within the darkness, just as Elain saw the dark cottage as a shelter rather than a prison. This gift may provide them the information they need to uncover the Asteri’s secrets and unravel their magic from the sacred peaks and Wyrd, which could lead them to at least two other places: (1) Midgard, where the Book of Breathings is now kept by Bryce, and (2) Cretea, where the Cauldron is currently hidden. Could Azriel even pay back Bryce for stealing his precious dagger? It would only be fitting. 

Ramiel Springs Eternal 

I was so cold I might never be warm again. Even during winter in the mortal realm, I’d managed to find some kernel of heat, but after nearly emptying my cache of magic that afternoon, even roaring heart fire couldn’t thaw the chill around my bones. Did spring ever come to this blasted place? (acomaf)

Illyria is known for being bitterly cold, to the point where Feyre wonders if spring would ever arrive there. Sarah has consistently described Elain as blooming life amid death and winter, and this imagery starts to become really apparent in Illyria: 

Mor let out a snort that made the Illyrians stiffen. But she shifted, revealing Elain behind her. Elain was just blinking, wide-eyed, at the camp. The army.  Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon…She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. (acowar) 

Compared to Nesta, a newly forged sword, Elain is a blooming flower even in an Illyrian army camp, which is essentially saying she is a bloom of life and color in the middle of winter. This imagery is so fitting because she commits her time to creating and restoring gardens wherever she goes. She brings life and joy and beauty into the world. Even her scent is a promise of spring: 

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf)

We also know she is also capable of hearing sound, specifically hearts, through stone. In their conversation about heartbeats, Lucien even wonders if she is speaking to him: 

She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth. “When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”  Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. (acowar)

Was Elain actually speaking to one of the sister peaks, or even Wyrd, during some of this conversation? Her response to Lucien even seems to echo the song of the land: no one had ever truly looked, not really. No one knew what secrets they carried in their heart. This is such a lonely existence. As Elain and Azriel heal the land, I believe they will also heal their own wounds. Feel seen and heard. Understood. 

Elain was also wearing a blue cloak in the Illyrian camp. Could that be a hint of her future work with others who wear something similar, like the priestesses who worship Wyrd? She answered her sister’s prayer during the war rather than Wyrd and has led her own sister in prayer before. Is she more priestess—more healer—than warrior, and is that the different sort of strength needed to garden on a larger scale? @willowmeres and I were discussing this the other night: perhaps like Gwydion and TT (which I theorized singing to each other across space), Elain’s rose necklace was called to the library when the priestesses were singing about Wyrd. And because like calls to like, the necklace answered and drew Azriel to the library instead of the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Like her sisters before her, Elain might receive help from priestesses as she hones her vision and gifts. I would scream if this turns out to be true because that necklace is pure Chaos (pun definitely intended).

It’s also possible the priestesses could be helpful in unbinding Void from the Book of Breathings, a book of spells. I doubt this will be a simple matter, however. It might rival the unraveling of Erawan, which required massive raw healing magic. Will the Asteri’s void magic manifest on another plane as Elain battles it with raw healing magic, shining bright as the dawn? Could a dawn ritual help ground her during this battle? And will Azriel, the sisters, the brothers, even priestesses with their healing stones, need to create a living chain to defeat Void and fully restore Wyrd (Chaos) in the end? Will we finally get a glimpse of her, unbound? 

Maybe with the help of Azriel and others, Elain will even restore Wyrd—blossoming life—to Ramiel’s sunniest face, the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. And true spring will finally come to her sacred land.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

No Pain, No Gain | Part 4, Final | PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem!reader

A:N: Thank you all soooo much for joining me on this one, it was a blast to write. This chapter kinda made me feral writing it ngl. Cheers to my hype mama @ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 And I know I mentioned it in the first part but really it’s Ange as well as @valeskafics​ @oneeyedvisenya​ and @sapphire-writes​ that inspired me to write this from their AMAZING modern fics, so please give them all the love as well.

Series Masterlist | Warnings under the cut!

warnings: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, pussy slapping, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, Aemond being mean during sex lowkey love it tho

Lucky for you, the flight wasn’t too long.

 Even though you had Baela on your shoulder snoozing, nothing could tear your mind off the sheer idiocy of the previous week.

 You’d fucking kissed him.

Or he’d kissed you? At this point the whole memory was foggy.

 All you know is that you were mere seconds away from tearing his fucking clothes off in his home gym and letting him have you on any flat surface there was.

 You thought how wrong it was. You were paying this guy!

 And yet there was a lingering feeling in the back of your mind, a heat clawing its way up your neck, like a constant ache almost at the thought of what would have happened if you hadn’t bolted. The endless possibilities were…vividly playing on your brain the entire plane journey.

 ‘Fucking perfect’

 Even his voice had made a permanent home in your mind, his hot breath against your ear as he pinned you against the wall, allowing you to feel just how turned on he had been.

 You obeyed Baela’s wishes and only told Maris about the kiss.

 It turned out that Baela’s Dad, Daemon, had really gone all out for this retreat. In a place called Lys (which you’d scarcely heard of) on the other side of the island from where the airport was, it was quiet, with only the odd resident along the streets, but for the most part it was completely remote. You’d have to thank him for the personal taxi later.

 Baela had slept through the plane journey entirely so now she just looked out the windows tiredly.

 “Is your Dad and Rhaenyra already there?” you ask, seemingly breaking her from a tired trance.

 She stretches, “Yeah they’ve been here ages already, the rest of the fam are here as well, we’re the last”

 “Why’s that?” you ask.

 Baela smirks mischievously, “There’s some tension at the moment, flights were staggered for the sake of people’s sanity”

 “Oh right”

 You can still hear his voice, the breathy tone he’d used.

 ‘Fuck…’

 Bad girl. Stop it.

 At least it’d be nice to have the better part of a week abroad, miles and miles away from the man in question who was making every thought sinful. You could finally relax.

 “Is it a big resort?” you asked.

 “Oh it’s not one big place, we’ve all got separate little villas. You and I are with Rhaena and her boyfriend, Cregan. Alicent and her fam are in the one next to us. Dad’s done us the courtesy of being the furthest away so we can’t hear him and Rhaenyra going at it”

 “Ew Baela” you scrunch your nose, “Is Alicent nice?”

 “Nice enough to us. Look out for Aegon though”

 “The manwhore one, right. The one we ran into?”

 “Yeah, I didn’t tell him you were coming for a reason. The slut will be all over you”

 “Yeah no thanks, I might get syphilis” you joke, smoothing your hands over your legs.

 You’d changed on the plane to a pair of black shorts and a tank top, and it was a good job you did. It was hot in Lys. Bloody roasting. And if that wasn’t bad enough. It was humid as well, which meant the forgoing of a bra. But c'est la vie, you supposed, you were on holiday, you looked great, felt great and couldn’t wait to get in the sun and just soak it all up.

 You and Baela spent the last 30 minutes of the journey installing Tinder on your phone to check out the selection of men (and women, just out of curiosity) in Lys. But being a small island, you were picking up on people who lived hours away, in places you’ve never heard of either. 

To your dismay, not many people on Tinder in Lys, shockingly. So you stuffed your phone away as you pulled up to the resort. The resort, or at least the one which you’d share with Rhaena and Cregan, was a single floored villa with what you assumed was two bedrooms on each side. It was nice and quaint.

 “Cute” you comment.

Next to that little villa was another bigger one, two floors, slightly more bedrooms you’d wager. That must be where Alicent would be staying.

“She still came even though Viserys died?” you ask Baela, but she only raises her eyebrows.

 “It’s not like they were in love”

 Fair.

 Between the two villas there was a large shared pool that was separated into two sections and a tiny kiosk in the corner where a bartender was packing away stock. Rounding the taxi, you pull your luggage out with a huff.

 “Bartender is not too shabby” Baela wiggles her eyebrows and you shove her playfully.

 She’s right. He ain’t bad looking at all. Suitably tanned, perhaps even a native to the island, his white shirt only serves to emphasise the way his arms are so toned. It’s a nice distraction for sure, even if nothing ends up happening.

 It’s still early afternoon so plenty of time to get dressed and soak up the sun. But as you’re pulling your suitcase out of the taxi, you’re ogling the bartender so hard that it falls out the boot of the car.

 “Christ” you whisper.

 A woman from the bigger villa rounds the corner with long, curled auburn hair. You assume she must be Alicent, but she looks far too young to have four kids all grown up. She gives Baela a polite wave and turns, “Boys, help them with their bags, would you?”

 “Oh no, we’re fine!” you say back, giving her a wave and kneeling to the floor to pick up all your bags.

 “Thanks Aeg” Baela says as her bag is plucked from her grasp easily. You pull one bag over your shoulder and attempt to pull your suitcase to its side.

 “Struggling?”

 You froze.

 Oh fuck.

 You knew that voice. But you dare not look up.

 You stand with your hand on the handle of your suitable, eyes fixed solely on anywhere but where you know he is stood, smirking.

 An involuntary breath manages to escape when his large hand, the one you remembered pressing against your waist last time, brushed against yours to wrap around the handle of the suitcase. He takes it effortlessly, making you finally look up at him.

 He makes no secret of eyeing every bit of you, savouring the parts he’s never seen before, like the expanse of your legs, having previously always been covered by gym leggings. Smooth and leading to the spot where his eye pauses for a moment. To the tops of your thighs sneaking out of your shorts, he eyes them as well with a dark, determined look. The corner of his lip curled up somewhat once he saw the tank top and your lack of anything underneath.

 He looks disgustingly good, at least since the last time you saw him. Hair once again, in that slutty fucking bun.

 He’s only wearing shorts, perhaps he’d been sunbathing as well, but clearly not had much of a tan yet. His chest, which you’d never seen bare before, was glistening under the sun, toned and well defined with lines running all over. You caught yourself from looking at the dip of his hips, at the lines leading down to where you knew you wouldn’t be able to not look if you did. So you painfully refrained and looked back into his mismatched eyes, at the glowing pride sitting there at your obvious ogling of his form.

 He chuckles quietly and takes your suitcase to take into your room, as if he just needed an excuse to see the inside of it. You stood stock still in your position, watching the muscles of his back move as he walks, as if he just knows you’re watching him.

 Which of course, you are.

 You bite the inside of your cheek, both ragingly horny and annoyed at the same time.

 And when you look over at Baela, she bites her lip, mouthing I didn’t know.

