#but then again its always the stuff that i doubt that ends up getting the most notes

[finalhaunts]

-

[sapphire-writes]

Pretty Little Thing

summary: After finding yourself at a holiday party you hadn't wanted to attend in the first place, Aemond Targaryen makes it worth while.

pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader

warnings: 18+/NSFW/MDNI - smut, oral fem receiving, fingering, spanking, praise, slight dirty talk, overstim, kissing, love bites, hand over mouth, titty play, allusions to Aegon being a creeper, alcohol, smoking, langauge

word count: 7.2k

note: im back! grad school didn't kill me! hope you enjoy!

link to other stories from me!

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—

Be there soon.

Alysanne had texted you nearly an hour ago, and with each passing minute you became more doubtful she’d be making an appearance at all.

You hadn’t even wanted to come. It’d been her idea and now she was blowing you off.

“We’re just exchanging the last of our things,” she’d promised on the phone several hours earlier, “You go on without me and I’ll meet you there.”

Yeah. Because it takes three hours to give your ex-boyfriend his stuff back. Totally.

Alysanne and Cregan Stark had been on and off again since you’d known her; this time was no exception. You knew from her first running later than I thought text that the night wasn’t going to go as you’d hoped. 

You decide to like her most recent message instead of replying, unable to stop the wave of annoyance cresting inside of you. 

You hadn’t even wanted to come.

An end-of-semester holiday party. Thrown by the elder Lannister siblings; twins Jason and Tyland. The kings of Casterly Rock are well known for their extravagant get-togethers and the unimaginable generational wealth that funds all their exploits. 

They’d long graduated from King’s Landing University, but you and Alysanne scored an invite courtesy of Cerelle Lannister, their younger sister, whom you’d been trying to avoid since you arrived. If Cerelle didn’t see you, perhaps you could escape the party unscathed.

That hope proves too good to be true as your name is called from across the room. You slide your phone back into your pocket as Cerelle approaches you. Her blonde hair hangs in effortless curls down her back, the emerald green top she wears accentuating its golden hues, along with her bright green eyes. 

You’re not exactly close with Cerelle, though she appears to enjoy your friendship, at least on a surface level. She’s part of the weekly book club you attend. Her grin widens as she reaches you, eyes drinking you in. 

“Darling!” she muses, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

“You wore it!” she says, fingers ghosting across the cashmere cardigan you’d chosen to wear that evening. Cerelle had bought it for you a few weeks ago, though you’d begged her not to; the price was more than you made in a paycheck.

Alysanne once referred to you as Cerelle’s Polly Pocket.

“She pulls you out of her pocket and plays dress up. It’s fucking weird,” she’d said. 

Cerelle’s lips curve upwards in a Cheshire cat grin as she slings an arm around your shoulder, bringing her glossed lips next to your ear.

“Stop moping in the corner like some dreary wallflower,” she purrs, brushing some hair behind your ear, “Have some fun! It’s winter break!”

Goosebumps break out on your skin at her affections. You laugh breathlessly shrugging away from her touch causing her to frown. 

“You haven’t had enough to drink,” she insists, reaching for another glass, “You’re much too antsy.”

“Alysanne was supposed to be here,” you tell her and she nods understanding, looping her arm through yours and giving your forearm a comforting pat. 

“Fashionably late as always, I suppose,” Cerelle drolls, pointing across the room, “There are lots of fascinating characters here who’ll distract you. Shall I spin a bottle to decide?”

“Hilarious,” you tell her, shaking your head.

“I never joke about a good shag,” Cerelle argues, gaze flickering about the room, “From the looks of it you could use it.” She turns back to you, matching your pout. “Don’t frown, you look too lovely.” She places her hands on your cheeks, thumbs tugging the corner of your lips upwards.

“Much better,” she praises as you hold the smile she’s decorated your face with, “Come on let's find you someone…don’t look at me like that! Someone to flirt with, that’s all. A bit of harmless fun.” 

You roll your eyes earning a pitch on the arm and you swat Cerelle’s hand away.

“There’s no one here I want to flirt with,” you insist, following her gaze around the room, “Let alone shag.”

“You’re too picky,” she muses, tapping a manicured nail against her chin as she scans the room, “What about Greyjoy?”

A shiver rolls through you, “No thank you.”

“Heard he’s good in the sack.”

You’d heard a lot of things about Dalton Greyjoy. None of which made you want to spend an extended period of alone time with him. You glance at Cerelle giving her a firm look. She sighs, returning to her mission.

“You need someone,” Cerelle insists after you shoot down several more options, “You haven’t been with anyone since—what was it again?”

His face flashes through your mind before you can help it. 

“Unimportant,” you quip, “Cerelle, I just want to—” Your words die as two new guests bound up the stairs into the main hallway. 

Suddenly, it’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room, your heartbeat echoing in your ears the only sound you can hear. You tug Cerelle closer, eyes wide.

“You invited them?” you hiss, as Cerelle frowns, following your gaze.

“Not me. Jason must have,” she answers, “It’s not a party without Aegon. Jay swears he has the best coke on this side of the Keep.”

Aegon Targaryen is relatively harmless as long as you keep your drink close. You’re more concerned with the tall figure who lurks closely behind him. Though the younger, Aemond Targaryen towers over his brother; his presence makes the room feel smaller, colder than it was moments ago. He’s dressed in all black, as he usually is, the silver chain around his neck the only other color. His long snow-white hair is braided down his back, an eyepatch securely covering his left eye.

He never takes it off.

Aegon pushes by his brother making a beeline for the kitchen where most of the chaos is localized. You can tell a new drinking game has begun by the sound of cheers and the echo of glasses clinking together. Aegon’s eyes lit up as he disappeared down the hall, eager to join the miscellaneous fun.

Aegon loves a good party.

Aemond watches his brother but lingers behind in the living room leaning against a wall. He extends a long arm to the bookshelf retrieving one with his long fingers. He flicks open a few pages, lips pursing. He glances up, violet eye meeting yours for the briefest moment. 

Your lips part and you look away, warmth flooding your cheeks. You had shared a couple of classes with Aemond, nothing more nothing less. He was quite mysterious. 

“Anyway,” Cerelle says, her attention wavering with each passing second, “Back to you drinking. I’ll get you another glass. Loosen up, pet.” 

—

You try to, you really do. No matter what her intentions are, Cerelle has been nothing but nice to you, so you allow her antics. An hour has ticked by and Alysanne has yet to respond to your latest text message. Squeezed between Cerelle and Sabitha Frey during another round of quarters you decide to plan your escape. 

“I’m going to get some air,” you tell her, rising from the couch. Cerelle rolls her eyes, “I’m not leaving, I swear!”

“You better not!” she says, perfectly sculpted eyebrows knitting together, “I’ll come to fetch you if you’re gone too long—you know I will.”

She’s telling the truth. 

“Five minutes,” you insist, forcing a smile.

Cerelle’s nose twitches but she lets it go and nods, returning her attention to the game.

Weaving through the sea of people you make your way outside letting the door shut behind you as you walk down a few steps of the front stoop. It’s colder than you expected, you can see your breath in front of you. 

You stand shivering, trying to decide what to do next. Reaching into your pocket, you check your phone for the time. You could leave, make your escape down the steps, and catch the last bus back to Maegor’s Holdfast. 

If you stay any longer, you’ll be forced to spend the night or dip into your savings to splurge on an Uber. It’s always crazy expensive on this side of town as if the drivers know the neighborhood is full of rich kids. 

The door opens and noise from the party fills the cool night until it slams shut once more. You roll your eyes expecting Cerelle as you turn your head. 

Only it isn’t her.

Aemond Targaryen lingers on the top step, reaching into his jacket pocket and placing a cigarette between his teeth. He finds a lighter a moment later, a nice expensive one, flicking it open with a sharp click. Fire blooms in the palm of his hand and you can just make out the three-headed dragon branded on the side of the silver lighter before it disappears into his pocket again.

He releases a cloud of smoke into the air, mimicking the one your breath makes. You turn away as he walks down a few steps, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“You were in my class,” he says suddenly, his head tilting to the side, “History of The First Men, right?” 

You force your lips together. “Mhmm,” you answer, surprised he recognized you.

Aemond Targaryen didn’t seem the type to remember a random girl in his class. Smart as hells, he focused solely on his grades, paying little attention to the rest of the student body. He seemed to be the antithesis of his elder brother. Though incredibly different, supposedly they had similar lustful appetites. 

One for pleasures of the flesh, the other for academic validation.

Aegon Targaryen was a known party boy and ran in multiple social circles. He didn’t care about class or popularity; if there was sex, liquor, and drugs around, Aegon Targaryen would be there. 

However, there were stories about Aemond too that made their way around campus. 

“You alright?” he pressed, the silence laying heavy between you. 

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now,” you breathe, chuckling slightly as you rub your arms as the frigid air bites into your exposed flesh. 

Aemond quirks a brow at that, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Why’s that?”

“You’re sort of a banned topic at book club,” you admit, causing his lips to curl into a small smirk. 

“Am I?”

“Mhmm.”

Another moment of silence goes by before his curiosity gets the better of him. “Because?”

“Maris runs it,” you tell him, and he clicks his tongue, nodding to himself before taking another drag of his cigarette.

Maris Baratheon, the elder of a pair of Irish twins. Floris Baratheon, once the object of Aemond’s affection for about a half second, was royally screwed over when he left her for none other than Alys Rivers. Adjunct Professor. It was quite the scandal at the time.

You’re not exactly friends with Floris; closer to Maris if you had to choose. But it's the principle of things—girl code. 

“Floris and I were never exclusive,” Aemond comments.

“Yikes.”

So maybe Aemond Targaryen is just like every other guy. Though, you’re mostly sure he’s telling the truth. The story you’d heard was that he ghosted her. 

“She shouldn’t have assumed,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

You roll your eyes, blood boiling at his statement as annoyance begins to quicken in your belly. Aemond Targaryen seems more like his elder with every word that leaves his curved lips. 

“Right, of course not, how dare she,” is your sarcastic reply. 

Aemond tilts his head toward the sky, speaking around the cigarette. 

“You seem rather upset,” he accuses, “Funny, Floris never mentioned you.”

You turn to face him fully and he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. Folding your arms across your chest you jut your hip out. “We’re not friends. It’s the principle of it all. I don’t like assholes.”

His perfect lips curl slightly. “I’m an asshole?”

“Mhmm. At least Aegon owns up to his behavior, he doesn’t pretend he’s some suave guy doing nothing wrong.”

You swear a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he plucks the cigarette from between them.

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Sure seems like it.”

Aemond takes a step closer then. You have to tilt your head to look him in the eye. Something about being this close to him is almost unnerving, your stomach drops slightly as you focus on his prominent cheekbones. 

“It’s not my problem if a girl gets her hopes up after getting fucked properly,” he counters.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you back up, slightly slipping against the icy railing. Aemond reaches out, his hand curling around your bicep to steady you. It’s warm, almost hot; the heat seeps through your thin sweater in the shape of his fingers. 

There’s a tension between you as he holds your arm for a second too long, before the door opens and several partygoers stumble down the steps, forcing you to break apart. Aemond takes another drag of his cigarette from across the stairs as they laugh tumbling into the street. You’re grateful for the distraction, taking a moment to slow the frantic beating of your heart, and the slight flutter in your stomach. 

“So,” you begin, trying to break the awkward silence the partygoers left behind with their departure, “How do you know Cerelle?”

Aemond looks at you quizzically.

“How do I know Cerelle?”

You jerk your chin up in a hasty nod. Aemond chuckles, shaking his head and taking another drag.

“Family friend,” he answers, “Old money likes to stick together.”

You nod again, unsure of how to answer as he observes you. 

“Surely you’ve heard of the Westerosi Seven?” he asks.

You haven’t.

“The what?” 

“The seven families,” Aemond says, his tone indicating that this is somewhat common knowledge, “Generational wealth that can be traced back to medieval times. The higher lords and ladies. Near royalty.” He takes another drag.

“And you’re one of them?” you ask, crossing your arms. 

“My family, yes,” he answers, “And Cerelle’s. The Baratheon girls. Stark. They’re all quite close.”

“Interesting,” you tell him, glancing down the street again, “You sound like the mafia.”

Aemond holds your gaze, not denying your allegation. You release a breathless laugh, but unease settles in your gut. 

The door opens as if on cue, and Cerelle pops her head out. 

“Darling! Come back inside you’ll catch your death,” she calls, waving you forward. She spots Aemond out of the corner of her eye, and you don’t miss the look of interest that gathers in her green eyes as they flicker between the pair of you, “Targaryen.”

“CeCe,” he politely greets, choosing to use the nickname Cerelle often kept reserved for her family only. She doesn’t comment on Aemond’s choice. 

“Hope you’re being nice to my girl,” she says, the words clipped.

“Of course,” Aemond comments and you can’t help but feel like you aren’t there. 

Cerelle glances back at you, a smile decorating her face once more. 

“Come on, pet! In the kitchen.”

Her blonde hair disappears in the door. Aemond walks down the remainder of the steps tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it beneath his heel. 

“Best run along,” he muses, not turning to face you, “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Annoyance prickles under your skin.

“She’s my friend—”

“You have got a very generous friend,” Aemond comments, turning to face you. He motions at your sweater. “Myrish, isn’t it?”

You cross your hands over your chest. 