 “I’m gonna fucking kill you” you whispered and she laughed nervously, as if really believing you’d do it.

Once the two Targaryen brothers had evacuated your rooms, you pushed Baela inside your shared room and slammed the door.

“Woah woah chill, what’s the big deal?” she asked, searching your eyes.

“Baela, why the fuck is he here?” you whisper, clearly stressed.

 “The fuck is up with you?”

 “Fuck’s sake, Baela, we kissed!”

She’s quiet for a moment and you expect her to freak out, but she just raises an eyebrow, “Is that it?”

 “Baela!”

 “You didn’t bang?”

 “Fuck’s sake, no! I mean… we might have if I hadn’t run off…but it felt too weird-I was paying him-”

 “You ran off?” Baela snorts.

 “Shut the fuck up”

 “What are you afraid of dick now?”

“Baela, I just-I couldn’t, it felt too weird-it’s not like I didn’t want to but-fuck”

 Baela puts her arms on your shoulders, “Babe, calm down. Listen, he's not your personal trainer anymore, mm’kay? He’s just ‘creepy Aemond’, now get your ass in that bikini so we can see the fruits of your labours alright? Get in that fucking sun”

 “He’s not creepy, Bae” you reply, exasperated by the situation you’ve been put in.

 “Regardless, get out there. Show him what he’s missing” Baela winks, zipping open her bag to get her swimming stuff, “You’re hot, y/n. Show him”

 With an annoyed sigh, you shed your clothes, not caring about whether you’re naked in front of Baela or not. A few years in a house-share with her meant you’d walked in on each other nude more than once.

 “Well?” she grins, you look over, bottom half of the black bikini now on, and your jaw drops.

 “Oh my god” you say, looking over at her. She has a bikini of her own, pale blue in colour and one that compliments her skin tone well. Hers has ties that she’s double knotted, “You look fit”

 “Thank you” she says with a smile, as if she knows it anyway.

 You pull your bikini top on, making sure your boobs are well rested and adjusted inside the top. The bottoms are double knotted at the hips, the top a classic one that ties around your neck and back. Once the girls are where they’re meant to be, you look over yourself in the mirror, and you had to admit, the one month program did a number on you. Thighs and legs, slightly more toned, curves smoothed over, arms had a bit more shape to them, but nothing that screamed ‘ah yeah I work out’. And more than anything, the ass looked amazing. You knew you had an ass anyway, but now…

 “What do you think?” you ask Baela, pulling your hair up messily.

 She looks at you in the mirror, “I give it a day” she says as she smears lotion over her body.

 “Until?”

 “Til Aemond’s had you on every flat surface here”

 “You’re fucking gross, you know that”

 “Bet you 5 gold dragons”

 “You’re on,  bitch”

  Once suitably sun-creamed up, skin glistening with it, you rest your sunglasses on top of your head and take a deep breath, going out to be greeted by the warm, humid air. Luckily, only Aegon seems to be sat outside on a sunbed at the moment, his hat resting over his face. Baela happily passes you a bright orange cocktail, and not quite ready to get into the pool, you sit on the side and dip your legs in, the smell of chlorine making you feel like you were finally on holiday.

 Aegon lifts his hat, squinting, “Hello ladies”

 Baela dips into the pool, “Manwhore”

 “Well that’s not very nice”

 Aegon doesn’t make any further effort to speak, plopping his hat back over his face, one airpod in his ear. Sipping the cool drink you scan the area. The villas are cute and luxurious and from here down the cobbled path you can see the beach that backs onto it all, the glaring white sand calling to you and the rush of the waves against them are somewhat calming.

 The little bar in the corner plays some quiet music, not loud enough to disturb anyone from their sunbathing or other holiday-like activities. Alicent sits on the other side underneath a parasol, she’s wearing a classy one-piece and for a woman with four kids grown up, she doesn’t show it one bit, slender and youthful. She reads a book in her lap, sunglasses rested firmly on her nose, a diet-coke in one hand.

 The only sound at the moment was the quiet music and the rippling of water as Baela swam leisurely in the pool, careful not to get her hair wet.

 It was nice.

 Down the cobbled path, you hear the grunts of what sound like two male voices. Arching an eyebrow and tipping your sunglasses up, there’s two men, suitably broad, making their way up to your villa.

 “Ah, my favourite cousin has arrived!” this guy is shorter, but not short by any means, he has wild curly brown hair and wearing shorts that reach to about his knees. Not a red flag per se but…

 Baela splashes him from her spot in the pool, “See you two are getting along famously”

 The other guy with him you recognise as Cregan Stark, Rhaena’s current boyfriend. You’d seen him around when you were at university, but the years had been kind to him and he’d broadened significantly, with a dark beard and a smattering of chest hair covering his torso. At least he’s opted for more stylish shorts though. You give him a polite wave which he returns, he’d always been a softie, it seems that hadn’t changed. Good for Rhaena.

 Jace flashes a smile your way, “Is this the infamous y/n?” he asks, rounding the pool to come and stand beside you to introduce himself, “I’m Jace”

 It’s at this moment that Aemond comes out of his villa, towel in hand. You try your damndest to not look in his direction as he throws his towel at the sunbed next to Aegon, but when you break and do, he’s not even looking at you. He’s staring daggers into the back of Jace’s head, gaze dark as if he wants to take the poor guy’s head clean off. And he makes a fucking meal out of his, only briefly flitting to you before looking away.

 Oh.

 Oh.

 You bite back a smile.

 “Nice to meet you” you say, shaking his hand politely, looking back to Baela and pulling an awkward look. She’s doing the same thing with her eyebrow raised.

 “I’m the other cousin, my brother’s Luke and Joff are in the villa over” he says excitedly. Gods he’s like…a puppy. Even though he very well could be the same age or older, he’s vibrating with excitement. It’s kind of a turn off.

 “You’re Rhaenyra’s kids right?” you ask, politely pretending to be interested.

 He nods, “Yeah, you probably won’t see her. Her and Daemon are always in the cities being tourists”

 This attempt at conversation is…taking it all from you. He’s cute, but not fuckable cute. And with Aemond in your peripheral pretending to be on his phone, but secretly watching every word that’s exchanged, it’s kind of exciting to see him…jealous perhaps.

 You just nod and agree to whatever he says. Aemond visibly bristles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek when Jace signs off with, “You’re welcome to come to our villa whenever you want”

 A bit…forward if anything. But you thank him politely and Jace eventually retreats down the cobbled path to his villa, which he’s helpfully stated is only about a 2 minute walk.

 Cregan asks, “Where’s Rhaena?”

“At the beach”

Cregan gives a polite smile, going off to the white sandy beach in search of his girlfriend. Baela swims up to you, leaning on the side of the pool as you sip the last of your cocktail.

 “Is he always so adept with women?” you ask with a smirk, Baela snorts, “several times I caught him looking below the chin”

 “Can you blame him” Baela returns, “Nah, he’s harmless really, you coming in?” she asks, swimming on her back to the middle of the pool.

 Sighing, you pull the sunglasses from your head and put them aside, padding over to the ladder.

 Even though you don’t look, you feel the intensity of his gaze. Raking all over your skin, as if the more he stares, the more skin he’ll be able to see. Perhaps he’d wondered what you looked like beneath the black fabric of the bikini, what it might feel like to undo the ties of them and let the fabric peel off your moistened skin, exposing your most intimate areas to the humid air.

 Your skin blossoms at the thought, even with how hot it is. The sun makes it no easier to cool off from these musings, only serving to intensify the electric bolt that radiates between the both of you, becoming stronger the closer you are to him.

 He watches as your legs dip into the pool the further you descend down the ladder, the water moistening your sun-cream lotioned skin, slipping away in waves as the droplets lap against your toned thighs. Aemond thinks he might die on the spot when the water surges against your breasts, instantly making the supple skin there glisten in the sun.

 And if that wasn’t enough, you reach up in a surprisingly tempting gesture and pull the clip from your hair. He’d rarely seen your hair down, but here with the ends dipping into the pool, each strand glimmering a soft halo around your head with the afternoon glow, the reins he has pulled taut inside his head are slipping recklessly.

 Pretending to scroll through his phone, his brother Aegon smirks beneath his hat, shamelessly watching Aemond’s resolve slowly crumble. But you do a good job of barely looking at him for the remainder of the afternoon. The same cannot be said for him.

 He realises he’s fucked when Baela, the ever playful person she is, dunks you below the water and every bit of you is wet, water cascading off every curve as you laugh and wipe your eyes. Even when you pull yourself onto the ladder out of the pool, giving him the perfect view of your ass, pulling the bikini a little bit up your hips as you do so, he manages to somehow hold it together.

 Being late in the afternoon, the sun’s beginning to make its way down, so with a slight shiver you pull a towel around you, raking some fingers through your wet hair to get the chlorine-induced tangles out. You lean over the bar, waiting for the bartender to turn around,

“Baela, what do you want?”

“Whatever you’re having!”

The bartender flashes a smile once he recognises your presence, eyes flitting to your chest pressed between your arms as you lean over the bar before returning to your eyes.

 “What can I get for you” he asks lowly and your head cocks at the accent. It’s kinda hot.

 “Do you have gin and tonic?” you ask politely,

 He braces the bar, the vein in his arm visible from this angle, “We do, but I think for a pretty woman like you I can make something better”

 You raise an eyebrow, “like what?”

 He twirls a glass of something behind his back, clearly showing off his bartending skills, “How about something with ouzo?”

 You shrug with a smile, “Never tried it but sure”

 As he mixes the drink, you peer over your shoulder at Baela and then to Aemond. He’s already watching you. It’s that look again. The one he’d given you last time in his home gym. The one where it feels like he’s looking right inside you, the darkened, determined look. You keep his gaze, thinking he will just look away like he had before. But he doesn’t.

 A muscle in his jaw twitches with annoyance. Or perhaps not even annoyance. Something else.

 Once you’ve polished off several cocktails, Aemond leaves with Aegon to go inside, presumably to change clothes, but not before giving you a look over his shoulder. Anyone else would have thought he was livid. To be honest, for a second you thought he very well could be. For what reason he had to be livid? You had no idea.

 You spent the night slathered in mosquito repellent and sat outside with Baela, Rhaena and Cregan. You’d wanted to be comfortable so decided on a dress with spaghetti straps. It was a comfortably warm evening, with fire-lit torches illuminating the space around the villa. Rhaena had arrived back in the late afternoon, flushed in the face and hair tousled and you and both Baela had noted that Cregan’s shorts were untied. The sun was clearly getting to Rhaena. Her and Cregan was a fairly new thing and she’d been both shocked and giddy when he’d offered to be her plus one for the trip.