“Mhmm,” Aemond hums glancing up at you from the bottom step, “I’d just be careful if I were you. Accepting gifts from rich strangers is a lot like Persephone eating the pomegranate seeds.” 

You scoff at the implication before turning away and heading back into the townhouse. Aemond does not follow; you don’t hear the door open as you hurry back up the stairs. 

The party has since moved completely to the kitchen, sans a couple making out on the living room couch. You enter the crowded space and crane your neck to see what everyone is cheering at.

It’s something happening on the marble island, but you don’t see what—that is until Cerelle sits up, her blonde curls cascading around her face, a lime between her pearly white teeth like a cat with a mouse. 

She smiles curling her finger, beckoning Aegon Targaryen forward. He leans against her, bringing his mouth to hers and stealing the lime. The juice flows down his chin before he lets it fall, pressing a sloppy kiss to Cerelle’s lips, earning several cheers. 

As she breaks away she notices you, eyes lighting up as she slips off the counter. 

“Good, you didn’t leave!” she says giggling, “It’s your turn.”

“My turn?” you ask, heart dropping into your stomach. 

“Mhmm,” she says, dragging you forward, “Up now!” 

“Cerelle, I don’t—”

“Hush! Qyle Martell is doing it,” she says biting her lip suggestively, “Let the sexy Dornishman take a shot off you, alright?”

Your cheeks darken as he appears before you, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you onto the counter like a lamb for slaughter. The crowd cheers and your eyes widen as you meet Qyle’s warm brown eyes. 

“Your sweater,” he says, motioning to it with his hand that clutches a bottle of tequila. 

You glance at Cerelle and she nods encouragingly. Over her head and in the doorway you spot Aemond. He didn’t leave after all. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, observing the chaos with a curled lip, as if the entire thing is beneath him.

Qyle whistles, drawing your attention back to him. He motions to your sweater yet again.

“Oh,” you tell him, moving to unbutton it. 

Thank goodness you wore a tank top underneath. Your fingers slip with nerves as you struggle to unbutton it. You’re the center of attention, peers cheering and chanting around you as you struggle with the bottoms. 

Quite the sacrificial lamb you are. 

“Here, can I help?” Qyle asks, reaching toward you, his fingers bumping against your own. The bottle of tequila sloshes. 

“No—no I’ve got it—oh!”

You’d moved wrong, done something wrong—or perhaps someone pushed him you’re not sure. Your head is buzzing with the noise of the room and suddenly the front of your sweater is doused in tequila. Qyle’s eyes are wide as Cerelle pushes him to the side as the smell of alcohol fills your nose. 

The room quiets momentarily until Cerelle’s bell-like laugh pierces through the silence. 

“Qyle you idiot,” Cerelle sneers, nose wrinkling with playful distaste, “You’re supposed to wait till she’s laying down—”

“It was an accident!”

“—and her sweater!” Cerelle growls in annoyance, “Go upstairs, pet, my room. Pick anything you like.”

You slide off of the counter, hurrying from the room, leaving the sound of music and chanting behind as you move deeper into the labyrinth of the Lannister home. 

—

Cerelle’s room lacks color and warmth. 

You’d spent the night once here before, crawling into the white feather bed after too much mulled wine. Cerelle had stroked your hair until you’d fallen asleep, only to awake the next morning with a severe headache and a churning belly. 

Popping the rest of the buttons, you peel the soaked sweater from your body and throw it in the hamper. You then walk over to Cerelle’s closet—double doors—and open it. Expensive. Perfumed. You’ve already ruined one pretty thing. Though Cerelle could hardly care about the expense, you do. You sigh, gently pushing through the soft fabric.

“Playing dress up?” a voice calls, and you turn to Aemond at the door. 

You close the closet door. You’ll just have to survive in your thin top. Aemond holds a glass of whiskey between his long fingers.

“Well, I suppose that was a given,” you answer him, sitting down on the bed.

Aemond watches you from the doorway, his arm raised above his head, fingers tapping nonsensically against the frame. 

“D’you want to see how you’re supposed to do it?” he suddenly asks.

“Do what?” you question, tilting your head to the side. 

“What Qyle was going to do,” he answers, and you understand his meaning. 

Aemond walks over to you, the ice rattling against the glass he lazily grips between his fingers, coming to stand in front of your legs. You’re not sure why he’s asking, what interest he has in you. But something in your belly tightens the closer he gets.

“Alright,” you give him a quiet answer, the word barely slipping past your lips. 

Aemond purses his lips, glancing down at your legs. 

“Spread them,” he says softly, motioning with the cup. Warmth creeps up the back of your neck and blooms on the apples of your cheeks. You lock eyes with him, focusing on the ring of violet that surrounds his pupil. You do as you’re told, knees parting; his gaze hypnotizing. “Wider.” 

Your skirt tightens against your thighs as you do so, but you spread your legs wide enough for him to stand between them. He takes a step forward and you’re forced to look up at him.

“Lean back,” he instructs. You’re beginning to notice how easily he slips into the domineering role. Again you follow his instructions, cheeks burning as you lean back, propping yourself on your elbows. 

You’re much more exposed without your sweater, the tops of your breasts visible in the thin top you wear. Aemond steps closer, looming over you, heat radiating from his tall form.

He reaches out, fingers caressing your cheek. You hope he can’t feel how warm they’ve become, feel your pulse fluttering against his fingers as they trail underneath your jaw and down your neck until they reach your collarbone.

“You’re to put salt here,” he murmurs, pressing against the dip of your collarbone for emphasis, “That’s first.” He leans down then, fingers trailing over your shoulder and down your arm leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Though we’re without.”

You swallow as his fingers continue to trace your collarbone. His violet eye watches you carefully before he pulls his hand away. He brings them lower, ghosting down your ribs until they reach your waist.

“May I?” he asks, fingers at the hem of your shirt. You give him a wordless nod, not able to trust your voice. Aemond pushes the fabric up slightly, revealing your navel. He holds the glass above your stomach; a drop of condensation falls causing you to flinch at the cool sensation.

Aemond flicks a brow at the constriction of your abdomen, “You’re quite sensitive.”

“It’s cold.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees, turning the glass so more condensation falls; little raindrops begin to adorn your skin, “The liquor goes here.” His fingers ruin the pattern he’s created, rough fingertips swirling the dew drops around your navel, “Tequila.”

“We haven’t got any,” you breathlessly tell him, his touch leaving a scorched trail across your belly. 

Aemond brings his glass closer, pressing the edge against the beginning of your belly button, letting some whiskey pool there. Your hands clenched into fists as the cold liquid fills you up; you watch as it shakes slightly, overflowing. Aemond leans forward, catching the spill with his mouth causing a gasp that sounds more like a moan to leave your mouth. His mouth covers your navel and you can feel his tongue swirl around, collecting the liquid he poured there with hot, calculated strokes. 

His violet eye peers up at you from behind silver lashes, half-lidded as he hollows his cheeks sucking harshly. He reaches toward the side table, mouth never leaving you, to place his glass on the edge freeing his hand. You can feel his tongue circling your navel, gently probing the sensitive skin. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at the ticklish sensation. Aemond presses his hands against your obliques before releasing you with a pop, his chin and lips shining. 

“That’s how it's supposed to be,” he murmurs, not moving from the spot between your legs. Some of his silver hair has fallen across his brow, and on instinct you reach forward, brushing it from his eyes. 

“There’s one more part,” you tell him, fingers grazing the beginning of the scar that mares his left brow before disappearing behind the patch.

“What’s that?” he asks, his gaze revealing he knows the answer. 

He just wants to hear you say it, you realize. 

Your lips part, fingers still somewhat tangled in his hair; the strands soft as silk between your fingers. 

“There was a lime,” you tell him, “The person….holds it in their mouth.”

Aemond pushes up then, his hands sliding up your sides until they’re pressed into the bed on either side of you, his face inches from your own. 

“Have you got a lime on you?” he asks, his breath warm on your face, the scent of whiskey strong between you.

“No,” you murmur, not knowing where to look. He’s so close you can see the flecks of blue and gold in the lilac iris of his eye, count his silver lashes, and notice the small indentation on the tip of his prominent nose.

He hums again, his eye dropping to your lips.

“Pity,” he says, lips down turning into a pout.

Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest with the way it's pounding incessantly against your ribcage. He’s so close your chests are practically touching; your nipples straining against the fabric of your top. His chain peeks out from under the collar of his shirt and your resolve crumbles. Your eyes flicker to his lips, tongue darting out to wet your own and he leans forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

Your hands wrap around his neck as he kisses you; his lips so soft and firm against your own, skilled tongue parting them with ease to deepen the kiss. A moan doesn’t make it out of your throat as his hand cradles your jaw, the sound of soft kisses is the only thing you can hear besides the muffled hum of the music playing downstairs. 

Aemond pulls away then, the look is his eye ravenous as he lowers himself between your legs once more. For a minute you think he may grab his glass and do the party trick all over again, the kiss just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Instead, he pushes your skirt up, fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thighs. You realize a moment too late what he’s doing.

Riiiip!

“Aemond!” you squeak, as he rips the seam of your tights, “These were a new pair!”

“I can buy you another,” he says, pressing a kiss against the smooth newly exposed flesh, “Or perhaps CeCe can. You’re her favorite plaything, aren’t you?” 

Your cheeks burn at the statement, your mouth pressing together in a tight line. Aemond grins, nimble fingers undoing the zipper of your skirt and wiggling it down your legs along with your ruined tights.

“Oh she doesn’t like that,” he says, clicking his tongue, “But it’s true, isn’t it?” His hands are roaming higher now, grazing against your clothed center. You’re certain he feels the evidence of your arousal but he stays quiet about it. “That’s what you are, aren’t you? A pretty little plaything.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, humiliation seeping into your veins, though it does little to quell the desire pooling in your belly. 

“No shame in that,” he says, shaking his head, “I understand Cerelle, entirely.” His fingers tug your panties down your bare legs, exposing your wet center. Aemond’s eye locks on it, lips quirking upward. “I like pretty things as well.”

“So I’ve heard,” you quip as Aemond’s second-hand joins the first. He swirls a finger low against your entrance and you clench as he drags it upwards.

“Have you?” he muses, circling your clit with minimal pressure, “And what have you heard?”

“That you’re as insatiable as your brother,” you manage to choke out as his thumb continues to tease your clit, “You just hide it better.” 

Aemond cocks his head to the side in silent agreement before pressing his face against you. A sharp cry leaves your lips as his tongue explores from your entrance up to your clit, the tip circling the sensitive button. 

Eyes rolling back in your head, Aemond nuzzles his face against you, tongue slipping down and pressing into your clenching hole. He hums in approval as you make another desperate noise as his tongue curves upwards inside of you. 

Seven hells, how is anyone’s tongue long enough to do what Aemond’s is doing? Your toes curl as his tongue hooks upwards against the front of your pelvic bone, thrusting against the sensitive patch of nerves that resides there.

“Oh gods—fuck—fuck!” you cry as he continues the repetitive movement of his tongue, waves of pleasure lapping up your spine, sending shivers through your whole body. “Hells Aemond…”

His nose presses against your slippery clit, rubbing against it in a way that stokes the pleasurable fire burning in your belly. His hands hold your thighs open and you throw your head back against the bed as the pressure inside you builds and builds and builds. Your back arches and your thighs tremble in his bruising grasp.

You lean up on your forearms to watch him, his violet eye intently watching your face, studying your reaction. You can tell he’s smug at the effect he’s having on you. He would often get that same look in his eye in class after he proved someone wrong or made a more intelligent point. How you must look to him now; all spread out before him, flushed and slack-jawed, dewy-eyed and pretty. 

You’re a pretty toy to play with. Just want he wanted. 

His tongue leaves your fluttering pussy and you whine at the loss of contact. He mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like needy before two fingers sink inside your warmth to replace what he took away. 

Aemond’s tongue returns to its place around your clit as his fingers curve upwards replaying the motion from before. The stimulation now is much harsher, the pads of his fingers dragging effortlessly against your spongy walls, curling with brutal intention; relentlessly pressing against the swelling spot inside of you. 

His warm, wet tongue against your clit only hastens the tightly winding ball of pleasure in your gut and you feel your walls swelling around his fingers as your release knocks the wind out of you. 

You come with a strangled cry, hands gripping the bed sheets as your abdominal muscles contract to the point of pain, all your muscles going taut as warm waves of euphoria rush through you. 

Aemond releases a choked chuckle of appreciation as he feels you tighten around his fingers. He fucks you through it, stretching out the wave of your orgasm until your legs are trembling and the overstimulation causes you to hiss at him.

“Stop, stop, please.”

“Alright…shhh,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your mound and gently pulling his fingers from your fluttering walls, “There you go, that’s a good girl. You did so well for me.”

You can’t help but warm at his praise, the ringing in your ears fading as your chest swells. Aemond is on you once more, lips pressed to yours the mingled taste of whiskey and you hot on his tongue. 

“Are you going to let me fuck you?” he murmurs between sticky kisses, “Hmm?”

“Aemond…” you breathe into his mouth, hoping that is enough for him.

You can feel him smirk against your lips and know instantly it's not. He tuts disapprovingly, pushing you back against the mattress, his face dipping into the crook of your neck.

“What would Floris say?” he teases, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers digging into his scalp. His braid is all but ruined. “I thought you said something earlier,” he continues, nipping and sucking at different spots on your neck, humming with pleasure when he locates a spot that has your back arching. 

“I don’t—”

“Loyalty, I recall,” he purrs, his hand snaking down your side, gripping the meat of your thigh and hoisting it around his waist, “Something like that.”

“Aemond,” you whimper helplessly as he grinds against you, the feeling of his hard cock concealed by his trousers driving you close to madness, “Aemond please.”

“You’re going to have to say it,” he insists, kissing your cheek, “Come on, say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, “Please Aemond—gods.” 

“They can’t hear you,” he taunts, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, “You’re all mine.”

You frantically nod, nose bumping against his as his lips curl into a greedy smile. He removes his shirt with one hand before he rolls off of you and onto his back, motioning to you with his hands. 

“Go on then,” he says, “Take what you want.”

With shaky hands, you undo his belt above the sizable tent in his pants before dragging the zipper down and releasing his cock. He’s bigger than you expected, both in length and girth, the reddened tip already weeping in anticipation. You stroke his velvety shaft once before he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward him. 

His hands pull your shirt from your body as you straddle him, his cock nudging at your folds. Aemond’s hands slide up your back, undoing your bra and freeing your breasts. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, hands cupping the sizable mounds, “Gods, you’re so lovely.”

Your face burns at his praise as you raise your hips before gripping him in your hand and guiding him inside of you; gently letting yourself slide down his length, inner walls fluttering around him at the new sensation. Shuddering on top of him you whine at the stretch. “Gods—”

“You can take it,” he murmurs, squeezing you softly in encouragement, “Come on baby, that’s it, just like that.”

Slowly you let him bottom out in your warmth, happily seated on his cock feeling incredibly full. You brace your hands on his chest as he pinches both of your nipples, your jaw slacking in response. Aemond lifts his hips slightly, gauging your reaction as your eyes screw shut.

“That feel good?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper.

“Yes,” you breathe, slowly starting to ride him, hips lifting and returning to his with a soft smack. 

“There she goes,” he murmurs, hands dropping to your hips, squeezing, “Take what you need, gevie.”

A breathless moan escapes you as you ride him, his hands guiding you through the movements. The hum from the music downstairs matches the ringing in your ears. 

Aemond drops his hand from your waist bringing it to the apex of your thighs. His lips part as he watches you rise and fall on his cock, his length coated with your arousal. 

“That’s it,” he coos, his tone bordering on one of condensation, “Just like that—there’s a good girl.” His thumb brushes against your clit as he says it, a broken moan leaving your lips as pleasure ignites your veins. 

His movements are soft, tantalizing, and brutally calculated as he circles the sensitive button; his other hand clings to your waist, hard enough to bruise. Surely they’ll be memories of his touch when you wake; dark purple petals blossoming on your soft flesh at first light. He guides your movements as they become sloppier the closer you get to your release. 

It sends tingles up your spine, your chest and neck growing warmth as you edge closer to the precipice of pleasure.

No other man has made you finish before.

“Are you close?” Aemond murmurs, never stopping his attention to your clit, the subtle movement of his hips thrusting up into you, “I know you are—can feel you clenching around me.”

Your head falls back, mind foggy as you desperately grind against him, trying to ignore the burn in your hamstrings. Aemond’s hand leaves your hip crashing down against your ass with a loud smack. You yelp in surprise, head jerking forward, nails clawing into the hardened muscles of his chest. Aemond’s hand remains where he’d spanked you, fingers curling into the meat of your ass as he releases a breathless laugh; his eye flickers to where your nails dig against his pale flesh, leaving a trail of red behind as they scrape down his chest.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you quickly nod earning another stinging slap, “With your words gevie. Use those pretty lips.”

“Yes,” you practically gasp, “Yes, Aemond I’m close—”

“And you want to cum, don’t you?” he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk, “Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, Aemond please—” the sentence dies with a moan as he plants both feet on the mattress, bucking his hips up against yours at an inhumane pace. Your eyes screw shut, mouth hanging open in ecstasy as all the muscles in your body tense followed by a sudden burst of euphoria pulsing through you. 

Aemond hums in satisfaction as you ride your high, blood rushing in your ears as you shake on top of him, clenching around his thick length. He’s careful to pull his thumb away from your sensitive clit as your eyes flutter open, eyebrows scrunched together at the overstimulation. But his compassion is short-lived as he hooks his arm around your waist, flipping you onto your back and slotting his body on top of yours. 

His cock is removed for merely a moment at the switch of positions before it’s stretching into your once more earning a sharp gasp. Aemond’s hand covers your mouth in an instant, his face buried in the crook of your neck once more. 

“Shhh,” he coos, placing a kiss under your ear, “Hear that?” he asks, thrusting gently into your warmth causing your eyes to roll back in your head. “Listen.”

His hips continue their gentle roll against yours, slowly stoking the pleasurable fire that is reigniting in your belly. Limbs still tingling from your previous orgasm, you blink rapidly trying to focus on what he’s asking. 

The music downstairs has died.

“Everyone’s going home,” he murmurs, through another kiss, “We’d best be quick. Would hate for lovely Cerelle to find her pet in such a position.”

Embarrassment burns your cheeks and he chuckles, keeping his hand over your mouth as he slings your leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle of his thrusts. The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot almost lovingly as he drags his cock in and out.

“Keep quiet,” he murmurs, the sound of silence deafening with the lack of music, “Can you do that?” He’s rather cruel with his question, delivering a particularly harsh thrust as he asks, then clicking his tongue in disapproval at your muffled moan. “Thought not.”

So his hand remains as he plows into you, the sounds of your pleasure muffled but still desperate as you claw at his shoulders. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, “Cum for me again, just like that.” His pelvis grazes against your clit, the friction only aiding in his efforts of making you reach your release once more. His violet eye scans your face before he dips to your collarbone, nipping the sensitive flesh with his teeth and you cum with a desperate cry against his hand. 

“There you go,” he coos, the words breathy and broken his hips faltering as your walls clamp down around him, “Squeezing me so fucking tight—fuck.” He regains his pace with renewed enthusiasm as your walls continue to flutter around him. Aemond removes his hand from your mouth pressing it into the mattress beside your head. 

Nerves raw from the continued stimulation a tear rolls down your cheek as he chases his own release. Aemond leans forward, hot tongue darting out to catch the salty stream as he hums in satisfaction. 

“We’ll have more time next time,” he whispers the promise against your cheek, “I want to explore what other pretty noises you make.” His lips capture yours then, swallowing the whimper you release. 

“I’m very curious,” he murmurs against your lips, slinging your other leg over his shoulder, pushing your knees back beside your ears. “And I’m very thorough.” A silent scream leaves you as he slams back into you, toes curling as you cum again, vision going white with the force of it. 

Aemond’s hips meet yours a few more times and then you feel his cock pulsate inside of you before the warmth of his release fills you to the brim. You’ll need to make a trip to the pharmacy, but you’ll think about that later. He stays like that for a moment, buried to the hilt inside of you as you both try to regulate your breathing. 

Aemond lowers your legs gently from around his shoulders and brushes some sweat-soaked hair from your forehead. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you nod as he kisses you sweetly.

“Just fucked out,” you assure him, a pleasurable ache radiating down your thighs. Aemond hums, carefully pulling his softening cock from your warmth.

The emptiness takes your breath away as he stands. “Wait here,” he orders, walking towards Cerelle’s bathroom. He returns a moment later, washcloth in hand. You push yourself onto shaky forearms as he carefully cleans the mess between your thighs.

“Thank you,” you tell him, face burning from his attention.

“No need for thanks,” he insists, “It’s the bare minimum.”

“For you maybe.”

Aemond flicks a brow toward his hairline, his violet eye meeting yours. His expression is curious, but you sense he’s not going to push you to elaborate. You hold his gaze. 

Not tonight.

“Are you staying here?” he asks, standing when he’s done, handing you pieces of your clothes.

“I think I have to,” you answer, putting your skirt back on and glancing at the clock, “The last bus is long gone.”

Aemond frowns, reaching for his phone.

“I’ll have my driver take you,” he says, unlocking his screen.

��You don’t have to—”

“It’s no trouble,” he insists, placing the phone against his ear, “Cole. Ten minutes. Thank you.” He hangs up quickly leaving no time to argue.

“Thanks,” you mutter awkwardly while finishing dressing. You walk to Cerelle’s large mirror and attempt to fix your sex hair. Your eyes widen in horror as you tilt your head to the side, leaning closer to get a better look. 

“Aemond,” you hiss, fingers pressing against the three red marks sure to bruise, “I look like I’ve been mauled by a bear.”

Aemond walks up behind you dragging his fingers down the curve of your neck and over your collarbone. Goosebumps appear in their wake. Three more red marks lead a path down to the top of your right breast. Several sizable mouth-shaped love bites. 

Aemond rests his chin on your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Think of them as a gift,” he tells you, the curve of his lips pressed against the skin of your neck.

His hand curves around your waist, the other slinking up to turn your face towards him. He hums appreciatively, kissing your lips, then your cheek. Down your neck to your shoulder. You glance in the mirror once more, catching his eye. 

There’s something new there. Almost possessive. 

His grip on your waist tightens and he presses his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

Outside, snow begins to fall.

[finelinevogue]

notes on love

summary - harry attends the football and you attend the baftas

pairing - fiance!harry x famous!reader

word count - ~1.5k

*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*

It was the first time Harry had made a public appearance in months.

Sans a hat on his head.

After braving a shave to solidify a new chapter in his life, Harry had decided that enough was enough and he just wanted to be seen again. Gain some new publicity.

“I can’t do this.” Harry’s voice rang through your phone.

Your phone was currently propped up on the vanity in front of you, whilst your stylist gracefully worked around you to get your hair and makeup done.

“H, baby. You’re going to a football match where over half the population there will be white bald men. You’ll blend right in.”

You took a sip of your apple juice in its carton as you suppressed a laugh. Harry rolled his eyes at you, taking the joke like the good sport he is.

“I actually have more hair than them. I’m not bald anymore.”

“See! Embrace the new hair, H. You look really good.”

Harry smiled at you then, his eyes which had previously been darting between watching you and looking out the moving car window were now permanently on you.

“Not as beautiful as you, though, love.��

“Don’t even have my makeup on yet.”

“Never needed it.”

You blew him a camera kiss for those words alone.

“Where are you now?” You reached for a slice of pineapple from the bowl of fruit you’d ordered from room service.

“About five minutes away I think. Are you still in the hotel?”

“Yeah. Don’t need to be ready until 5.”

You were getting ready for the BAFTAS, which Harry had hoped to be there with you for but you’d decided to take your nan as your date instead since she wanted to spend as much time with you as possible.

Harry was more than happy to let Nana, as he liked to call her, be your date to the BAFTAS. Plus, it meant that he could go see the football.

“You’re going to look so pretty.”

Harry had helped your pick out your dress, which was a sophisticated black to contrast the red carpet you’d be walking down. The dress itself was beautifully cut and shaped you in all the right places, making you look elegant and regal.

“I’m nervous.” You picked up your phone so the conversation felt a little more intimate, even though it was still over face-time.

“Why, love?”

“Don’t normally do stuff like this without you.” You pouted.

Harry wished he could kiss that pout away, “And yet the times that you do, you always end up winning! It’s like they never want you to win when i’m there.”

It was a running joke that Harry was your ‘bad luck charm’.

You didn’t believe that though. It’s just that other actors performed better and won, over you, because of it. If anything, you always won because you got to go home and drink hot tea and eat popcorn with your Harry.

“I’ll miss you.” Your face was so close to the camera that Harry could probably see up your nose.

“I miss you. Send me photos when you’re getting ready. I wanna see you before anyone else.”

“Okay.” You smiled. It was routine at this point to always show each other’s public outfits before anyone else.

“Have you got your ring?”

You held up your left hand and wiggled your ring finger in front of the camera. You blushed thinking about the moment that you got given the piece of delicate jewellery, with Harry on one knee.

“Always.”

“You going to wear it on the carpet?”

“Of course. Not going to draw attention to it though. I’ll let people discover it for themselves.”

Harry laughed at the thought. You two were practically the biggest, most A-List, celebrity couple around at the moment and so when people watch sight of you with the ring there’s no doubt it’s all people will talk about for weeks.

Someone told Harry they’d arrived at the venue, then.

“I have to go, honey, but text me updates please. Wanna see you get ready through photos, okay?”

“Okay.” You promised. “Text me to let me know you’re safely home later, please.”

Even though he was going back to his Manchester home, you still liked to know that he was safe and sound. Especially since you were in London and weren’t going to get to be with him tonight.

“Will do. I love you.” Harry kissed his fingers and then dotted them over the camera.

You returned the gesture, “I love you. Bye, bye, bye!”

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

You were just finishing getting ready and scrolling through Twitter.

Harry was trending worldwide for showcasing his new hair. His growing hair. No one had seen him like this since the end of Tour last year.

You pouted because you missed him a lot.

People were absolutely loving it. As always, a lot of people were losing their shit over Harry content. You were too, because you missed him.

“Oh, he looks so good!” Your stylist, Jamie, gasped behind you.

Jamie was currently fixing your hair and you had to say they had done an impressive job.

“I know.” You smiled to yourself.

“He looks like a sexy CEO.”

You laughed out loud at that, “When he puts on his glasses he does.” You agreed.

“Harry wears glasses?” Jamie gasped.

“Yeah, hang on..”

You started to go through your camera roll. It was only a few days ago that he had gotten new glasses, because he’d managed to lose his old ones. Typical.