 Sometime in the night, a figure that was clearly Aemond and another white haired girl walked towards their villa.

 “Helaena!” Rhaena shouted over with a smile. Both figures stopped and your stomach fluttered with nervousness when Aemond’s eyes landed on you briefly. Then a slight pang of disappointment when he said goodbye to the woman next to him to slip inside the villa.

 The ethereal looking woman comes over excitedly, sitting beside you, “Oh my gosh, when did you guys get here!”

 “Cregan and I came yesterday” Rhaena smiles,

 “Yeah but they were probably in bed all day sleeping, right Rhae?” Baela murmurs into her drink earning a smack from her sister.

 “Well it’s nice to meet you, Cregan” Helaena smiles politely before turning to you, “And you are?”

 “I’m y/n, Helaena was it?” you ask, shaking her soft hand. She was really pretty, like a fairy just floating around. She had dangly earrings with ladybirds on them and was wearing a flowy cream dress.

 “Oh so you’re y/n, I’ve heard so much about you!”

 It catches you off guard slightly, but you nod and then turn to Baela furrowing your eyebrows confusedly. She’s heard so much about you? The hell does that mean?

 The rest of the night is really pleasant and Helaena stays with you all chatting for the remainder of it. She’s really nice it turns out. It’s a wonder she’s even related to her brothers. She tells you all about the family drama, which piques your excitement and that her youngest brother Daeron, didn’t end up coming since he’s studying abroad, so she came instead. And you’re grateful she did, it’s nice to have other new female company.

 In your shared bedroom, you and Baela chat well into the night, about a plethora of things. But one subject you refuse to broach is him. Nope. Can’t talk about him. He’s only a few metres away, if you let your mind wander too much it’ll all be over.

 It’s a restless night’s sleep and your subconscious certainly doesn’t help. All your mind can allow you to remember is the way he touched you, how he had pressed against you, how his lips were slotting against yours almost desperately, his low moan.

 The next morning, after having a continental breakfast, Baela puts on a long maxi dress.

 “Everyone’s going to the city for a shop around, wanna come?” Baela meets your eyes in the mirror.

 “Shopping? Nah, that’s fine I’ll just stay here, want to relax a little bit and get some more sun”

 “You sure? Feel bad leaving you here on your own”

 “Is everyone going with you?” you ask, pulling some shorts over your black bikini.

 “Nearly, except for Dad and Rhaenyra. Sure you don’t mind?” she asks,

“Course not, have a good time”

 Pulling a shawl over your shoulders you see Baela and everyone off before trudging down the cobbled path to the white, sandy beach, plopping yourself on the sand and opening a book you’d borrowed from the shelf near the bar. You let the sun beat down on your shoulders, the soft wind blowing through your hair and listening to the waves in the quiet hair while reading a book just seems so calming.

 You’d already gotten quite a bit of sun yesterday and your legs had glazed with a sun-kissed colour, as well as your arms. So much so, the bikini had left a few lines where the straps were, if only very faintly. It was always easy for you to catch the sun. Pulling off your shorts, you lean back on your elbows to read some more and get some colour on your thighs.

 Early afternoon came by quickly and before you knew it, you could feel the tingle of pinkness on your shoulders, where your bikini was tied at your neck.

 Fuck.

 You’d forgotten to put suncream there, Baela had been the one to reach the difficult spot yesterday.

 Packing up your things, you carry your shorts and shawl in one hand and trudge back to the villa. It’s quiet, everyone must still be in the city. Your hair had somewhat curled up from the sea breeze so you ran your fingers through it once inside, snagging on some tangles.

 Now, where was the aftersun. Baela had it…

 “Not a fan of shopping?”

 Your head swung around at the sudden, familiar voice. And there he was, looking annoyingly hot, leaning against the doorway to your villa, a toned arm supporting his weight. Again, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and his shorts hung on his hips, making your eyes dip to those lines that lead…

 No.

 He has a lazy smile on his face, happy to have got you flustered and allowing his eyes once again to look over you in just the black bikini once more.

 “No, not really” is all you can muster, going back to looking for the aftersun with urgency. But really you didn’t want him to see the pink flush on your cheeks. Seeing him like this, no less being alone with him, especially looking as good as he does, was about to drive you to madness.

 He hums and walks forward into the village, hands in his pockets, “Looking for something?”

 “U-uh, just the aftersun” you struggle, clearing your throat and cursing yourself for the shake in your voice at being in his presence once again.

 “Ah” he responds.

 You gasp when one of his arms braces the counter in front of you and he bends down to the mini fridge, opening it to produce a bottle of said aftersun. You could feel his presence at your back, broad and warm, all encompassing. Swallowing thickly, you take a breath. It must be the smell of something on his skin that gives off a subtle scent, but whatever it is makes your stomach flutter and a warm bloom settles in your abdomen.

 You go to reach for the bottle, but he pulls back, and you meet his gaze. His look is soft, but dark and steadfast.

 “Where”

 Jesus fucking christ. My heart is beating so fucking fast right now.

 “Um…back of my neck” it comes out a whisper, and he doesn’t miss the way your breasts move in the bikini as you nervously breathe slightly heavier.

 “Difficult to reach by yourself” he muses, his voice rumbling in his chest as he is standing right behind you. You bite your lip. Is this really fucking happening right now.

 You shiver when his large hand moves your hair from your back to one side of your neck, the feeling of his fingers brushing against the skin there almost makes an involuntary sound come out your mouth. But you repress it, closing your eyes to grab hold of your reins.

 One hand fiddles with the single knot of the tie at your neck, slowly, his breath steady. And he finds the one he needs and pulls slowly, unwinding the bow until the bikini top is loosened. Your hands move to hold the front of your bikini up to cover your breasts as the fabric falls. Your mind is at war with itself, stuck between thinking this is wrong and it should stop, and then the more dominant side thinks, he’s here, doing this, you might as well see where it goes.

 Even though it was only one thin strap, when he sees your almost bare back right before him, you hear him exhale lowly and you only know because you feel his hot breath against it. He deposits some cold aftersun in his hand and slowly reaches out to the slightly pink skin of your nape, to spread it across. Your body prickles with anticipation at his touch, coupled with the chill of the liquid. Nobody says a thing as he massages it into your skin, not quite feathery but he applies pressure, making sure to roll his fingers into the muscles there, so that you really feel him.

 He continues for a moment and then his other hand joins. You’re unsure if there is actually any aftersun left at this point and he is just finding an excuse to touch you, but you don’t stop him. Desire pools in your stomach as his hands drag south, down the expanse of your back, to the sides, nearly touching your own hands where they are covering your breasts. Your eyelashes flutter as you sigh at the feeling, his large palms working the moistened skin. It is this point your eyes open when you feel his very obvious erection, pressing firmly against your buttocks.

 You feel his breath close to your nape, and it all seems to fall apart as he presses his lips there. Once, twice, three times…and then again as he drags his lips up your neck to behind your ear.

 “It’s not fair…you getting to walk around like this…” he whispers next to your ear, his hands trace the contours of your breasts, “...every fucking guy ogling you…”

 One of his hands smoothes down your side, resting at your hip, fiddling with the single knot of your bikini there.

 “...wanting to fuck you…”

 He just lets his hang rest there, neither touching you where you need him the most. Your blood is rushing around your body, humming with desire. Frustrated at not being allowed the pleasure it so desperately needs.

 “...but you won’t let them, will you. You’ll just let them look, like the needy attention slut you are”

 His words are unexpected but they have their effect, and you can practically feel your arousal at what he says. One of his hands sneaks beneath yours, to grab one of your breasts tightly, almost possessively, pinching the nipple between his dexterous fingers. It makes you breathe out a quiet moan, your body slowly giving in.

 “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to fuck that stupid little attitude out of you?” he says, his breath hot on the shell of your ear.

 He moulds your breast in his palm effortlessly, waiting for an answer.

 But you moan louder in both surprise and arousal when he squeezes it harshly, “I asked you a question”

 “Fuck-no, I didn’t…” you somehow manage, cracking your eyes open slightly. You see him only a little in your peripheral, expecting him to be smirking. But he’s not, he is dead serious. Which somehow serves to awaken your desire even more.

 His other hand slips beneath the fabric of your bikini and he himself lets out a guttural moan feeling how turned on you already are, the pads of his fingers collect the wetness already there, moving up to circle your slit with your own slick. Your mouth falls open slightly, body trembling with anticipation. God why does it feel so good.

“I would have had you in every way imaginable…if you’d stayed…” he murmurs against you, speeding up the motions of his finger.

“Fuck…Aemond-please”

 He spins you around quickly, the top of your bikini falling in a useless mess to the floor and he quite literally growls at the sight of your tits, as if he’d imagined what they might look like for a long time. His jaw tightens at the sight and he pushes the bottoms down to the floor, sinking to his knees almost instantly so he is staring hungrily at your cunt, wet and dripping for him.

 His hands remain at your hips, his fingers bruising red marks into them.

“Please what”

 Shit.

 Your face flushes red at the sight of him so close to your intimate area, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little embarrassed, but his pupils are so dilated with pure lust, it almost makes you forget.

 Your body jolts when he slaps your pussy hard, sending a jolt of pleasure through your clit and clawing up your spine, a desperate sound escapes you. He need not say anything else.

 “Please, I need you” you whine pathetically and he huffs, as if annoyed, using his large hands to part your legs even further, the counter biting into your lower back.

 “That’s what I fucking thought”

 He dives into your pussy with his tongue, swirling the soft, wet muscle around your clit a few times deliciously before venturing down, fucking you with his tongue and lapping up your slick like a man starved. He grips your hips as if you might move away from him, keeping you right where he wants you and all the while your desperate whines and the lewd sound of his mouth are the only thing that fills the otherwise quiet villa.

 You pray nobody returns, because what you’re doing right now deserves to be loud.

 God, how long had it been since a man last treated you this way. Since a man had known what to do with you so confidently, to have you a moaning mewling mess.

 It’s here when you look down, that you realise he’s fucking moaning while eating your pussy, almost sounding as if he’s enjoying this far more than you are. Enjoying your taste, your scent, everything. He briefly looks up at you, drinking in the indulgent look on your pinkened face, before delving deeper, his sharp nose rubbing against your clit with every move he makes with his tongue within you.