You stopped on a photo of Harry sat in bed with the duvet up on his chest, a book in his lap and his glasses on. He didn’t realise you had taken the photo of him, but it was now one of your favourites.

“Oh damn…” Jamie gasped. “If your marriage ever goes south, tell him I’ll be available.”

You laughed again, shaking your head in dismissal but also approval.

You went back to Twitter to see if any of the Harrie accounts you follow have tweeted anything. You make yourself laugh as you look through their feral comments.

And just because you like to cause a riot on the internet you liked an insane tweet.

harriesmiles: the way that this photo makes me want to cling onto harry like a koala bear and never let go

It wasn’t long before you were trending with Harry.

Then the face-time call comes through from him.

“Am I done?” You asked Jamie quickly.

He nods, knowing you routine with Harry, and allows you to slip into the bathroom next to the bedroom.

You answered the call shortly after locking the bathroom door.

“Hellooo.” You said in a weird voice, feeling hyper from the Twitter craze.

“Hi, babe.” Harry was obviously outside and trying to watch where he was going, more than looking at you.

“Has the match finished?”

“Yeah.” And you honestly didn’t care enough about football to ask how it went. “Are you ready?”

Harry’s eyes flicked down to his screen momentarily, smirking when he catches sight of your glammed out makeup.

One thing Harry loved more than anything was you in a red-lip, so of course you had to make sure you had one for him - despite the fact he couldn’t kiss it off you tonight.

“What?” You giggled, watching him trying to suppress his smirk in public.

“You’re so annoying. I’m trying to act all cool and mysterious here and you’re making me smile like an idiot.”

You dipped your head and smiled, accentuating the blush that was already powdered onto your cheeks.

“H, honey, you’re walking through the streets of Manchester. No one cares about how you act. They’re probably all drunk anyways.”

“True, true.”

“Did you have a pint?” You propped your phone on the counter.

“Uh, yeah.” He said whilst trying to cross a road.

“Love, do you want to call me back when you’re at less risk of being hit by a car?” You sarcastically asked.

“No!” He yelped. “No. Needs to be now.”

You gave him a confused look but carried on regardless.

You shuffled back in the bathroom, giving him a full angle.

You watched in anticipation as Harry looked at you through his tiny screen, wishing it were ten times bigger.

“Wow.” Was all he said and you giggled like a girl having a high-school crush. “I love you so much.”

“So you like?” You swished your dress from side to side.

“Mhm. Wishing I wasn’t so far from you now.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll have all the kisses for you then.”

“Tomorrow it is, then.” Harry smirked to himself, kissing the camera.

Little did you know that tomorrow was coming a lot sooner. In fact, Harry had been running for the earliest train out of Manchester and down to London for the duration of the phone call. Because Harry was always going to show up for you.

[tangerinesilk]

－ DISTRACTION : DAVE LIZEWSKI

dave was a great study buddy, but there's no doubt he was a distraction. he constantly made you turn your head twice at whatever he said or did whether it was some comic book character he rambled about or how his pale blue eyes shined under the warm lighting of his desk lamp.

pairing ✷ college!dave lizewski x college!fem!reader

rating ✷ r (18+ minors dni!)

tropes ✷ friends with benefits, spicy but no / little plot, unspoken love, domestic toward eachother but no dating, dorky and awkward people in love who just wont admit it theyre in love (sort of) | nsfw warnings below!

word count ✷ 1.7k

a/n ✷ um this was a random thought and it just sort of happened. stg it feels like i blacked out while writing this KSKFFKS what is going on with me. anyways been wanting to write about this cute dork for a while and why not make it really hot. posting now so i dont chicken out but ill edit later.... i always love feedback! xo

[ steamy warnings: mentions of public sex, dom & sub switches, p in v without protection, nipple play, hj + bj, f receiving oral from m, praising + heavy dirty talk, face sitting, finishing inside v ]

typical weekends: saturday night at dave's apartment.

dave was explaining something... it was something. something important, but all you could focus on was his pretty eyes and how soft his lips looked today. he pushed his glasses up more on his nose bridge again, looking down at his book for one of his college classes.

he was so into the subject, you didn't even have to nod. you were occasionally tapping the eraser end of your pencil against your blank notebook, only listening to every other word.

suddenly, your mind wanders to when you two were doing laundry at three in the morning and got a little spontaneous. then getting a bit handsy on the top floor of the library where no one usually was. maybe even the time when you were visiting him back home for one weekend and you both could barely keep it together with company downstairs.

ever since you both agreed on this friends with benefits agreement, your dry spells were no longer an issue. it seemed like both of you were touched starved, but not wanting to meet other people, strangers you didnt want or need to know.

so, after becoming lab partners in your fall semester of senior year, its been nonstop seeing each other. not just for sex, but hanging out to study, going to local comic book stores and libraries, even the occasional dinner and sleepover combo at his apartment or yours.

it seemed like a wild card at first, but you would never admit (outloud) to dave lizewski that you underestimated how great his tongue felt inside your pus—

"y/n, are you even listening?"

you cleared your throat, "hmm?"

he chuckled, "so you weren't... i know, its kind of boring."

now you felt bad, caught up from going down memory lane and he was excited about his new class.

you ran your hand over his curls, "im sorry, dave. my mind was wandering."

he turned, seeming interested, "about what?"

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, "about... you know..." you trailed then shrugged, "stuff."

dave smiled, "oh yeah? you weren't, i dont know, thinking about me?"

you had seen this confidence grow inside dave as more time passed, and you weren't sure if it was cockiness, but you couldn't deny how cute yet attractive it was on him.

"why dont you go back to what you were rambling about? please. im all ears now." you lean in, placing your hands underneath your chin with your elbows on his desk.

its ironic how his full size bed was behind the two of you yet here you are, acting like this was the first time you've hung out.

he pressed wet kisses against your inner thighs, your clit aching for his mouth as his nose brushed against your skin. he'd let out a nervous chuckle as he noticed the wet spot forming on the center of your panties. you'd bite your bottom lip as he licked his lips, in awe of the mess you were for him.

dave pulled down your panties, shuffling them down your ankles before tossing them to the side. his strong hands run up the top of your thighs before holding your hips, pulling your core closing to his mouth. after his first, yet hesitant, kiss on your clit, you let out a faint moan.

soon his tongue was running over your open slit and tasting your sweet wetness. you arched your back, leaning back on his desk as he flicked your clit a few times. when he pushes his tongue inside you, a rush of heat runs over your entire body. you caress your own breasts and pull at your own nipples as he picks up his pace.

"fuck... god, yes. eat my fucking pussy." you whimpered. he got so weak when you uttered your sweet nothings. as dominant as he thought he presented himself, dave was a sucker for you.

just when you thought it couldn't get better, he slide his two fingers into your slit as his tongue flicks your swollen clit. you told him how you love when he curled his fingers inside you, knuckle deep and gathering your wetness every pump as he brought you closer to your orgasm.

your hips grind against his mouth and hand, painfully near your climax. he cursed under his breath as he felt your pussy clench around his digits. he pulls his mouth away from your clit, trailing more kisses over your stomach then rolls his tongue against your right nipple.

his hand still worked your slit, thrusting so fast that your head was spinning along with the pleasure of him sucking your erect nipple. you glanced down, seeing how his hard pressed against his khakis. just the thought of taking his cock into your mouth made you dizzy, bucking your hips against his fingers.

"yes... make me cum. i wanna fucking cum on your fingers." you muttered under your breath, pulling at his curls. dave's knees were giving out as he held his position but he loved to hear your continous begging.

he was about to see if he could pick up his pace before your hand reached down, sliding into the front of his stained pants and caressing his hard cock. he grunted against your chest, instantly weak from your touch which made him pause.

"hmm, what about i cum on your cock instead?" you giggled as your lips met his, "it's so hard... bet you've been thinking about cumming inside my tight pussy, huh, dave?"

he sighed, "shit..."

"that's what i thought, baby." you say before taking his fingers into your mouth, tasting your own cum. he takes a mental picture even though you've done this in your previous hookups.

you hop off the desk, playfully pushing him on his twin size bed. you slowly get on your knees, running your hand over the crotch of his pants that were already unbuttoned and half unzipped. it's easy for your pull his cock out, practically springing from his briefs.

his eyes are glued to you as your tongue runs up and down the base before wrapping your lips against his red tip. you half-giggle when you taste his pre-cum, then carefully take him all in your mouth. you gag a bit as his tip pushes further in, and he groans when your throat tightens around him.

you push your tongue out to make sure your teeth dont graze his cock as you deep throat him, incredibly slow, so he can watch in awe. he leans up on his elbows, falling apart as you take him in your mouth so easily and your hand pumping the rest of his base.

"fucking christ... fuck." he muttered, his dick twitching inside your mouth as your salvia runs down when you gag on his hard.

his hand runs over your hair, gathering it together to keep it out of your face— also to have a better view of him receiving one of the best blowjobs you've given him.

when you pull your mouth away, you giggle as you pump his cock with your spit lubricating for better motion. his face screws together the faster you pump, and he can barely take the pleasure.

"hmm, i bet you wanna cum on my face... and tits. but, i want you to cum inside me." you say as you but your bottom lip, running your thumb over the cum leaking from his tip.

"me too, baby. fuck!" he grunts, and it makes you smile at how much of a mess he is too.

you rise from your knees, relieving the pressure on them before straddling him on his bed. you pull off your top, tossing it on the other side of the room as he quickly peels his shirt off as well. his big hands run up your body, over your breasts once more as his thumbs move against your nipples.

"god, i want to feel every inch of your cock... so, don't stop until you're finished." you tell him as you run his tip agaisnt your slit before slowly sinking down on him.

"babe, shit... fuck." he whimpered, his fingers pressing into your hips as you arch your back.

"god, im so tight." you moan, "your cock is so big... can barely fit you inside me." you huff, your eyes closed shut as you slowly move your hips.

soon, you meet a nice pace of bouncing on his cock and he loosens up as he watches you move up and down. his bright eyes keep moving between looking at your tits and your face, completely amazed by your beauty.

you run your hands over his toned chest and abdomen, leaving light scratches on his skin from the waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body.

"dave, im gonna cum. oh, oh! i'm gonna cum." you announced to him and he was holding off anyways, his jaw clenched his much that it was beginning to feel painful.

as you arch your back and let out a long whine, he stills his hips as his warm cum fills you up. it was the first time he was fully inside you, and you were aching around his cock, feeling it throbbing against your walls.

he leans up, leaving a soft kiss just above your breasts before you two share another kiss. you can't help but giggle, both of you feeling that sudden hit of exhaustion.

you lift yourself from your cock and cum runs down your slit, letting him see the mess he made. dave smirks, expecting him to say that he'll get you a towel but instead licks his lips and starts to lean down between your legs again.

it was like deja vu. his tongue presses against your swollen slit, tasting your mixed cum before sucking on your sore clit. now you're so sensitive to the touch, you could orgasm again at any moment. he was so in tune with your body that he knew what pace to go and how long you could actually lasts.

you run your hands over your breasts, his tongue moving so perfectly between your slit and clit. you feel his press a light kiss against the area above your pussy before trailing more kisses up your body. then, you two shared another kiss, tasting each other's tongues once more before he laid next to you.

"you know, i've never had a study partner like you." you jeered, pressed a kiss against the start of his jaw.

he blushed, "me neither..." he raised his eyebrows, "trust me."

[v4voracity]

TOO CLOSE - SELF AWARE COD CHARACTERS X READER

⥇❥"Reader" is described as "feminine leaning" or "feminine sounding"; however, they/them and it/its pronouns are used and no bodily adjectives are used in this part because reader is only described as "that person" or "the voice". Let me know if I should make an alternate post(s) slightly adjusted for masculine or androgynous description, and if I missed any content warning tags. I plan on making a masculine version for this one due to someone's request, currently deciding if I should just slightly re-write to change descriptions or fully-rewrite it :)

  ⥇❥Word Count: 3940, excluding warnings and text above the cut.

⥇❥CONTENT WARNING FOR:

↪ body horror(?) ↪ usual “Darkfic” stuff,  ↪ yandere tendencies ↪ Angst™ ↪ possible OOC characters ↪ american author writing (mostly) british people

I totally plan on continuing this drabble with another part so some of the warnings aren't quite apparent yet teehee <3

Link to main masterlist - Link to TOO CLOSE sub-list

You have been warned, scroll at your own risk.

There was always that nagging feeling that Ghost was being watched, paranoia which he had long since grown accustomed to. But, there were always times he felt it… heighten, where this…  this strange sense of dejá vu seemed to take root in his mind. Sometimes, he felt like his movements weren't his own despite it being his will that moved those joints.

It occurred often after he joined the military, and occasionally, when in the quiet of his thoughts, he could hear something. At first, he thought it was a teammate coming through his comms, yet “the voice” wasn't familiar. 

He remembered when he first heard it. 

A quiet voice saying something he didn’t quite catch. He sighed, heavy and annoyed at himself, focusing a bit more on the radio firmly strapped to his chest as he pressed a button with a familiar practiced ease. Despite the fact he laid prone on the ground, hidden amongst foliage he had no trouble reaching it and speaking up. It was… slightly embarrassing that he lost focus and needed to repeat instructions, but he’d rather face slight embarrassment over fumbling an important mission because he didn’t want to ask for them to repeat what was said. Not that Simon “Ghost” Riley was afraid of dying. As a soldier he honestly felt more fearful that he’d fuck up a mission and get yelled at by a superior. That he’d hurt people he was trying to protect. That he’d prove that nagging voice in the back of his head right, the annoying doubtful little shit always lingering despite his confidence that had grown with experience. 