 You nearly lose it entirely when he presses two fingers inside, immediately crooking them to rub against that delicious spongy spot that makes your mouth hang open.

 “Ohfuck” you whimper as he doubles his efforts on your clit while pistoning his long, slender fingers within you. It feels like so much and your hand comes down to his wrist, feeling your climax curl in your gut and threatening to explode faster than ever. But he groans and uses his other hand to push it away, blissfully ignoring you and going faster in an effort to make you come apart around him.

 “You gonna come on my fucking tongue” he growls into your pussy, his ministrations never stopping for a second and in fact his lips lock around your clit to suck. A desperate moan spills from your mouth, not even passing your brain.

 “Yes, yes…” you pant, “Fuck-Aemond”

 Your hands brace the counter as your climax is ripped from you by the force of his fingers and mouth. Pure, white hot pleasure wakes every nerve in your body, prickling up your back and into your limbs, making them go numb. You barely register the sound you even make as Aemond continues to fuck you with his fingers through it, lapping up every bit of your essence that comes out, moaning and chanting ‘good fucking girl’.

 It genuinely takes you a moment to recover from it, your chest shining with sweat from the effort. But before you know which way is up, he rises, hands under your thighs to pull you up onto the counter, which is good since your legs were starting to give in from the force of your orgasm.

 “Aem-”

 His lips are on yours before you even have a chance to speak, allowing your legs to part so he might press flush against your weeping cunt. You feel his erection, hard and thick against you and it only makes you want it more. He takes you in with his lips as if it’s the air he breathes, a mess of lips, tongues and the taste of you, sweet like nectar.

 “Fuck, want you so bad” he breathes between kisses, outright moaning when your fingers card into the hair at his nape and grip.

 “Fuck me, I want to feel all of you”

 His eyes peer open down at you, his chest heaving with desire.

 “Please, don’t make me beg”

 At this, he does smirk, pushing his shorts further down his hips and freeing his cock, “I’d like to see you beg, baby”

 Christ.

 He’s much bigger than you’ve had before, definitely bigger than your pathetic ex was anyway (not like it’s hard). You take him into your palm, hot, weighty and heavy and he tilts his head back at the feeling as you give his length a few languid strokes, although there really is no need since he’s been constantly hard the second he saw you come out the taxi the day before. The way his face contorts when you rub your thumb over his weeping tip makes you think he is painfully hard, aching for any kind of release.

 God, if this is what he looks like now, you want to see his face when he is fucking you stupid.

 You guide him to your waiting core, his head barely kissing your entrance.

 “I’ve got an IUD, please-”

 He doesn’t need to hear any more, his hands reach out to grip your waist, pulling you forward as he pushes, letting out a guttural moan as he sinks into you to the hilt. He moves your leg to hook around him, trying to get as close to you as possible.

 “Fuck…” he moans with a shudder as his cock is squeezed by your tightness, “god you’re so fucking tight”

 Everything about this has your blood on fire. His cock fills you so perfectly, his moans, his words, the way his hands are holding you apart for him to use you. One of his hands moves to your nape, grabbing the hair there in his grip tightly, and the tension against your hair makes you moan out as well.

 But he doesn’t move.

 “Aemond…”

 “Beg for it” he orders, his stomach taut with the effort it takes to hold himself back. Frustrated and turned on beyond belief, you try and move your hips for friction. His hand flies from your hip to your jaw, fingers bruising into your cheeks, making you look directly at him and your eyes meet his, wide-eyed and heavily dilated, “Beg for it like the fucking slut I know you are”

 Once again his words ignite that fire that creeps down your spine, and you feel every bit of him. Every vein on his cock, how it twitches within your heat and how it kisses your cervix with how big it is.

 “Please fuck me, just move Aemond-please”

 You don’t have the resolve to deny it now. You want it so bad, more than you’ve wanted anything ever.

 He wets his lips, “That’s it” he coos.

 He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back inside, watching the way your tits bounce when his hips snap against yours with need. He doesn't start gently, too pent up for that, nor does he build up to it. He fucks you on the counter like he’s not been able to get a moment’s rest from thinking about this for weeks. The hand in your hair tightens impossibly, holding you there while his cock drags against your walls, still sensitive from your previous climax.

 Aemond watches his cock disappear over and over again into you, coated in your slick, revelling in the filthy sounds it makes when he slaps against you. And when he delivers a particularly hard thrust, brushing against that spot inside, your hand flies to your mouth to contain your moans, concerned that if anyone did come back, they’d be able to hear you.

 “None of that” he growls, ripping your hand away from your mouth, his eyes glimmering with mischief, “I wanna hear how good I make you feel”

 It’s impossible to hold back. He sees it all as a challenge now as he takes your hips with both hands, fucking you even faster if it were possible. He adjusts his hips and his stomach muscles, toned and hard ripple with the effort, his strong arms caging you completely in and he looks down at you as if he wants to see exactly the moment it happens.

 You grip his forearm tightly, “Aemond-I’m-”

 “Fuck I can feel you squeezing me…you gonna cum for me, hm? All over my cock” he breathes.

 You nod desperately, “Yesyes…please…cum inside me-”

 His brow arches smugly at this, a smirk etching on his features, “You want me to fill you up, huh”

 “Gods - yes”

 “Hm” he hums, allowing his large hand to encircle your throat, only barely squeezing, “gonna make you work for it”

 It’s when he squeezes your neck that you shut your eyes, face contorted in pleasure and that coil inside snapping forcefully. You can practically feel the rhythm of your heartbeat through your clit as you let go completely, gripping onto him for dear life. You don’t know what he means by ‘work for it’ but you don’t really care right now. The pleasure comes in waves over your body and Aemond pistons in and out through it, a lazy smile on his face watching you as you orgasm.

 You realise in all this that he’s not stopped. His hips continue to press into you faster and faster, now bullying the overly sensitive spots inside that have been decimated by your climax.

 “Aemond?...” you manage with a breathy moan, quickly feeling overstimulated.

 “Told you I’d make you work for it” he muses, moving his thumb to circle your clit.

 You gasp out, back arching against him as he tries to work yet another orgasm out of you, “I-I can’t-”

 “Give it to me” he orders, all while keeping that breakneck pace as he fucks you, sparking white-hot and borderline unbearable pleasure in two ways against your body. He leans forward to lick a fat stripe up the column of your neck all the way up to your ear and the change in position has his cock once again directly drag against that spot inside, one that makes your eyes shut, face contort and stars begin to appear behind them.

 “Give it to me like the good girl you are” he whispers as he bites down on the skin of your neck, marking you for himself.

 With a strangled cry, you give in, thighs trembling against his muscled sides and you feel another gush of arousal coat his cock by the loud sounds it's still making. He fucks you through this one, his strokes becoming sloppy, and you go limp in his arms feeling that he may also not last much longer.

 “Good girl-fuck” he cums with a shattered moan after that, his head buried into your neck as you feel his hot spend paint your walls, giving a few desperate thrusts until his cock twitches from overstimulation, still seated within you. Still coming down from the two close orgasms he’d given you, you take a moment to come back to earth, eyes cracking open after a while.

 Even with him still inside you, you can feel the combination of his spend and your own arousal leaking out of you, coating your thighs. He pulls his head tiredly from your neck to look at you. And he looks amazing, so blissed out, a bit pink in the face, but there’s a new softness there now where there wasn’t before.

 “Gods, you’re so perfect…”

 You kiss him desperately, not wanting this feeling to end as you both come down from your respective highs. And there’s a part inside of you that is self-conscious that perhaps all he wanted was sex, and that he doesn’t like you at all, so you savour this moment, concerned that after all this…there might be nothing.

 “Go on a date with me…” he says suddenly and you look up at him. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks nervous, “please…”

 Combined with the thoughts you were just having, his words are so overwhelming that for the time it takes you to think of an answer, you just laugh breathlessly, which makes him arch a confused brow.

 “Date?” you ask, wondering if you’d heard correctly, “not to the gym I hope”

 “No, not at the gym” he laughs, “I…I’d like to get to know you better” he confesses.

 You huff a laugh, “You’re literally inside me right now”

 He lets out his own laugh, and it’s nice to see him genuinely smile, “not like that”

 His chest is still moving with his breathing, still slightly laboured, and your eyes glance over him for a moment, taking him all in. His hair has somewhat come free of his bun, so you tuck a strange behind his ear in a gesture that makes Aemond’s heart squeeze.

 “I’d love to”

 The smile on his face is unmistakable, and not a hint of smugness to it.

 Once he’s pulled his softening cock from your core and you’ve both cleaned yourself up, it overcomes both of you that you can’t keep your hands off each other, can’t spend a moment without lips locked. Everyone’s definitely going to notice.

 “I don’t want to hide it from anyone, if you don’t” you say in a whisper.

 He squeezes your ass lovingly, giving it a playful swat, “I certainly don’t”

 A few hours later, once the sun has started to hit the tops of all the buildings and the sky turns a hazy red with the sunset, you sit beside him, legs dipped in the pool and a shawl pulled around your shoulders from the slight chill. You let your head rest on his shoulder, utterly content as he kisses the crown of your head, in a shockingly loving gesture despite how he was railing you earlier. One strong arm wrapped around your waist.

 “Fuck” you whisper.

 “What” he asks amused.

 “I owe Baela 5 gold dragons”

taglist (sorry if I missed anyone, I’m crap, bold means I couldn’t tag)

@jacevelaryonswife​ @lovelykhaleesiii​@urmomsgirlfriend1@iiamthehybrid​ @namelesslosers​  @chainsawsangel​ @warmfieldofgrass​ @mynameisbaby9​ @afro-hispwriter​ @tempo-rary-fix​ @toodlesxcuddles @definitelynotsatans​ @svtansdaddyx​ @tssf-imagines​ @darkenchantress​ @vrtualfairy​ @fan-goddess​ @skikikikiikhhjuuh​ @helaenaluvr​ @sarahkimtae​ @blackxisxmyxcolour​ @castellomargot​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @julczimozart​ @amazingdisneyfansblog​ @slutforaemond@thedamewithabook@Iiamthehybrid@sahvlren@Whoknows333@cosmoeticss

[wannabanghwang]

~Pillowtalk

was fighting demons for 2 months over whether or not to post this cause it’s kinda unfinished

Summary : hyunjin and Felix are models, and when they come over after a shoot a messy, hot threesome ensues followed by a whole bunch of fun sex related pillow talk that I loved writing (self indulgent)

Word count : 4.7k

Warnings : substance use, sex under the influence, unprotected sex, blowjobs, handjobs, all the jobs, bunch of dirty talk, mlm themes yup

Without further a due…

You were already a little drunk when you sent Hyunjin the message, two wine glasses deep as you hit send.

“Do you guys wanna come by my place after your shoot?”

You drag your hand through your long dark hair, letting your head fall back against the couch as the strap of your white silk slip slides down your shoulder. You tilt your head to look out the tall window of your apartment. The final few remnants of sunlight cling to the sky as the night creeps in. The sky is a blueish gray and there’s a slight chill in the air that makes you shiver as your phone dings.

“sure thing. want us to bring a line or two?” The reply reads. You smile slightly as you type.

“Pretty please if you can.”

“got u ;) see u soon lix says hi.” You smile, dropping your phone on the couch next to you. It was far from a habit, the drugs, but those two had a way of loosening you up every so often. They were much more accustomed to it than you, using it as a way to cope with their restrictive diets and packed schedules. When Felix texted you that they were on their way, a familiar nervous excitement filled your body. Them coming over was hardly new, but it never failed to make you jittery in anticipation. A while later you hear Felix’s rhythmic knock on your door. You grin, jumping up off the couch to let them in.

“Hi.” You say coyly as they step inside.

“Hi.” Hyunjin smirks, kissing your cheek as he snakes a hand around your waist.

You giggle, leaning into his touch.

“I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long.” Felix says, sliding his shoes off.

“Of course not.” You reply, using the moment to really take them in. The sharp lines of Hyunjins features and jaw. His long, jet black hair was tied half up, strands falling perfectly to frame his face. He wears a sheer black button up, adorned with lacy roses, complimenting his milky white skin. Felix looked so opposite, everything about him soft and angelic. The dusting of freckles across his pale cheeks, his white blonde hair and big brown eyes. He’s wearing a light green cashmere sweater that makes him look like a fairy. They trail behind you as you walk into the living room, dropping onto the floor next to the glass coffee table. Hyunjin across from you on the couch while Felix moves to sit next to you on the carpet. Hyunjin pulls a little baggie full of white powder from his pocket, shaking the contents around with a grin before tipping them onto the table.

“Hey google, play room on spotify.” Felix half shouts, having been around enough to have his voice connected to your sound system. A slow, sensual song starts to echo from the surrounding speakers.

“Setting the mood huh?” Hyunjin grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Felix as he leans over his spread legs, reaching out his hand. Felix wordlessly hands him his black card, which he then uses to cut even lines for each of you. Hyunjin leans forward, dropping to his knees and tugging his hair back as he snorts his line. He grunts, throwing his head back and pinching his nose to prevent it from bleeding.

“Fuck.” He curses, shaking his head before sitting back down on the couch with a lazy grin.

“God, I'll never get tired of watching you do that.” You say, ogling him shamelessly, your jaw wide.

“Makes two of us.” Felix agrees, neither of you taking your eyes off Hyunjin who smiles at the praise, sinking back into the couch as he spreads his legs further.

“You two are so cute.” He coos, his eyes sparkling as they gloss over.

Felix’s hand rubs up and down your back as you take yours, whimpering a little when you finish, harshly wiping your nose.

“Agh.” You shake your head, scrunching your face, far less accustomed to the practice than the men before you. Felix giggles, leaning down in turn to snort his. He wipes his nose, grinning as he looks at you, his gaze flickering shamelessly to your plump pink lips. You grin, knowing exactly what he wants, more than happy to give it to him. Your fingers find his chin, bringing him ever so slightly forward enough for your lips to meet. You part your lips, eagerly letting his tongue explore your mouth. He pulls you forward so you’re on top of him straddling his lap, your knees digging into the soft carpet on either side of his thighs. The warm feeling inside you feels like it’s bubbling as you start subconsciously grinding against the growing tent in his tight pants.

“Okay now.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes, getting up from the couch. “You two done yet or what?” He grins, cocking his head in the direction of your bedroom. You quickly rise from Felix’s lap, hopping onto his back as he stands. He carries you to your room, your legs locked tightly around his waist, one of your hands linked to Hyunjins, who follows closely behind as you giggle. Felix drops you on the bed, rolling on top of you, your laughter echoing in the clouded daze. Hyunjin looms, standing at the edge of the bed, watching you guys with an amused expression. You playfully stick your foot out, pressing it against the semi forming in his pants. He grins down as Felix shuffles to sit on the edge of the bed in front of Hyunjin, eye to eye with the bulge in his pants. You follow suit quickly, sitting behind Felix, wrapping your arm around his waist as you softly slide your fingers underneath his sweater. Felix reaches up to slowly undo Hyunjins belt, letting it hang with a click. Hyunjin finishes the job, sliding it off in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor with a clink. Felix starts to unzip his pants before Hyunjins hand finds his head, stopping him.

“Take this off.” He breathes, a cool, sultry air in his tone as he tugs on Felix’s sweater. You help him pull it over his head, letting it fall to the floor, discarded alongside Hyunjins belt. You leave sweet kisses on the warm skin of his back and up his neck as he shivers. When he gets Hyunjins pants undone, he carefully undoes each button of his shirt, the loose, sheer material flowing at his sides. Felix’s hands wander shamelessly over the milky skin of Hyunjins toned, slim abdomen. He licks a stripe below Hyunjins navel with a grin as his fingers slip into his waistband. Hyunjins stomach flexes subconsciously as he grips Felix’s hair with a grunt. Felix tugs his boxers down enough for his cock to spring free, hitting his stomach. Precum beads at the tip, spilling onto his soft skin. Your mouth waters a little at the sight of him. Hyunjins cock is just like him, long, slim and way prettier than it needs to be. Unable to resist, you sit up on your high knees, reaching over Felix’s shoulder to grab hold of his length. His slender eyes stay narrowed as he watches you squeeze him, pumping him up and down slowly as before using your thumb to gather the precum from his tip. His lips part in awe as he watches you suck the sticky substance from your fingers with a smirk, returning to sit behind Felix.

“That was so fucking hot,” he grins, “you gonna do better than that Lix?” He teases, his thumb

tracing the blonde boy’s lips.

“He wishes, he can’t suck dick for shit.” You tease, poking Felix in the side.

“You can’t be talking, you have the worst gag reflex I’ve ever seen!” He retorts, turning his head to face you, laughing.

“It’s not even that bad.” You retort, rolling your eyes. “What do you think? It’s usually your dick anyway.” You say, turning your attention to Hyunjin as you raise your eyebrows suggestively.

“I dunno…maybe I need a memory refresher first…” he smirks teasingly, cupping Felix’s jaw to put himself in his mouth.

He groans, sliding slowly into Felix’s mouth, tangling his fingers in his blonde hair. You take this as a sign to start kissing Felix’s neck, your nails raking up and down his abdomen. You drag open mouthed kisses along his shoulders and back, your hand trailing to find the bulge in his pants.

“Off.” You mumble, tugging on the waistband as you suck in his neck. He pulls his head back briefly, releasing Hyunjin’s cock with a wet pop as it hits his stomach. You help Felix out of his pants and boxers quickly, leaving them to pool around one of his ankles as he sits back down.

“Why am I the naked one right now?” He questions, an innocent smile in his voice.

“We like you like this!” You giggle, pressing a kiss to his pink cheek.

“Yes we do.” Hyunjin smirks, his eyes raking up and down Felix’s body, who blushes further, the tips of his ears turning pink. Felix’s hand finds Hyunjins thigh, kneading the hard muscle as he licks a stripe up Hyunjins length. Meanwhile, you drag your hand down Felix’s abs, grabbing hold of his length. He groans around Hyunjins cock, who in turn mumbles a string of strangled curse words. You start to stroke him slowly, using his precum as lube. The following few minutes are a filthy mess of sounds. A mixture of groans, curse words and wet sounds fill the room, mingling with the slow, sensual music playing in the background. Felix pulls his head back, lulling it against your shoulder. A string of saliva connects his swollen pink lips to the tip of Hyunjins cock.

“Gonna cum, ‘s okay, don’t stop.” He mumbles, his eyes falling closed as he presses his face into your neck.

You keep your strokes steady, squeezing him every so often at the tip. He spreads his legs further, leaning up against you. You and Hyunjin make eye contact, smirking as he whines. You feel him twitch in your hand as a breathy “fuck” leaves his throat. White ropes of cum paint his belly and your hand, all three of your eyes falling to the rapid rise and fall of his stomach. You fall back onto the bed, pulling Felix with you. He’s panting as he sits up onto his elbows, opening his eyes. You stick your finger into a puddle of the cum coating his stomach, swirling it around.

“Ah fuck.” He says, shaking his head with a grin on his face.

“Lix, sit up against the bed frame.” Hyunjin says, gesturing towards it. He obeys shuffling backwards until his back hits the wood, stacking a few pillows behind him for comfort. Hyunjin walks around the side of the bed until he’s standing next to you and Felix before shedding his pants and boxers.

“You have such a cute butt.” You say, grinning as you watch him in the closet mirror behind him.

“I do not have a cute butt!” He says, shuffling to avoid being in the reflection.

“You totally have a cute butt.” You reach out to give it a smack but he catches your wrist in his hand, ruffling your hair.

“Shhh.” He grins, rolling his eyes in reply.

“C'mon take this off.” He says, tugging at the material of your silk slip. You pull it over your head, the chilly air hitting your bare skin. Hyunjin strokes his thumb over your hard nipple, cupping your breasts with his big hands.

“Those too.” He adds, looking at your lacy underwear. Hyunjin climbs over, joining Felix in the middle of the bed. He settles in between his legs on his knees with his back pressed to Felix’s chest.

“Cmere.” He smirks, raising his eyebrows as he taps his inner thigh between his spread legs. The fact that he’s still wearing the sheer, lacy black button up is ridiculously sexy for some reason. One side is hanging off his shoulder, the fabric pooling around his soft pale skin. His cock is flushed and rock hard against his belly, drooling precum onto the skin. You eagerly crawl over, your knees on either side of their thighs, hovering over Hyunjin’s cock. You kiss him first, his mouth opening to welcome your tongue immediately. Kissing Hyunjin is different from kissing Felix. Felix is gentle, it’s sweet and soft. Kissing Hyunjin is dirty, it’s a messy blur of lips and tongue, your salivas mixing as he bites your bottom lip. You grind down against his cock, the pressure feels delicious against your clit. You pull away from the kiss, tilting your head over his shoulder to kiss Felix. Hyunjins lips find your neck as you do this, whispering into your ear.