Regardless, he didn’t care to debate with himself about yet another experience that would keep him up at night, wallowing in his bed thinking about everything he could’ve done differently. “Say again?” He asked, cautious to remain quiet and hidden, yet gravely tone firm and clear enough for the other side of his line to hear. Yet no one on the other side of the line said anything previously, voicing their confusion when he asked them to repeat something never said.

Yet no other soul was around the precarious position he perched himself, his scope aimed at distant enemies. He even briefly glanced around, surveying his surroundings for possible danger, anyone, anything. Then “the voice” came through again, energetic and excited— far too unprofessional for how serious that mission was. ‘A recruit,’ he would’ve thought if not for the fact nobody else acknowledged it.

However, once the mission ended, that strange feeling faded, and “the voice” didn't appear again… 

…Until a few months later, on another mission.

The uncomfortable feeling of being watched, the almost foreign feeling of his own body, and “the voice” returned. His skin crawled.

 As if something had forcefully crept beneath it, lifting the skin and making itself comfortable in his body. Claiming it for itself as it burrowed deep into the muscular fiber, into his organs, and flowed in his veins in place of blood. It felt… parasitic and invasive. It disturbed him greatly how the feeling came and went suddenly without cause. Leaving him as it wished and then showing up without warning, without his permission. How it happened to him regardless of how steeled his nerves were. Of how experienced he became.

And, as he would soon find, no matter how intensely he looked around, nobody else was present. Yet “the voice”, which he had to strain to even remotely understand, seemed to respond as if they could see him based on the few words he could catch. 

“HOLY SHIT! He looks so cool, dude! Look at his fuckin’ rifle, his gear! This was so worth the wait. He’s got a new mask too! I’m so glad they brought him back, ugh, literally my favorite poster boy of the whole franchise.”

And if Ghost focused a little bit more, he'd notice it didn't quite sound right, as if it wasn't speaking aloud. “The voice” didn't echo around the room when he was inside, didn't echo through the air when he was outside, nor did it have the crackle of the radio. It was simply muffled, like if someone talked from a room over.

“...Uh, yeah, it was totally worth the fifty-freakin-bucks. Rent can wait, my war criminal pookies can’t! …Yes I know they’re probably not actual war criminals. Yeah, I KNOW they’re… man, you’re no fun. Let me simp in peace.”

Ghost knew he hadn't exactly been the… most sound of mind, but he truly began to worry he might have been hallucinating. “The voice” had been following him for an increasingly long amount of time at this point, and he mostly tuned it out. He recently found himself in a new group though, which led to a disturbing realization that he wasn’t fully insane. His worries about that were swiped away when Soap (his new sergeant who was a little too talkative for his own good, in Ghost’s opinion) ever-so-casually asked about “the voice” he overheard during the mission, which he couldn't quite recognize. Everyone in the helicopter was surprised on the ride back, anxiously discussing that faint voice they'd all heard— had been hearing on and off during missions. It gave Ghost a whole new fear.

It was no secret that a majority of the people in base and on missions with them were men, so that distinctly feminine voice being hard to pinpoint caused a new worry among the team. The potential breach of their communication network. The topic came up as an innocent question from Soap about who “the voice” was before everyone realized they all heard that voice, contradictory in how it sounded so near yet so far, so clear yet it hurt their heads to try and process what was said, clouding their minds in a haze if they tried focusing on it for too long.

It was a clear cause for concern. 

Their task force, Task Force 141, a highly-qualified team, who frequently had taken on missions even some of the most seasoned veterans would find difficult.

Their task force, carefully hand-picked from all corners and crevices of the globe, skills compared, packed like a puzzle to cover all fronts. Their identities and information taken apart and put back together, their secrets in the open to the prying eyes of Captain Price as he was given the authority to form a team. Personalities scrutinized against one another to ensure the utmost efficiency and dynamic interactions between teammates.

Their taskforce, the best of the best, highly efficient, a well oiled machine crafted with the utmost caution for the most risky, dirty, and sometimes immoral missions that most wouldn't be able to stomach. All for the betterment of the world and for the protection of their homes and countries.

And yet they couldn't find a single trail, not a single damn clue, about this… voice. "That voice" that came and went almost exclusively on missions, too. There were very, very few cases where it breached outside of missions. Truthfully, Ghost didn't know what he found worse. That the team heard it outside of missions where they didn't have radio communication, simply just out and about, or that it had breached past the sanctity of the missions, crossing into the supposed safe zone of their respective bases, homes, and private lives. Passing the line that they usually hide behind for comfort after rough missions, the place they went to lick their wounds, to reload their guns, and to confide in each other. And this thing, brash and bold came through, kicking that metaphorical line in the sand and bouncing past their defenses without repercussions.

It started in instances where they could ignore it. 

Where it could've been just their mind playing tricks or someone who sounded similar.

At first it was Soap, running around the track and hearing it faintly. He could've mistaken it for the music blaring through his ears if it wasn't for the fact he knew the lyrics by heart, and the singer sounded nothing like "that voice".

“Whoa, Soap cutscene. We’re being fed today. Get your bowls 'n spoons.”

He could’ve sworn he even heard a ‘clank’ of glass or something. It was worse when he realized his earbuds didn't block out “the voice” anymore than usual. It was always somewhat muffled and incoherent unless he focused, even in the quiet. Yet the earbuds in his ears didn't alter it at all. He took a longer shower than usual that day, trying to let the cold water shock him enough to forget what he heard while thoughts ran wild in his head… It ended with him being slightly late to an important team meeting and getting assigned some training as punishment. He chose to keep why he was late a secret, not wanting to startle anyone about “the voice” or sound crazy.

Then it was Gaz. Friendly, slightly more inexperienced than the rest, Gaz. Gaz was on temporary time off, having accidentally pulled a muscle in his arm. He was simply walking through the streets of a nearby town where he had rented a flat. He rarely actually used the thing, since he spent most of his time at base and it was more convenient to use the barracks. Nevertheless, he still found himself in the quaint little town, going for groceries to stock his apartment's fridge. He was weaving through the streets when he heard that odd and unrestrained laugh, snorting and uncaring if it's an embarrassing laugh. 

“Gaz… my pookie-wookie, my cutie-patootie, my absolute ray of sunshine… WHOMST THE FUCK IS DRESSING YOU LIKE THAT?!”

He probably looked like a madman with how frantically he looked around, suddenly stiffened and still as some people complained behind him from how abruptly he stopped, causing them to bump into him. Yet nothing conclusive, he couldn’t even figure out the direction it came from, much less find out who it came from. He didn’t bother talking about it, only loosely mentioning it later when it came up in a discussion.

After that it was Price and Laswell. The two of them standing in a surprisingly mundane office in the base, not expecting much when that bold-fucking-voice echoed through both of their ears. Something about being a homewrecker? They… didn’t know. 

“Laswell!!! Man I wish they had her appear more often, she’s so cool… I’d totally marry her if she didn’t have a wife… What do you mean you’d become a homewrecker in seconds? Have some fuckin’ respect for the woman. Besides I thought you liked Price? He’s… single? I think?”

But it forced both of them to lose their casual mood from before, because they both heard it and neither of them knew what to think about the fact that they were hearing it outside of missions now. That… that was very bad.

The last straw was when Ghost was handing spare masks to the team when there's a faint comment about it. He can't quite hear it, can't quite wrap his mind around what's being said. No one ever seems to make out the words; at least not fully. As if there's a barricade between them and “the voice”. A veil yet to be ripped away to reveal the person underneath. A blockade made to infuriate them and taunt their attempts.

“How many do you think he has?”

A small silence follows the initial voice, as if waiting for a response, then followed with a giggle. A response unheard to his ears, to anyone’s ears. The others tense, hearing "the voice", but no one comments on it at the moment. They had a mission to get to. But they all knew they needed to do something when they got back.

“They probably do smell. They’re out there hiding in grass, getting bloody and sweaty, sometimes deployed for a month, so they definitely stink.”

And yet nothing came of that either. The only thing that changed is that they were all aware of this voice that seemed to follow them. That only their taskforce ever seemed to hear or acknowledge it. That "the voice" came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, sounding as if it was being broadcasted directly to their brains. No trace of this thing only they could perceive, and they started coming to conclusions that were less than rational; because rational thought hadn’t gotten them anywhere thus far. Gaz suggested it might’ve been a ghost, to which Price corrected that it must be a demon rather than a ghost, Soap suggested it was some weird matrix shit, then Laswell tried to convince everyone it was some weird shared delusion. They couldn’t settle on any theories. Ghost didn’t need an explanation. Or at least, he tried convincing himself that, tried telling himself he just needed this thing gone.

These abrupt drop-ins by “the voice” went on for a long while. Something they regrettably got used to. Something they let fester and become a part of them, even if they didn't know it. “That voice” ingrained into their brains, the elated giggles, the annoyed groans, the triumphant cheers, the frequent queries, answers to questions they never heard, stupid comments, everything in-between... 

Ghost didn't notice at first. Time went on, the Task Force's missions increasing after they bombed General Ghorbrani during an arms deal Ghost intercepted. Things were escalating into a silent war the general populace wouldn’t notice, and likely never know about, kept quiet and under wraps to keep the waters calm. The voice lingering on every damn mission, somehow with all of them at once even if they were in different corners of the globe. 

Then he had a wave of realization wash over him.

It was an easy mission compared to the previous few. An easy in-and-out. Just him and Soap, watching a building from afar. Biding their time. He felt anxious, a long gone twitch in his fingers resurfacing as he felt his fingers become clammy beneath his gloves. 

He had to stay calm, stay cool. He was ‘Ghost’ right now, a walking dead-man without weakness. He was strong. This mission was easy. 

This was no time to be antsy. Patience, he reminded himself. It was just him coming down from the high of adrenaline of the previous missions, all fast paced and requiring frequent combat. That's what he tried to tell himself, when that bloody Scotsman casually began chattering over the radio.

Jokes, bad ones, yet jokes he shared an enthusiasm for with Soap nonetheless. Ghost could tell there was a slight edge to his voice as he spoke though, equally antsy. He may have been somewhat distant but he was perceptive. Picked up on behaviors in others. Read them and their emotions. It was necessary in his job, and he was sure Soap probably picked up on his nervousness as well, as he was smart, even if he sometimes seemed a little air-headed and brash at times.

"No laughs from 'that person' today?" Soap feigned offense. Then they both realized. They were anxious from the lack of that person. “The voice”. They obviously didn't know who it was or their name, but everyone on the force knew who was being referred to when someone said 'that person' or “the voice”.

 It felt laughable that they were startled by some incorporeal voice not being there. If anything, they should be grateful they were spared its presence. Yet they weren’t. Ghost laid in his bed that night, sleepless, a common occurrence for him. But tonight instead of the nightmares that played when he closed his eyes, he just… contemplated. Brooding.

It was a few nights later when he came to terms with it. He knew some things were wrong with him, hell, most soldiers had something wrong with them if they worked as long as he did. But, he found himself.. weirdly fine with it. It seemed some of his teammates felt the same way as he did, and others did not. Soap made jokes out of it, unafraid around other Task Force members to refer to “the voice”, sometimes speaking directly at it, most of the time not getting much in terms of responses. There was only really one time he could make out something from “the voice” in response to one of Soap’s direct words towards it.

“That line… didn't play last time I played this one.”

It was probably one of the only things he could make the full sentence out of, and it seems everyone else on the team heard it fairly clearly as well. “...‘That line?’” Price repeated, quizzical. Referring to it like a game. 

“Must… Must be an easter egg.” A nervous laugh followed. 

The next time he found himself on a mission with that strange feeling, as if he weren’t himself, as if something else willed his way… There was almost complete silence. Unusual, a first for that sinking feeling to be there without any noise. He noticed after the missions were over that only when he had that uncomfortable feeling was "the voice" responsive. 

“Not talkative today?” He asked, not really to anything in particular and not expecting any sort of response. He could almost intuitively tell whatever “the voice” was, was there. He was again alone for this mission and that probably was what gave him the confidence to actually speak to it. He wasn’t worried about anyone hearing him and sounding crazy. And the response? Well, it was hard to hear, almost inaudible to him, but he heard a small gasp, and a shaky breath afterwards. 

…That was probably the first time the weird feeling left his body mid-mission. As if it was the one unsettled when every time it appeared, he and his teammates felt out of control, a passenger in their own body, hazed and moving as if puppets. Hearing a voice that lacked a body, floating around and seemingly coming from nowhere. It had no echo, no substance or matter, as if the sound didn't vibrate through the air.

And it was a while before he, or anyone, heard that lovely— 

…“The voice” again. He was careful not to directly reference it. Them.

Ghost thought about it some more, and found himself talking to Gaz one night at the pub, Soap hammered, currently in the bathroom while Price tried to help him to get stable enough to get to the rented car so the four of them could return to base. “Maybe Soap wasn’t too far off with the Matrix idea.” Gaz idly swirled his cup, almost devoid of liquid and only really clinking the ice in it around. He wasn’t really talking to Ghost in particular, more-so rambling to the air and himself due to him being tipsy.

Ghost leaned back in the booth, his mask barely lifted enough to allow him to drink a bourbon he’d been nursing half the night. Didn’t want a hangover the next day, he’d already be in a bad mood since he had recruits to train and they were often stupid and infuriating. “Yeah? How so?” 