“Mm good girl, use me,” he purrs, his big hands finding your waist, helping you move against him. You moan into the kiss with Felix, pulling away and letting your head drop against Hyunjins bare shoulder.

“Can you cum like this before you ride me?” He whispers, sin laden in his tone.

You whimper a small “mhm” in response, grinding your hips desperately against his cock.

You wouldn’t normally be able to come like this, at least not this quickly, but something about the drugs in your system intensified every single nerve inside you, making you hornier and more desperate than you would ever be otherwise. He rolls his agile hips against you in time with your own needy thrusts. You feel the familiar heat pooling between your legs as you move against him faster, whining with each thrust.

“Fuck, ‘m cumming,” you whimper in his ear, your mouth wide open in ecstasy, drooling a little onto the warm skin of Hyunjins shoulder.

When your orgasm hits you it hits you hard, you’re panting, mumbling words that vaguely sound like Hyunjins name. He pulls you flush against him while he helps you ride out your high. You collapse against his chest, your sweaty skin sticking together as you try to calm your ragged breathing. You sit back, pressing your hands to his bare chest as you flip your hair back over your head.

“You’re so fucking hot it’s stupid.” You smile breathlessly, gazing in awe at Hyunjin. He smiles, looking down.

One thing you loved about Hyunjin was that he knew how desirable he was, but he didn’t let it get to his head. He carried himself with an air of casual confidence that was just so attractive. He simply owns the sexual power he knows he has. When he wants something, he doesn’t just know how to get it, he knows how to make you want to give it to him. Hyunjin reaches back to caress Felix’s head, who peppers kisses against his neck and jaw in return. You sit up, grabbing hold of his length with one hand, the other on his half clothed shoulder to steady yourself. You align him with your entrance, slowly sinking down onto his cock. He curses followed by a shallow grunt, letting his head fall back against Felix’s shoulder. You start to ride him slowly and shallowly, still trying to get used to his size inside of you. Fucking Hyunjin is also different from fucking Felix. Fucking Felix is usually slow, intimate and careful. Hyunjin on the other hand…

You two have a history. A long one. One full of breakups, arguments, parties, hookups, drugs, drunk texts and a whole lot of sex. You know each other's bodies better than you know your own at this point, your body endlessly receptive to Hyunjins touch. His eyes are glued to the spot where your bodies are joined, watching his length disappear inside of you over and over. His big hand comes to grip your waist tightly, guiding you up and down. The other finds your thigh, stroking it softly in tune with your movements. He rolls his hips expertly, his cock hitting that perfect one spot again and again as you ride him. You’re moaning, tangling your fingers in his hair as you kiss and bite his neck, trying to get as close as humanly possible. It’s dirty, your skin is sticky with cum and sweat, your hair is a mess, there are hands all over your bodies, Hyunjins, yours, Felix’s, grasping at every inch of bare skin. Hyunjin gazes up at you with big, fucked out doe eyes. A smirk finds his lips as he drags his tongue slowly over his teeth. He takes the hand holding your thigh and grabs one of yours off his shoulder, bringing it down to rest on your tummy. He pushes your hand down as he fucks into you, willing himself

deeper.

“Can you feel me here baby? Feel all of me?” He questions teasingly as you gasp, moaning.

“Yes, so,” you breathe, “fucking big.” You whine.

He’s hitting that one spot so deep inside of you it almost hurts, but the ache feels so good.

“I’m gonna cum.” Hyunjin groans breathlessly, letting his head fall back against Felix’s shoulder, who purrs, dragging his fingers up and down the sweaty skin of Hyunjin’s abs.

“You gonna let me cum inside you pretty? Hm?” He says, his eyes meeting yours as he lifts his head slightly.

All you can do is nod and mumble in response, moving against him faster and faster as you chase your high.

“Mmm,” he half chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

“Just like that, just like that, don't stop.” You mumble over and over.

A few more thrusts and Hyunjin is gripping your waist, holding you down as he fucks into you. You can feel the warm spurts of his release inside you as he shudders, cursing and groaning while Felix kisses his neck. You’re all breathing hard as Hyunjin slowly loosens his grip on your waist, the marks from his fingers sure to leave faint bruises. He laughs a breathy laugh as you sit up onto your high knees, sliding off of him as his softening cock lies flush against his belly. You flop down onto the bed, crawling to settle in between them both. For a few moments you all lay panting side by side. The room smells like sex and Hyunjins fingers toy with the stickiness between your legs. You push up onto your elbows, leaning down to either side to softly plant a kiss on either boy's shoulders before lying back down between them.

“I wanna hear some stories.” You say matter of factly, your eyes on the ceiling.

“What kind of stories?” Felix asks.

“Sex stories. Funny ones, hot ones, embarrassing ones…up to you guys.” you reply.

“Hmm.” Felix mumbles, adjusting himself to rest on his hands behind his head.

“I need a prompt first.” Says Hyunjin.

“Okay, the best orgasm you've ever had.” You reply after a brief moment of thought.

“That’s so hard,” Hyunjin says, contemplating. “That one time, after I cut my hair, like the undercut,” he starts. “When I came home and surprised you with it you sucked me off for like an hour and wouldn’t let me cum, but when you finally did I was convinced I actually saw heaven.”

“Oh my god I remember that, that was like, one of the sexiest hairstyles you’ve ever had.” You reply fondly, tucking a long black strand behind his ear. “This ones pretty sexy too, I will say.”

He grins, reaching over you to poke Felix in the side. “What about you Lix?” He questions.

“To be honest I think it was the first time I ever tried coke, after that one half naked shoot with the blue curtain fabric thing.” He chuckles, pointing to Hyunjin who also laughs at the memory.

“We went to this party after a shoot and one of the other models ended up coming back with Hyunjin and I to our room. She cut a few lines and those two did them no problem and then they looked at me kinda like “what are you waiting for” and I had to tell them I’d never tried it. My nose started bleeding and I was so embarrassed, but Hyunjin just wiped it off while she went down on me. I was so disoriented but it felt so good and I came so hard.” Felix blushes, wincing slightly as he smiles.

“We ended up fucking while Lix just kind of sat at the table half watching half knocked out.” Hyunjin giggles, ruffling the blonde boy's hair.

“What about you?” Felix says, turning his attention to you.

“Hmm,” you say, mulling it over in your head. “I went on a trip for two weeks with my girl friends and I didn’t touch myself once the entire time, so when I got back he went down on me for ages, I think I came three times.” You blush, shyly covering your face as Hyunjin laughs.

His fingers paint shapes on your belly with his own cum, collecting it from between your thighs before trailing it up and over your navel.

“How did you two even start the whole threesome thing together?” You question curiously, “I can’t believe I’ve never asked this before.” You add, kind of shocked.

“Welll…” Felix starts, trailing off with a laugh as him and Hyunjin make eye contact.

Hyunjin winces slightly, rubbing his eyes. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Like a long one.” Felix adds.

“It’s okay, we’ve got time.” You shrug. “Plus, I wanna hear it now.”

“Okay, well in highschool we were pretty close, we danced under the same company for years and we hung out sometimes.” Felix starts. “I kind of had a crush on him cause like…well, look at him.” He adds, grinning as you both turn to look at Hyunjin who smiles as a blush creeps up his cheeks.

“But at that time I wasn’t even entirely sure of my own sexuality, let alone Hyunjins, and every time we talked he’d be on about some girl he was hooking up with or seeing, so I kinda figured there was no chance there.” Felix continues, looking between you both.

“I was kind of a slut in highschool.” Hyunjin deadpans, looking at you before Felix continues.

“But this one night he slept over at my house cause my parents were out of town and we got talking while we smoked a joint. We were sitting on the roof outside of my room and he asked me if I’d ever kissed a guy, I said yes and then asked him if he ever had. He said no, but he would, which kinda took me by surprise. The next time I passed him the joint he blew smoke into my mouth and then kissed me and to this day it was one of the hottest fucking things someone’s ever done to me.” Felix smirks, looking at Hyunjin who chastely kisses his knuckles as he winks.

“That story is both so cute and so sexy. I'm intrigued, do tell me more.” You say, grinning as you cuddle up to Hyunjin, both of your eyes on Felix.

“High School was a little wild, but it was tame compared to Uni.” Hyunjin begins, continuing the story. “I was also kind of a slut in Uni. Especially first year.” He adds, making Felix laugh.

“We kind of just experimented a lot.” Felix adds, shrugging.

“Then in Uni, I had this girl over in my dorm cause I thought Lix wouldn’t be back until later, but he walked in at like 10 pm cause some girl spilled her drink on him and he had to change. It was actually her idea, she asked me if I thought he’d wanna join and I said it had never occurred to me but sure. I called down the hall and was like “Yo come here!” Hyunjin laughs, throwing his head back.

Before he can continue, Felix interjects. “Just to reiterate that is actually what he said.” He says with a wide eyed smile, reaching his hand over at Hyunjin as he speaks.

“That is the least sexy proposition I’ve maybe ever heard?” You say teasingly, laughing alongside them both.

“You and me both.” Felix grins, rolling his eyes as he continues the story. “I went into his room to see what he wanted and this girl was literally on her knees in front of him and he just casually goes “come here” so I was like…okay.” He says, shrugging with a small laugh. “We kissed for a bit and then, well I dunno, I was kinda drunk to be honest but we all fucked around for awhile until she left. Then we kinda just started doing it from time to time, usually after parties until he introduced me to you.” He finishes with a wink and a gentle poke to your side.

“My pretty girl.” Hyunjin grins, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I have one,” Felix continues, sitting up onto his elbows. “What’s the story of your first time?”

This makes Hyunjin laugh and you cringe at the memory.

“It was so bad.” You whine, dragging your hands over your face. “I was in highschool, I think I was 15 and I lost it to my first real boyfriend. He came over one day while my parents weren’t home and we were messing around and he asked if I wanted to have sex and I was like sure. It hurt like a bitch and he came in like 30 seconds and then asked me if I finished. I didn’t.” You say rolling your eyes and sighing as you flop back down.

Felix laughs. “Having sex in highschool makes you feel so grown up and mature until you get older and realize how bad the sex you were having actually was.”

This makes you and Hyunjin both laugh. “Cheers to that.” He replies, throwing his head back.

“I lost mine to my pre calc tutor when I was in like grade eleven. She was two years older than me and to be honest it was great.” Hyunjin says, grinning as he wiggles his eyebrows. “I was on the verge of failing because I was practicing so much I didn’t have time for most of my schoolwork. I also just hated my pre calc teacher. They got me a tutor from one of the colleges and she was smoking hot. My grades actually did get better after a few sessions but I honestly only remember the one where she asked me if I’d ever gotten head and I said yes and then she asked me if I had ever had sex and I said no. She asked me if I wanted to and being the sixteen year old boy I was, I said yes. It was awesome, no regrets, great first time.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “I wonder if she thought it was as great as you did.” Which makes Felix chuckle.

“Definitely not.” Hyunjin grins, folding his arms behind his head. “This is fun, give us more.”

“Hm, okay,” you think, “what’s a kink you have or something that turns you on?”

“How much time do you have?” Hyunjin jokes, cocking his eyebrow.

“I like getting my hair pulled.” Felix says, grinning.

“Mmmm.” Hyunjin hums in agreement. “Hurts so good.”

“I think seeing and feeling the bulge when we fuck is the hottest thing in the universe, like it makes me wanna cum on the spot.” You whine, twirling a lock of Hyunjins hair as you look back and forth between them.

“I like that too, sometimes I actually have to try not to cum on the spot.” Hyunjin replies, grinning. “I’m kind of into recording now? I’ve jerked off to the video of you giving me head at least 10 times. It's amazing.” He winks at you. “Guys, let's make a sex tape. Please.” He whines, wiggling his eyebrows at Felix.

“With what?” He raises his eyebrows, amused.

“I have an old camcorder.” Hyunjin grins as Felix rolls his eyes.

“I dunno…sounds pretty adventurous.” He replies teasingly, his eyebrows raised.

“Being in front of a camera is hardly adventurous for either of you.” You snort

“Ok but fucking in front of one is.” Felix retorts, playfully smacking you on the shoulder.

“I’ll bring it next time we come over.” Hyunjin winks, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then to Felix’s shoulder.

[andikenpachi]

take care

a little drabby-drab of nursing student!reader meeting paramedic student!abby for the first time

the first day of the semester always seemed to be the most hectic, and that didn’t change once you got accepted into your college’s nursing program. the halls of the health science building were filled to the brim as students made their way to and from classes, their respective conversations buzzing around you like a swarm of bees.

you held your gigantic fundamentals of nursing textbook to your chest with one hand (seriously, why did the book have to be so big?), the other clutching the strap if your backpack. you only had one class today, but it was a whopping three hours long, and your mind was already on information overload. luckily, you professor was gracious, and provided the class with a 20 minute break halfway into the lecture. you decided to use that break to take a much-needed breath of fresh air, and you took an almost exaggerated deep breath in once you opened the double doors leading outside. the air was crisp, and a bit chilly, which was perfect for clearing your mind and ridding it of any distractions.

“uh, excuse me?”

a tap on the shoulder and a smooth voice caught your attention, and you turned around, only to be met with, well… your first distraction.

holy shit.

you would’ve never imagined describing a woman as a complete hunk, but no other word could fit the description of the tall blonde standing before you. her broad shoulders and thick arms strained in the light blue shirt that symbolized students of the paramedics program, which was tightly tucked into black cargo pants that fit her muscular thighs a bit too well.

you tried to speak. you made a real effort too… but was her delicate grey-green eyes made you absolutely melt under her gaze. after what seemed like an eternity of just gawking at the woman, you finally found your voice.

“hi…”

hi?! really, that’s all you could think of saying?!

unexpectedly, the woman chuckled, a low and almost raspy sound that made your heart flutter in your chest.

“hi,” she replied, a bit teasingly. she held out her hand, revealing an AirPod case. “i believe this is yours. i noticed it fall out your backpack in the hallway.”

your eyebrows shot up, and you instantly grabbed your bag, only then noticing that one of the pockets were unzipped.

“oh! wow, uh… thanks,” you stammered, unable to even maintain eye contact as the blonde returned your belonging.

“no problem,” she responded, and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you could hear the smile in her voice.

now what?

you stood there awkwardly, fingers mindlessly toying with the strap of your backpack as you rocked back and forth.

“i’m ab-”

“okay thanks again, bye now!” you suddenly interjected, and you sped away, arms and legs moving almost robotically as you desperately attempted to get out of her field of vision and to your car as quickly as possible.

you didn’t even realize what you did, at least, not until you sat in your car. you slapped both of your cheeks (macaulay culkin style) and yelled, letting out all of your frustration and sheer embarrassment from that interaction.

you leaned back in your seat, shutting your eyes and sighing as you finally calmed down.

what a great way to start off the new semester, you thought to yourself. i’m somehow already behind in my studies, and then i just had to make a fool of myself in front of this fine ass woman, who i might end up seeing almost every fucking day. please, don’t let this day get any worse…

a knock at your window.

the blonde paramedic student.

whoever my enemies are, it seems they have won…

you swallowed the lump in your throat before rolling down your window down all the way, to which the blonde responded by resting her folded arms (oh god, her arms) in the space. she was smiling, biting her bottom lip seemingly to not burst out into laughter, and you fiddled with your fingers in your lap.

“you seemed a bit too eager to get away from me there,” she hummed. “i didn’t even get a chance to tell you my name…”

“i-i wasn’t, i promise!” you exclaimed. “it’s just-”

“no, no, it’s all good,” the blonde assured with a laugh. “i’m abby, by the way.”

“abby…” you repeated, liking the way it felt on your tongue. you told her your name as well, to which she smiled.

“it’s nice to meet you,” abby said, “now i know who to call when i need someone to take care of me.”

your eyes widened and your cheeks heated up in a blush, and abby laughed at just how flustered she got you.

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding,” she grinned. “but since i’m here, i might as well ask: i’ve been looking for a study buddy, and i know we’re in different majors, but we could still-”

“yes!” you answered a bit too loud for how close you were, and you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment. “i-i mean, yeah, we can study together, if you like.”

abby bit her lip and smiled, clearly pleased with your response. “great, gimme your phone.”

you complied, unlocking your phone and handing it to her, allowing you to save her number onto it. she called herself, pulling her own phone out of her pocket and saving your number.

“cool, i’ll call you later so we can set things up, ‘kay?”

you nodded as abby handed you your phone back, and she tapped the edge of your car door.

“see you around, nurse,” she jested with a wink, sticking a hand in her pocket as she walked away.

you watched her go, letting out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding as you leaned back in your seat.

you weren’t sure what exactly you were getting yourself into, but whatever it was, you at hoped it’d work out.

i might make a part 2 to this, i might not (i will), but it might not be any time soon lol.

[duskandcobalt]

Under the Weeping Willow

Emboldened by the light of a full moon, Elain lures Azriel out to the garden for a late night rendezvous.

18+ because this is just some classic duskandcobalt smut brought on by the first full moon of the year.

3k words

Read on AO3

ENJOY XX

“Your shadows watch, don’t they?” She went on, granting him the small mercy of not having to say anything just yet. “Feyre said you have eyes on me at all times. I thought you would’ve known.”

“My shadows do watch,” he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But only to ensure your safety. I don’t have them report on…  private matters.” 

Azriel groaned, brushing his unruly hair from his eyes as he sat up in bed and scanned his almost pitch black room with bleary eyes. 

He had tried to ignore the soft sound the first couple of times but after hearing that hollow tapping noise against his window for the fifth time, he’d given in to the impulse to investigate.

He swung his long legs out from under the covers, adjusting the waist of the cotton pants he’d worn to sleep as he padded over to the window and gingerly moved aside the heavy curtains just an inch so he could peer out of the small window that overlooked the garden of the Townhouse. 

The full moon hung high in the sky, casting silvery light over the cobblestone pathway that meandered through the flourishing garden towards the giant willow tree that sat at the very back of the space. He blinked, lazily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tried to focus on what looked to be a figure standing by the wrought iron table that was situated in perfect view of his window. 

She almost looked like an apparition, a trick of the moonlight, standing so perfectly still as she peered up at his window. Her feet were bare, her thick hair loose, falling in soft waves down her back. She wore a simple nightgown that did nothing to hide the soft curves of her breasts and thighs with the way the moon illuminated her from behind. Her small hand was curled into a tight fist at her side, holding tight to what appeared to be an assortment of small rocks.

Azriel watched, pulling back the drapes fully, as Elain plucked another pebble out of her hand, raising her arm to toss it at his window again. She stopped short, the pebble tumbling from her fingers and onto the cobblestones, when her eyes caught his and she realised that she’d succeeded in getting his attention. 

He was sure he was still asleep, that this was one of the dreams that plagued him recently. One of those fantasies that he’d kept all to himself, ashamed of the way his skin prickled with heat at the mere thought of her. There was no other explanation, no other plausible reason for Elain Archeron to be standing in the garden in the dark of night, wearing little to nothing, and throwing rocks at his window. 

Still, he found himself slipping on a shirt and silently making his way downstairs after she’d crooked a single finger, brazenly beckoning him to come to her with the slightest hint of a smile on her face.  

“Hello.” The sweet rasp of her whispered greeting caused goosebumps to rise on Azriel’s arms and the back of his neck despite the balmy summer night. The sheerness of her gown was even more obvious in such close proximity and Azriel fought to keep his eyes on her face, not daring to look any lower than the delicate collarbones that peaked out from the top of her ivory dress. 

“It’s very late.” Azriel said, gazing into those big brown eyes framed with long, dark lashes.

“Come with me,” was the only reply she offered before she turned and carefully began making her way through the garden. 

He couldn’t help it, then. Couldn’t stop his eyes from falling to the small of her back. To the swell of her hips and the generous curves of her backside and thighs. He had a feeling she knew exactly how much of her body was on display. That she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Azriel willed himself to follow her, still not entirely sure that this wasn’t all an elaborate dream brought on by the full moon.

Elain paused in front of the weeping willow at the very back of the garden, one hand outstretched towards him. He took a breath to steady himself as he took her small hand in his and allowed her to pull him under the thick canopy of leaves that hung all the way to the ground. 

There was a large blanket there, draped over the patch of grass in between the gnarled roots of the tree that protruded from the ground. He stood, unsure what to do with himself as Elain lowered herself to the floor until she was flat on her back, her arms relaxed at her sides. 