Gaz, who seemed to not really mean anything when he initially spoke, sat up straighter, more zoned in on the conversation upon seeing his Lieutenant had taken an interest in what he was saying. “I was thinking about some of the things I’ve heard, that the others have heard, and just… the reactions in general. And that feeling… I don’t know if you get it but—”

“Like you’re possessed.” He interjected, knowing what he meant. Gaz’s eyes widened slightly. While they all knew about “the voice”, it seems none of them knew that weird feeling was shared. The feeling of being possessed, watched, almost like they were prey, not highly experienced military men capable of defending themselves and others. He nodded and drank the rest of his bourbon, setting it down on the table and looking back to Gaz, tucking his mask back down over his face.

“It’s just like… Like they’re playing a game. Controlling us. The reactions… It's like when you complete an objective or something. And it’d explain the feeling, like we’re controlled. Plus with how they reacted to Soap that one time, I could see it.”

“See it? The hell you seein’?” He didn't want to believe his life was a game. But Gaz made some good points. Ghost… No, Simon didn't play many games. He’d played a few party games with his team during off-time, Price convincing them that Mario-Kart was in fact a good team-bonding activity and absolutely necessary. But his off time wasn’t usually spent playing games, it just wasn’t something he could relax enough to do, never able to get calm enough to focus solely on said game.

“Imagine you’re playing a game—”

“Hard to imagine.” He barks, slightly sorry at the tone, though he wouldn’t correct himself.

Gaz sighs and continues. “Okay, imagine that it's team bonding night, and we’re playing Mario Party. Imagine everyone having a good time, laughing, chatting, playing the game, when Mario turns directly to the screen and acknowledges you. Like, unprompted, never happened before when you’ve played the game hundreds of times before? You’d probably be a little freaked out if you knew it wasn't the type of game to do something like that.”

Price interrupts, Soap slung over his shoulder and motions for them to head out to the car after he pays for the tab. Once everyone is in the car, Gaz continues.

“It’s just, the shit they said made me think about it. ‘That line’, ‘last time I played this one’, hell, them directly talking about us talking to them as an ‘easter egg’ makes it seem pretty clear to me.” Price glanced over, raising a brow at Gaz, who was sitting in the front passenger as He drove. Ghost was unfortunately stuck with a very clingy Soap in the back seat. “It’s clear whatever they were referencing is similar to a game, one they’ve played before. “

“You talking about ‘that person’? ‘The voice’?” Price sighs, slightly exasperated at the topic. He wasn’t quite convinced about "the voice" being real. He was still slightly in denial, but his slight intoxication must’ve allowed him to continue listening to the topic, not shutting down Gaz’s line of thought quite yet.

“You see what I mean though? If you were playing a game and the character you were playing just randomly acknowledges you out of nowhere, suddenly fucking sentient, you’d probably be scared shitless, especially if they’re a normal civilian.” Price hums, and Ghost blinks slowly, taking the information in and moving away from partaking in the conversation. The reaction was pretty akin to the one from when he was alone and spoke to “the voice”.

“Who’d wanna play a game involving the shite we do? We’re a bunch of soldiers doing unsavory work, I doubt that’s entertaining.” Price shakes his head, gripping the wheel a little tighter, his knuckles slightly turning white before he relaxes his hand with a sigh.

“Maybe not to us since it’s real-life. But think about it like this, a ton of people watch horror movies or slasher films. It’s not that they enjoy watching people die or get scared, but it’s like… an adrenaline thing. And you know when ‘that person’ appears most? On missions.”

This time, nobody responded. Gaz didn’t bother continuing either, already having made his point clear. An uncomfortable air settled in the car, not even forgotten the next day, even Soap somehow was capable of remembering the conversation despite the fact his head was reeling and his stomach turning in the backseat of the car.

This time they had settled on a theory.

[pvrkacciosan]

These Hugs of Yours

A/n: this is the third F1 Post, after a received over 500+ notifications in under 24h after posting my initial first two F1 posts, I'm not used to this attention, but I am so appreciative of it, so thank you to all you lovely human beans who have been leaving notes and re-blogging.

Synopsis: Reader has endo, and its that time of the month, to make matters worse, you must educate your boyfriends on how to help

Pairing: Pierre Gasly X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Details of pain, mention of severe period symptoms, Vomiting, slightly clueless Pierre, Endometriosis , Swearing, french terms of endearment (google sourced)

Word count: 1.3K

There was nothing else but the overpowering pain that shot through you,

Everywhere, it was everything you could feel, stemming from the source; Your uterus. Which seemed insistent and rather quite content on ending you both.

The cramps were pulsating and had you curled into a ball on the top of your bed, with the lights switched off to try and salvage yourself as the headache split through you.

The painkillers you took about half an hour ago had little effect, as they usually did. As useful as a chocolate fucking fire guard.

You could faintly hear the noise of keys outside your apartment door, and the shuffle of shoes being toed off at the entrance way.

"ma chère"

You couldn't bring yourself to utter a response, instead rolling slightly, you stuff your face further into the comfort of the plush pillow, muffling out your whole expression.

You could hear Pierre as he moved about no doubt, trying to seek you out in your usual spots, you had only been with him for a few months, but ever time you were visited by you period, he had been away from home. Leaving you to deal with the devil herself.

As the haze of your pain cleared for a second, you could just make out the noise of his footsteps getting closer, the door swung.

"ma chère?" Pierre asked, concern lacing the term of endearment he insisted on calling you.

The lights were flicked on, and even Pierre couldn't miss the distinct whimper of pain that mewled from you, the sound muffled into the surface of the pillow.

"Y/n" his tone was more serious, he padded towards your side of the bed, kneeling onto the mattress so he hovered above you.

You lay slightly angled away, Breathing labour to try and ease through the pain as it began to wreak havoc through your body once more, the stabbing running up your spine now,

Pierre gently reached over to brush the hair away so he could see your face,

"Baby, whats wrong?" he switched to English, doubting you would comprehend French when in this much pain, the grimace on your face made the Frenchman panic slightly yet he didn't move, only brushing the side of your face, tracing a thumb down your cheek bone.

As the pain traveled- a current of chaos, the pulse of pain in your back always made you nauseous and when you felt the burning at the back of your throat you sprung up, Pierre light quick reaction time allowing him to manoeuvrer out your way as you shot off the bed and towards the bathroom joined to your room.

Throwing yourself onto the tiled floor, you felt the jolt of pain shoot up your knees as they collided harshly with the floor, you stuck your head in the toilet bowl as the contents of your stomach came up.

Over the noise of your own retching you could hear your boyfriend's panicked voice as he rambled small amount of french mutterings under his breath as he moved to you.

Finally aware of his approach you tried to kick out at the door to shut it on him,

"No, Y/n," he stopped the door and moved to be beside you on the floor,

Pierre began to rub soothing circles onto the middle of your back, the repetitive motion gave you something to focus on,

"I don't want you to see me like this" heat bloomed in your cheeks,

Pierre shifted so he sat with you body between his legs, having him close eased your nerves slightly,

"I'm not going anywhere"

but the pain waved back again, you had a second to cry slightly before you were throwing up once more, his hand never once leaving the spot at your back,

Once you finally finished, stopping your hand from shaking when you placed them against his thighs, which hugged you closer.

Pierre gently pulled you back until you where pressed to his chest, the pain had exhausted the energy in you, so when your own head fell back to rest on his shoulder you let a sigh escape your lips,

"chère?"

Shaking your head, "It isn't usually this bad"

Pierre shifted at the slight detected of the quiver in your voice, sounding a second from breaking, when you tilted you head to peer at him from the corner of your eyes you found him in thought as he watched you,

"Its my period, Pierre"

His puzzlement dissipated and he rocked you both slightly, waiting on the floor with you still hugged to his chest.

There was silence until he finally whispered,

"What... what am I supposed to do?"

Sitting up away from him, you turned to meet his gaze, you faintly caught the movement of his hand as it drifted towards you stomach, Placing it there, the warmth of his hand under your shirt, well his shirt, was like bliss, he began to gently message the skin over your womb,

"You don't have to do anything, Pierre"

He shot you an offended expression,

"Its my job to take care of you, so what can I do?"

You had to squeeze your eyes shut, as another wave of pain began to rise slowly inside you,

"I could get you pregnant." Your eyes snapped open at his suggestion, his statement was so forward that you ignored your pain altogether for a moment.

"That way you might get nine months of relief" his reasoning made you giggle, this god send of a man, who had completely flipped your life upside down, who you one day say yourself potentially starting a family with, had suggested pregnancy as a way to avoid your period. As though it hadn't its own flurry of symptoms and pains, though you suspected he wasn't the first man on earth to make the suggestion, or the last.

"I think some of your hugs might suffice for now"

Pierre nodded, his cheeks a deep red.

"I'll emm.. I'll let you clean up, " he pushed up from the floor, "Are you okay to stand?"

Gratefully taking the hand he extended to you, you rose up off the floor trying to hide the wince when the pain bolted from you once more, easing your weight onto the side of the sink, you nodded for him to leave, he shuffled out leaving you.

Brushing your teeth and rinsing out your mouth and splashing your face quickly, you made way back into your room,

You could hear Pierre on the phone to someone in the hall, following the sound of his voice, the living area of your apartment was open and warm, the light glow of a candle lighting up the corner from where Pierre had lite it.

Seeing you wander in, he ended the call,

"Who was that?"

"Just work, they wanted me to come in an look over data"

Stopping dead in your tracks, you shot a deadpanned expression at him, "Pierre.."

"No, I have far more important things right here" he extended both arms, gesturing you towards him. Normally you would have protested but as the pain began to swell once more, you made for the couch,

His whole body had engulfed yours, just as you liked, his chin nuzzled against the crown of your head. Everything about this felt right, despite the pain; you could feel the exhaustion taking over, eyelids growing heaving.

"You never said no" Pierre mumbled into your hair, where he left a round of soft kisses, moving to press his lips to your temple, they were warm and gave you something to focus on besides the pain.

"Hmm?"

"About a baby."

"Make me a Gasly first, then we can have that discussion."

There had been a time in your life, where you would never dream of marrying a man had had only been in your life for a few months, but Pierre seemed to make the exception.

Your Boyfriends only answer was to tug you closer into him, and kiss your temple, settling to simple enjoy the feel of your body pressed to his.

He fully intended to take you up on that one day.

[pedgito]

just saw an asks where you are talking about mean eddie mocking you and it did something to me lmao. could you elaborate on that with a little blurb. maybe ur riding eddie and it just feels so good that your legs give up on u and he is being mean and sarcastic about it till he takes the lead

author’s note: i couldn’t remember what i said about that so just enjoy really playful/mean eddie, this would’ve been longer but i’ve been struggling a bit lately, still i hope you enjoy!

cw: 18+ (minors dni) mean!eddie & mean!reader (but it’s all playful, slight dom!eddie (if you squint), protected sex, multiple orgasms, aftercare, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 1.8k

Eddie was an antagonizer in its purest form, never malicious but always with an endgame in mind. It would start as subtle teasing, off-handed comments that would have you retorting back in such a manner that Eddie couldn’t help but smile, knowing he’d get you back for it later.

He’d crowd behind you at your locker, hand clasped over yours where it’s gripping the metal and whisper against your ear, “Keep wearing stuff like that and I’m not gonna be able to handle myself.”

You could wear anything and Eddie would have the same response, but that was beside the point. His free hand slips into the open hole of your ripped jeans against your upper thigh and squeezes, forcing a surprised laugh out of you, muffling it with your hand as you ducked your head into your locker, elbowing him gently with your other arm.

It was an everyday occurrence now and you’ve learned the only way to shut him up is to react, even if you’d regret it later.

“What? So you can fuck me in the bathroom again?” You tease lightly, “A whole three minutes? I know you can do better.”

Eddie shrugs, “Can you blame me?”

His attraction toward you was never-ending and intense, something you’ve never experienced before him. Eddie was the kind of suffocating love you always wanted, soaking up every moment of it.

“Part of me thinks you like the idea of getting caught,” You smirk half heartedly, “kinda fucked up if you ask me.”

“You’re one to talk.” Eddie replies, ignoring your obvious jab.

You laugh softly, leaning forward until your lips are barely touching, eyes glaring into Eddie’s, “Is that what you want?”

Eddie makes a small noise of confusion, still playing into your act.

“You wanna fuck me, right here?” Eddie wouldn’t dare, he’s not that asinine, but he enjoys the back and forth, the deep fire in your eyes as you speak to him. Your hand tugs at the hem of his shirt, hand resting just above the belt of his jeans, twisting the shirt in your hands slightly before pulling him toward you abruptly, pressing a bruising kiss against his lips.

“Too bad,” You answer for him, “I need to focus on this English test,” Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes—you were perfectly fine, up to aces with all of your work and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you wouldn’t pass, “and Principal Higgins is watching us—so you should probably get to class.”

Eddie chances a glance to his left, realizing just how right you were. He looks back quickly, familiar smirk on your face as you pull away, reaching behind you to close your locker.

“Stay out of trouble?” You ask, tone soft and warm toward him.

“No promises,” He replies wearily, scratching at the side of his jaw, mindful of the eyes still watching you both, “everyone’s out to get me, remember?”

“You’ll stay out of trouble,” You assure him again, eyeing him briefly, eyes dragging from head to toe, “right?”