At least here, under this tree - the light of the moon diffused by the heavy dangling branches - he was granted a reprieve from the sinful outline of her body that had been so visible to him just a moment ago. 

“Lay down.” She looked up at him, her teeth grazing her lower lip. 

Azriel complied, slowly laying down on the blanket next to her, close enough that the tips of his fingers brushed against hers. He turned his head to face her but Elain’s eyes were closed, her face tilted upwards. 

The dim blue light from the two siphons he’d quickly strapped to his hands before coming out to meet her casted her alabaster skin in a sapphire glow that  made her look enticing and almost dangerous in a way that made his blood rush to between his legs.

“What are we doing?” He asked after the silence got to be too much, watching the rise and fall of her chest. 

“I hear you at night, sometimes.” She whispered, eyes still closed. “I hear the way you say my name.”

Azriel went still. The only movement he allowed was a slight  bob of his throat as he swallowed in an attempt to quell his nerves. There was no chance she meant what he thought she meant. There was no way that she knew about the things he did, the way he thought about her in the darkest hours of the night. 

Before he had the chance to ask, to seek confirmation, she spoke again. 

“Do you ever hear me?” 

“Elain -” Azriel croaked, unsure as to what he could even say to her.

“Your shadows watch, don’t they?” She went on, granting him the small mercy of not having to say anything just yet. “Feyre said you have eyes on me at all times. I thought you would’ve known.”

“My shadows do watch,” he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But only to ensure your safety. I don’t have them report on…  private matters.” 

Azriel cleared his throat, his fingers digging into his thigh as he fought back the images that her words had brought to mind. Images of her sprawled out in bed, that torturous nightgown gathered up around her waist. “They know when to look away.”

“A shame.” She huffed a laugh and Azriel’s breath hitched as she turned her face towards him, her eyes falling upon him. “All this time… I’ve been putting on such a show for you.” 

He muttered a curse under his breath, his heart beating so fast against his chest that he genuinely thought he might perish at any given second. Immortality be damned.

“Do you want to know what I think about, Azriel?” The playful lilt of her voice told him that she was enjoying this.

He should’ve said no. Should’ve attempted to preserve the little bit of sanity that remained intact whenever he found himself in her presence. But his resolve crumbled at the glint of amusement in her eyes and he decided that he’d deal with whatever consequences awaited him whenever this dream faded and reality set back in.

“Tell me.” He dipped his chin once, granting her the permission to ruin him. 

“You see,” she began, the soft silk of her voice wrapped itself around him and held him captive. “I’ve been reading a lot lately as a distraction from all the….” She raised a hand, waving it around in the air as her lips momentarily turned down into a frown. 

Azriel knew what she meant by the action. He felt a pang of sympathy for her, knowing that the visions that plagued her had a tendency to be  foreboding and menacing more often than not. He was fully aware that she often roamed around at night, quietly tiptoeing through the hallways and out to the garden, avoiding sleep for fear of being held ransom by one of those haunting visions. 

He had found her a time or two, his shadows leading him to wherever she was. He’d feign that he needed a glass of water or a cup of tea, knowing that she’d take it upon herself to offer her help in the kitchen. He’d talk to her as the kettle boiled, exchanging quiet conversation just so he could make sure she was alright - excusing himself back to bed only when her shoulders relaxed and her eyes cleared. 

“The problem is,” Elain shook her head, her eyes focusing on him once again. “When I lay in bed and imagine all those things I’ve been reading about, there’s only one face that comes to mind.”

Her little finger grazed his and Azriel’s skin grew taut over his bones at that small touch, at her words. She lifted his hand in hers, raising it up in between them. He held it there, allowing her to trace over his scars. His chest ached at the gentleness of her touch as she followed the swirling path of raised tissue that covered his hands and wrists with her index finger.

“It’s these beautiful hands that I think about when I touch myself.” She set his hand down and reached out towards him, her fingertips just barely sweeping over his lower lip. “It’s this mouth that I picture making me come.”

Her fingers left his lips. She dragged her hand down his throat and across his chest, stopping where his heart beat rapidly for her. “I always hoped that the shadows would tell you that I was calling for you. Always wished that you’d come into my room and help me.”

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and taking her wrist in his hand. He had to touch her. Needed to touch her. Azriel tugged her towards him, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist, bringing her with him as he sat upright. 

She looked down at him from where she straddled him now, surprise written in her eyes at how quickly he’d taken control of the situation.

Azriel allowed himself to drag his palms down from her waist to her thighs and then back up again to her hips where he held tight and pulled her down until her eyes fluttered shut and the smallest sigh left her lips at the feeling of him hard against her center. “Let me help you now.” 

He urged her hips forwards again, holding back a groan of his own as she tentatively rocked against him. 

It would be so easy to ease her nightgown up and over her body, to allow himself the pleasure of  sliding his fingers in between her thighs to gather the wetness he could feel quickly dampening the cotton of his pants onto the tips of his fingers. But he’d be patient, he’d wait to touch her how he wanted. He’d wait to taste her. He needed her like this first.

“Tell me.” He echoed his earlier words. “Tell me all the things you think about.” Azriel watched her carefully, utterly enthralled at the way her head tipped back, eyebrows furrowing as she tried to focus on his request.

“I picture you telling me to get on my knees,” she began, her words punctuated by another press of her hips towards his. “I picture you telling me to open my mouth.”

Gods.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders and his fingers tightened on her hips.

How many times had he wrapped a fist around his cock, imagining her lips wrapped around him? How many times had he considered what the heat of her mouth would feel like as she hollowed her cheeks and took him down her throat?

“I picture buying one of those outfits from that shop in town that I’ve never dared to enter.” She continued, voice raw and trembling with need. “Something delicate and lacy… or maybe you prefer silk? Satin? I think about wearing those things and waiting for you in your room or in your office... sometimes you slowly take them off of me, sometimes you like to leave them on.”

Azriel’s cock throbbed at the mental image and he gave in to the temptation to rut up into her, leaning forward to press his lips to the hollow of her throat. 

He loved females  any which way but he’d always held a special appreciation for lingerie. He liked having an additional layer to undo. Liked the straps and the bows, the lace and the silk. He thought of it almost like jewelry, pretty adornments for an otherwise naked body. Most of all, he liked the confidence that those flimsy wisps of fabric seemed to bring.

The thought of Elain dressed like that was a fantasy he’d never allowed himself but now that she’d brought it up, he’d never be able to get it out of his mind. 

“My favourite…” She gasped as he lightly dragged his lips over that little peak of her collar bone. “Is when you bend me over your desk and…” 

Her words were cut off by another frantic gasp and Elain tensed in his arms. His face was pressed between her breasts as she leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder. She slid her slickened core over him over and over again, her pace quickening until she was a writhing mess above him - unable to utter anything except a long string of curses he’d never thought he’d hear her say, let alone form a coherent sentence.

“That’s it, Elain.” Azriel coaxed her, allowing his hands to travel behind her until they were dangerously low on her back, angling her in a way that he knew would provide pressure exactly where she needed it most. “Come for me, sweet girl.”

Azriel relished in the subtle tremble  of her body as she slumped against him, the smooth rhythm of her hips faltering as she found her pleasure. He felt the curve of her lips as they turned up into a satiated smile against his throat, heard the way she moaned his name in rapid succession.

For all the times he'd imagined what this would be like, nothing would ever come close to the reality of her. Each sound Elain made was music to his ears. The feel of her skin was forever ingrained in his fingertips, the soft feel of her plush hips was something he'd never be able to shake from his hands.

“Good.” Azriel whispered, unable to keep his own satisfaction at finally having her like this from slipping into his tone. “Good girl. I’ve got you, Angel.”

He soothed his palms over her back, drawing small circles over the fabric of her nightgown, now damp with sweat, until she caught her breath and peeled back, untangling herself from him.

Elain eased off Azriel’s lap, kneeling on the blanket beside him and gazing up at him with wide, hazy eyes as if she couldn’t believe what they’d done despite having lured him from the comfort of his bed for this very purpose. 

Azriel stared back at her, maneuvering onto his knees to match her.He watched as her gaze dipped down, her teeth tugging at her full bottom lip at the realisation that he was still hard and aching for her.

She reached for him but Azriel took her wrist in his hand once again, redirecting it to his shoulder. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, gently tucking her hair behind her ears before lowering his face to hers until his lips hovered over hers. 

“Yes.” She breathed without even an ounce of hesitation. Her body keened even closer to his - every inch of her torso pressed tight against him. It took everything in him not to succumb to that touch. To let her slide her hands below the waistband of his pants. To lay her back down on this blanket and sink deep inside her. To let her envelop him completely until he forgot everything but her name.

Instead, his fingers flexed around her hip and he held her firmly in place, maintaining that miniscule gap between their lips. 

“Patience, Elain.” He grinned at the disappointment that flickered across her face and shifted the hand that rested on her neck to tilt her face just how he wanted. “Have you any idea? All the things I have planned for you?” 

He didn’t give her a chance to answer, relenting and ghosting his lips over hers once, twice, before he finally kissed her. 

He kept it soft and slow, his mouth sliding over hers in a way that left her utterly breathless. 

He could scent the fresh wave of her desire. That sweetest scent of jasmine and honey edged with a musk that he swore called just to him. He knew that every nerve in her body was begging for him just as every part of him was screaming at him to indulge in her. But Azriel held firm, took his fill by way of this singular kiss and allowed his lips and tongue and his roaming hands to deliver the unspoken promise that this night was only the beginning for them. That he intended to take his time acquanting himself with her in all the ways he’d dreamed now that she’d offered the truth of the intensity of  her own wants and needs to him.

He’d do everything he could to bring each and every one of their fantasies to life.

By the time Elain brought herself to open her eyes after Azriel had pulled away from that shattering kiss with a whispered instruction to go back to bed and one final kiss to her temple, the Shadowsinger had disappeared back through the low hanging branches of the willow tree. 

She was left kneeling alone in the dappled moonlight - the blue light of his siphons a distant memory as she bought a shaking fingertip to her lips to press at the swollenness and feel the lingering heat - the only tangible evidence that she hadn’t imagined any of what had just happened with only the full moon as their witness.

Later, when she gathered the energy to raise up on shaky limbs and find her way back to her room,  she caught two shadows emerging from the willow tree where they’d been hiding - lingering and trailing behind her as she walked through the garden and back into the townhouse, only skittering away to the upstairs hallway and back to their master once she was safely inside, her bedroom door firmly shut behind her.