And he can see it in the look you give him, the salacious grin on your face. There would be consequences—or metaphorical consequences, not that he didn’t have a way to counter them, but he nods.

“Mhmm,” He agrees, nodding slightly. “Promise.”

But, promises didn’t always hold up and we’re bound to break at some point.

And it’s no surprise when you find Eddie in after school detention with an even more shameful look on his face than earlier in the day, dragging his feet up to you in a leisurely manner as he wraps his arms over your shoulder, slung around you loosely.

“You never listen to me,” You complain with amusement, letting him press a light kiss into your hair, the smirk evident in his face even if you couldn’t see him. “Do you?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, briefly, “No.”

So, by later that night, it’s almost a constant back and forth, neither of you daring to break until Eddie gets his hands around your thighs, pulling you tight against him, burying himself even deeper.

“What was that?” He asks, a patronizing lilt in his voice, breath coming out in pants. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I can’t—“ You breath out, shoving his hands away weakly, “no more, Eddie, please.”

He’d already managed to make you come twice, quickly working his way into a third, his hips moving gingerly as he listened to you, though he was obviously enjoying your torture, his eyes lighting up at the feeling of your muscles twitching involuntarily under his touch, too weak to even raise yourself up onto your knees.

“Fuck—you really got a fuckin’ mouth on you when you like to think you’re in charge,” Eddie laughs slightly, “baby, that’s never the case.”

And even if that was true, you don’t really mind.

“Eddie,” You plead, hands shoved against his chest in an effort to push away slightly, “come on.”

“Do you really wanna stop?” Eddie teases, fingers slipping into the dip where your hips meet your pelvis and rocking your hips slowly, eyebrows knitting together in pleasure as your mouth drops open, a broken gasp leaving your lips.

Your eyes are barely open, riddled with exhaustion and hanging on by a thread.

“Didn’t think so.” He comments off handedly, “Look at me.”

You shake your head petulantly, lids falling shut as you breathe deeply, savoring the deep penetrating feeling of Eddie inside of you, hitting the spot that made your entire body ache, skin feeling white hot.

Eddie slaps your thigh lightly, a gentle warning.

“Hey,” Eddie chides, “you can handle it, right?”

It’s the same tone you used on him early, only countered toward you. He knew exactly how to get under your skin.

“Shut up.” You pout, blunt nails digging into his chest.

Eddie grunts softly, tutting his tongue against his teeth.

“S’not as sweet when you’re on the receiving end, is it?”

Eddie drives his point even further with a sharp thrust of his hips, hands squeezing impossibly tight against your skin.

Your mouth falls open further, which Eddie mimics in a way that drives you mad, face contorting into a mix of frustration and yearning, begging him to give it up—whatever act he was playing or devious plan he had in the back of his mind.

But, Eddie was stubborn.

“I know you wanna say it,” Eddie tells you, “Say it—say my name, sweetheart.”

You sigh heavily, head tipping back, “Fuck—Eddie,” Eddie makes a quiet noise of approval, “Eddie—“

“See how perfect you sound when all you can think about is me,” Eddie seethes, grunting as the rate of thrusts grew faster, forcing you to fall forward, hands digging into the soft fabric of the pillow, “so drunk on my dick you can’t think of anything else.”

“I’ve got plenty of thoughts in my head.” You retort.

Eddie huffs a laugh, daring you to challenge him.

His hands grip your own, clasped between his warm palms, his hips suddenly unmoving.

“Do it yourself then,” He instructs, “yeah?”

But, your body was entirely too weak, hips aching from the stretch and muscles screaming protest—you just wanted to rest, have Eddie wrap his body around you and lull you to sleep, but instead you were here, reaping the consequences of getting under Eddie’s skin all day.

Your movements are slow, without any real rhythm, just a desperate grind of your hips, seeking the friction.

And it’s frustrating, face again furrowing in annoyance as you rocked your hips jerkily, eventually giving up, slight frown on your face.

“Say you’re sorry,” Eddie says, “for teasing me, making fun of me—“

“God, you’re unbelievable—“

Eddie makes a pointed face, eyebrow quirking in amusement.

The smug bastard. He didn’t care for an apology, he just wanted the satisfaction of seeing your crumble under his will.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” You say in exasperation, “but Eddie, I can’t—I really can’t take anymore—“

Eddie nods, pulling you down toward his chest and flipping you in one slow, fluid motion, bodies never disconnecting.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” He smiles, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, hurried kiss, hips moving quickly against you, his fingers finding your clit almost instantly and it’s all too overwhelming, body pliant to his touch but aching for release, “you still with me?”

You nod slightly, forcing your head deeper against the pillow, eyes shut in exhaustion as Eddie pressed himself against you, mouthing at random parts of your skin, delicate touches to remind you he was still there, his hand still an igniting pressure against your cunt, fingers working quickly over your swollen clit.

“Hey, eyes,” He nudges softly, squeezing at your thigh, “look at me, babe.”

You peek at him slightly, laughing at his righteous grin.

“Just one more,” He promises, his early words seeping back into your thoughts, “that’s it.”

And when it hits you, you don’t even have the energy to make a sound, mouth falling open as you grip at Eddie’s shoulder, bound to leave bruises from the tightness of it. He makes sure to carry you through until it’s all over, snapping his hips a few more times until it’s over for himself, having held out for longer than he’s used to—it’s guttural, the groan that escapes him, hands fisting in to the pillow beside your head to avoid squeezing you too hard.

“So, about those three minutes—“ You start lightly, attempting to wean Eddie back into consciousness.

“Had to prove a point,” Eddie explains through staggered huffs, “how’d I do?”

“Do I really need to answer that?” You ask profoundly, hair matted to your face from the sweat, chests touching with every breath you took.

“Just checking,” He chuckles, pressing a messy, closed mouth kiss over the tip of your nose, “gotta piss me off more often, sweetheart—this is pretty fun.”

“Fuck you.” You reply playfully, kicking him off weakly until he’s falling to his back on the mattress, “I can’t even feel my legs.”

Eddie disposes of the condom discreetly while you slowly slip your underwear back on, crawling back up the bed lazilyy until he’s flat on his stomach, hands reaching for the tender flesh of your thigh.

“Let me take care of you then,” Eddie smiles slightly, those his words are laced with dangerous undertone—it’s all teasing, but it earns a familiar look of warning his way, “I meant like, a massage or something. You know, not everything I say is dirty minded—“

You offer a pointed glance his way, seeing right through his bullshit.

“Okay, most of it is—but come on, let me.”

You sigh quietly, nodding in response.

His touches are just as gentle, if not more.

It’s a reminder of how well Eddie balanced all of it, the hard intensity of his exterior alongside the delicate personality woven on the inside—it’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced before, but it was everything you needed.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[seresinhangmanjake]

Touch and Go

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: You and Jake had been sleeping together for months, and as sure as you were of your feelings for him, you were unsure of his for you. He, however, certainly knew how he felt about you, and after you decide to go on a long trip without telling him, he lets you know just exactly what’s on his mind.

Notes/warnings: 18+ (No Minors!) public smut, fingering, angsty-ish stuff, fluffiness, love confessing and all that, self-doubt, insecurities, cursing-type language, best-bud Rooster (not really a warning but I love him). This was not supposed to be this long at all, but ya know, things happen and unexpected stuff (smut) weasels its way into your careful plans without permission, which I personally think is rude, but here we are.

Words: 4101

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The moment you realized you had fallen in love with Jake “Hangman” Seresin, you were disappointed in yourself for an entire three months. The relentless teasing and flirting had worn you down, and while he didn’t seem to know he succeeded in making you feel something for him, it made that fact no less true.

But you didn’t know if he felt something for you. Sure, he showed his hatred when other men approached you with some suggestive smirks on their lips, but you always figured that was more of a possessive tick so that he could keep his fuck-buddy his fuck-buddy, and no one else’s. You knew how unfair it was of him to expect you to stay by his side while he went around flirting with anything that had an ass and decent tits, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. If he wanted you, he had you, at any time, any place, and you felt like an idiot for it.

When you first met, his flirting irritated you to no end. Being friends Rooster and Phoenix quickly brought you into the little group of pilots, and it took all of thirty seconds for Jake to descend upon you with his winks, and grins, and appreciative stares that traveled up and down the form of your body.

Back then, his attitude and cockiness repulsed you. For weeks you did your best to stay away from him, but he always managed to find you, pulling out his charms in full force until the day came when you started to find them less annoying and more exciting. And after you started sleeping together, being around him was something you couldn’t stop yourself from craving. It wasn’t just his cock that made you surrender every time he asked if he could come over to your house, it was the way he was with you after. Once you were both sated, laying next to each other with heavy breaths in sync, he would roll over on the mattress, wrap his arm around your waist, and tug you closer until your back was to his chest. Then he’d kiss your exposed shoulder and nuzzle his nose against the line of your neck before passing out.

Those nights, often as they were, began to make you think he had some variation of feelings for you, but the mornings would come and he’d be gone. You’d banish all hopeful thoughts of mutual affection until the next day when the two of you found one another again and repeated the same little game.

“Ok, Y/N,” Rooster stressed your name as he tried to block every path you could take to get to the dresser in your bedroom. Every step you took he’d sidestep and create a muscled wall before you; over and over again until you threw your duffel bag on the ground with a loud groan. “Y/N, you really can’t leave right now.”

You plopped back on your bed, rubbing your hands up and down your face as the pilot stared at you. “Why the hell not?”

“Because he will lose his shit, and you know it,” Rooster said. “Why, Y/N! Why on God’s green earth would you want me to suffer like that?”

“You,” you snapped. “How would you be suffering?”

Rooster rose his muscled arms in disbelief before letting them fall back into place, slapping against the outside of his jean-clad thighs with a clap. “You’re kidding me, right? He’s annoying as shit when he gets like this. He’s going to be a total ass. He’ll be so agitated in the sky that he’ll be shooting all of us down left and right. We’ll be doing push-ups until the end of next week!”

Raising an eyebrow, your head tilted in consideration. “Maybe you guys should stop playing that game then.”

“You’re really missing the point here, Y/N.”

But you weren’t. You knew what Rooster was getting at, what everyone had been getting at for months. They all had some theory that whenever you went out of town, even if just for a night or two, Hangman became even more of an arrogant, selfish prick than he already was. You, however, knew that Jake, regardless of how easily he could snap his fingers and find a woman in his bed, just didn’t want the annoyance of having his go-to sex partner out of arms reach.

“Look, it’s not even just about today,” Rooster continued. “We have a mission in sixteen days—not exactly a simple one—and if you’re not here when—”

You held up your hand to stop him. “Don’t finish that sentence, Rooster. My presence does not affect his ability to do his job.”

“You’ve never been gone when we’ve had to go on a mission,” he said, and he looked at you like those words should have been enough to make you understand the severity of the situation, but you just shrugged.

“Rooster, one does not have to do with the other. For whatever reason, you’re seeing something that is not there. I—” you put a hand on your chest “—am not an emotional pillar for Jake Seresin.”

“I don’t know about that,” he mumbled. Leaning back against your dresser with arms crossed, Rooster’s lips pursed in dissatisfaction. “How long are you going to be gone again?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “A month.”

He straightened his form and dropped his arms. “A month?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re killing me,” Rooster whimpered, but when you didn’t respond, he said, “You’re going to say goodbye, right?”

You stood and snatched your duffel off the ground then gently shoved your friend to the side so you could grab some underwear to toss in the bag. “I said goodbye to everyone last night at the bar.”

“Not to him.”

You shrugged again, “Well, he wasn’t there. He was probably busy with some other woman I’m sure he picked up.”

“Other woman?” Rooster’s eyebrows pinched. “Y/N, Hangman doesn’t hav—”

“Rooster, I don’t want to talk about this right now,” you said with a soft smile before you inched up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “I have to catch a plane, and in order to catch that plane, I need to pack, and in order to pack—”

His lips thinned but then his head dropped and he said, “You need me to leave.”

“I do.” You nodded. “And I mean it in the most loving way possible.”

“If you loved me, cared about my well-being and that of the rest of the team, you wouldn’t go.”

You didn’t like the concern on his face. It created a swirling feeling in your gut. “I need a break,” you said, “from here. Just a little one, and then I’ll be back.”

The whole team had watched Hangman relentlessly attack a punching bag for the better half of the afternoon. The grunts he made in time with the smacks of fist against bag filled the room with an angry echo that cleared out every other pilot in the gym, with the exception of Phoenix and Rooster, who both observed the cocky blond with an eye of curiosity.

“What’s with him,” Phoenix asked as they watched Hangman attempt to release his aggression.

“Other than the usual?” Rooster snickered, but then his features straightened, and he said, “Y/N left this morning and didn’t tell him.”

“What?” The brunette faced him fast with a smack to his bicep that Rooster immediately rubbed at. “Why?”

Rooster knew exactly why; well, once he put the pieces together, he did. What he and the team eventually learned to see in Hangman, you had not. They knew that the moment he met you his womanizing days were over, but somehow, that was a change in him you couldn’t see for yourself. The irritating blond pilot was in love with you, and everyone within a ten-mile radius could vouch for that, but after Rooster’s chat with you that morning, he knew you had no idea. He knew there was something holding you back from seeing the truth.

Rooster sighed. “Because those two have very different perspectives of their relationship.”

Rooster expected a lot after their day of training ended. He expected the group to head to the Hard Deck for some drinks, which they did. He expected Payback and Phoenix to pick up where they left off in their little pool competition, which resumed the moment the table was in sight. He expected Hangman to be moping, features twisted in agitation as he drowned himself in one too many beers, which he was certainly on his way to accomplishing. What he didn’t expect was to see your face, but there you were, shuffling through the front door.

When you walked in the bar, he immediately took in the state of your posture, your shoulders rolled over a little more than usual. The hollows under your eyes where darker and your hair slightly mussed. You looked miserable, exhausted, and Rooster didn’t let another beat pass before he was setting his beer down and quickly making his way over to you.

You released a heavy breath at the sight of a friendly face and he wrapped you up in his arms.

“What’s up, kid,” he asked, his eyebrows drawn in concern when he pulled back to closer examine the dulled look in your Y/E/C eyes. “What are you doing here?”

With a hand on your lower back, he led you over to the bar, and when Penny looked at him, silently asking if you needed a drink, he nodded then sat in the stool next to yours.

“I thought you left like, ten hours ago.”

Your neck craned forward and you rubbed at your forehead, thanking Penny when she set a fresh beer in front of you. Taking a generous sip, you said, “Flight got canceled. I spent all day at the airport before I decided to give up.”

“I’m sorry.” Rooster ran a comforting hand up and down your back. “When you finish that,” he nudged his head towards your drink, “do you want to go somewhere else? I’ll take you wherever you want.”

Impressively, you downed the rest of the beer, slammed it down on the counter, and hopped up out of your seat. “I’m ready now.”

Rooster chuckled. “Alright, let me just go let the group know I’m leaving.”

Nodding, you stayed put as Rooster wove through body after body until he reached his team.

“Guys, I’m heading out.”

“Already,” Phoenix asked.

“Yea,” Rooster stretched the word, and he quickly scanned the area for the blond pilot, but without him in view, he looked back to the group. “Y/N’s here.”

Bob beamed at your name. “She didn’t go?”

The confirmation was on his lips, but Rooster couldn’t get the word out before Hangman appeared and said, “Who?”

The pilots all looked at one another with questioning glances, one not knowing more than another who should speak first. But then Phoenix rolled her eyes. ‘’We have to tell him,” she said.

Of all, Rooster wasn’t surprised Phoenix would feel such a way. She was the first to notice when Hangman’s suggestive stares gave way to ones of desperate longing. She was the one to nudge his shoulder with hers and tell him that he was bound to look like a creep if he kept watching you the way he was whenever you were in the same room. She was also the one to tell him to get his shit together if he had genuine feelings for you, which clearly, to everyone but you, he figured out how to do.

He was always by your side the moment you entered into his sights. Unless he was playing pool, his arm was glued to your waist. Every time he would sit down, his first move was to pull you onto his lap. And Phoenix felt a certain level of pride in knowing that she got the cockiest pilot at Top Gun to show his true feelings.

So, it was no shock that when no one made a move to contradict her, she turned her head to meet Hangman’s stare, and stated rather directly, “Y/N’s here.”

“What!” The surprise had him standing a little straighter. Rooster knew his own expression, once Hangman glanced at him, would all but prove the truth: that you were here, you were forty feet away, hidden by masses of bodies in the bar, and you had no intention of seeing him. “Where is she, Rooster?”

He groaned at Rooster’s hesitation, and without waiting for a response, started to move in the only direction you could have been, eyes shifting around the other bar patrons as he tried to spot you amongst the crowd.

Rooster put a hand on Hangman’s chest to stop him, receiving an intense scowl in return that easily could have burned through to the back of his skull. A piece of him felt the guilt of it, of keeping a man away from the woman he loved, especially knowing the circumstances of the misunderstandings between you. But to Rooster, you came first. If you weren’t going to mention seeing Hangman, then he wasn’t going to force the subject. “She’s tired right now.”

“Too damn bad,” he growled and shoved Rooster’s hand off him.

The group watched Hangman weave his way through the room until the top of his blond hair blended in with every other head in the bar.

Phoenix shot Rooster a glance when the latter hadn’t followed after their teammate. “I’m surprised you’re not going to intervene.”

He shook his head, and a moment later as he watched Hangman lead you out the door onto the beach, he said, “It’s probably time they sort this one out for themselves.”

The second the humid, salty air hit your face, Jake released your hand. You stopped in your tracks in the sand, but he kept walking, and he made it all of ten feet before he whipped around to face you, anger taking root in his stare.

“You just—” he began, but then he paused, ran a hand down his face, and turned towards the water again.

You took a tentative step forward. “Jake—”

“Don’t,” he snapped at the sea, but then he was once again twisting in his spot and meeting your eyes. “I mean, what the actual fuck, Y/N.” His tone was just short of soft, your name falling from his lips like a hopeless plea for understanding. “How could you just—for a damn month?”

You felt yourself flushing from chest to cheeks and your eyes couldn’t help but lower to the sand beneath your feet.

“No, none of that,” he said, then his hands were on either side of your face, tilting your head up. “Look at me. Y/N, look at me.”

Slowly, you dragged your eyes up to meet his. Were he not holding you, you would’ve shied under the intensity of his gaze. Something swirled within the green of his irises, an uncertainty that was asking for relief.

“Do you have any feelings for me at all,” he asked.

“W-What?” Your voice cracked around the word. The last question you ever imagined coming out of his mouth he asked with such a surety that it nearly shoved you back a step, and his eyes averted at the reaction you failed to conceal.  

“Just—” he released you and scratched at the back of his neck, “If you don’t, I want you to tell me now, because—fuck, we’ve been sleeping together for something like two-thirds of a year, so I thought…”

He began to turn away, taking a handful of steps before he paused and left you with only the profile of his face, it more defined by the background of the near pitch-black beach behind him. His hands rested on his hips and he opened his mouth to speak, but instead a laugh came out in the form of a deep huff.

“You thought what, Jake,” you pressed, a piece of you strengthening in his silence. You needed to know. You needed it like you needed your next breath. “Jake,” you called a little louder.

“Forget it—I don’t know.”

“Then why did you bring me out here?”

He shook his head to himself and lightly groaned before staring at you. That look was back in his eyes, that uncertainty; a sudden lack of confidence so unexpected in a man like him. He’d never shown a vulnerability outside of the four walls of your bedroom, and even then, you weren’t sure you could call it that. Two months into sleeping together, he switched, became soft, gentle in a way that stunned you, but that air of cockiness never fully left him. Now it seemed…different, altered by his own will, as if he knew that you needed to see it in him. Then he said,

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your lips parted just barely.

“I’m in love with you.” He walked towards you in sure, stable strides. Not the way you would have had you just confessed the same. You wouldn’t make the short distance with your knees that wobbled so traitorously you could barely stand as it was.

His hand rose to cup your cheek, hovering by your face for a moment before it dropped back to his side.

“I can never tell what’s going on in that damn head of yours,” he said, “So I never said anything. But I thought you at least felt enough for me to let me know if you were planning to disappear for a month.”

“I—” you swallowed. “I don’t understand.” And you truly didn’t, no matter how much you wanted to. Your brain overworked to collect a million memories you were sure were buried in the crevices of your mind, ones of him that would now prove himself wrong; ones of him flirting with other women since you started sleeping together, or ones where he acted like he didn’t want to be with you, but you couldn’t find them; nothing was there but the nagging piece that convinced you he didn’t care for you no matter how lost in that dream you ever let yourself get. “You—You’re always gone when I wake up. You never stay.”

“You never ask me to” he said, weakness in his tone. “I sneak out every morning before you wake up. I worry you think I will have crossed a line because you never tell me you want me to stay with you.”

You waited for him to take it back, tell you it was a cruel joke, but it didn’t come. He just stood there, patiently.

“Oh,” came out in a breathy whisper, “God.”

And before you had another second to think, you put your hands at the back of his neck, pulled him down and kissed him. If it surprised him, you couldn’t tell. His arms were instantly around your waist, tugging your body flush against his as his lips moved with yours.

You couldn’t feel anything but him, and you wanted him…now, your better judgement neglecting the fact that a bar full of people, if they had the half-thought to look out the windows or door, would have a front row seat to everything. But you didn’t care. You wanted him on top of you, your bodies in the sand, cooled only by the night breezes carried by the sea. You wanted his skin touching yours, his lips marking you with possessive kisses, his fingers inside of you, stretching and preparing you for the moment he replaced them with his cock. You wanted him to fuck you until you were crying from the mix of pleasure and the fresh understanding that you had his love. And by the way his hands started to sneak their way under your tee, he wasn’t doing much better at holding back from wanting the same.

You stepped backwards, mouths still connected as you slowly led him out of the direct light from the bar and closer to the shadows that lined the edge of the building. One of his hands slipped into the front of your leggings, through the slickness of your folds before he shoved two fingers inside of you.

Your kiss broke as a gasp fell from your lips and you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck to keep from collapsing. You breathed unsteadily into the crook of his neck, and it was only when he felt your fingers start to weave through the ends of his hair that he began to pump his own in and out, in and out, curling to hit that spot inside you that made your legs quiver.

“There we go, sweetheart,” he whispered, then turned his head to nuzzle his nose against your cheek.

It never took much to get you to cum for him. Knowing he was the one making you feel so good made everything that much more intense. He knew your body, knew your moans and sighs and cries. He could play with you and make you sing for him. And right now, you were putty in his arms, but you wanted more than his fingers.

“Jake,” you whimpered, and by the way he hummed in response you knew he had a smirk on his handsome face. “Please.”

He paused his movements and leaned is head back to look at you, making sure he was correct in what he thought he heard in your plea. You looked at him, eyebrows the tiniest bit pinched, as you chewed on your bottom lip.

“Ok, sweetheart,” he said, and nodded before he let go of you to take a few steps back into the bar’s light to check for any activity. He waited a good minute, watching the windows carefully as bodies shifted around bodies and laughs mingled with laughs, then, looking back at you, he repeated, “Ok.”

He walked to you, his fingers undoing his belt and yanking down his zipper, then he whispered, “come here,” right before he lifted you off the ground so you could wrap your legs around his waist.

Your back hit the outer wall of the building and you reached down the middle of your bodies to find the small hole you’d worn into your leggings at the inner thigh. Never had you been so happy to wear cheap clothing in public.

Jake held you stable as you split the inner seam of your leggings with one sharp jerk, then he reached in his pants and pulled out his cock. He pumped himself once, twice, then nudged the edge of your underwear to the side with his tip before shoving himself fully inside you.

His hand over your mouth muffled the moan he knew was coming, but it was quickly replaced by his lips. He groaned into the kiss at the feel of your walls squeezing him, dragging his cock out and then back in at a torturous pace until you adjusted enough for him to move faster. His thrusts reached so deep your vision practically blurred with each one, and you felt those tears stinging in the corners of your eyes.

You mumbled his name a couple of times, cried it a few more when his hips would snap into yours. He would go back and forth from watching the expression he gave to your face and leaning his head forward to nibble and suck at your neck and shoulder. But you wanted him to open his eyes and keep them on you, so said his name again, this time with a gentle kiss to his lips. His thrusts slowed.

“Look at me,” you sighed sweetly, and he did. You wished you could drink in that look in his eyes. The way he stared at you—the green brighter, like being inside of you gave him a surge of life—could make you drunk. You loved it. You loved him. “I love you,” you said.

He let out a sharp breath, as if he had been holding it in out of uncertainty. His head fell forward and warm kisses lined your collarbone.

“When you get into my bed tonight, Jake Seresin,” you continued while those kisses slowly made their way up the column of your neck, “do not get out of it until I tell you otherwise.”

With a smile, his eyes met yours. He kissed your lips and pressed a long one to your forehead. Then, just loud enough for you to hear, he whispered against your skin, “Yes, Ma’am,” before his hips began to move again.

[spaceorphan18]

How an animated series saved Remy LeBeau (again)

It's a bit of a hyperbolic title, but catchy, non?

I was looking over my comic collection as I've decided to reread X-Men's 60 year history over the course of the summer. And it got me thinking about a dead period of 616 canon that I've never actually read. Around the time Rogue hooked up with Magneto and scooted off to the Avengers, I decided I'd be done with comics for a while. And didn't start again until Rogue (and Gambit) came back to the X-books in 2017's Astonishing X-Men. But it made me wonder -- What happened to Gambit in that time??

Well, after his solo ended, he flitted around to X-Factor and hung out with X-23 and then kind of went 'poof' for a good long while.

Why? I can only guess the same reason this is a running motif with Gambit. There's something about him that drives the X-Office crazy. I'm not here to speculate what or how or who of it all. I don't know enough about the back end of Marvel to give concrete answers. But I think what has surprised me (recently) is that he's definitely a fan favorite character.

[Yes, I know he can be a divisive character. Yes, I know elements of his character from the 90s have not aged well. Yes, I know there are those of you who can't stand him. Don't really care - you can get off my lawn, thank you.]

Which got me thinking -- Gambit's original popularity, I believe, stemmed from the original X-Men Animated Series. He had just started showing up in the comics at the time, and had barely any kind of page time. And the X-Men TAS swung and was a hit. And so was Gambit.

I don't really know that Gambit would be around today if TAS hadn't done its thing. Would the X-Office have kept him around? I really have no idea.

But they did try to get rid of him. That was the point of leaving him in Antarctica. And things were just never the same after that. Claremont tried his best in the early 2000s. And then Deathbit happened. Carey's run wasn't bad. But Carey clearly had an agenda for other things... And then, Gambit just kind of faded into the background. (I hear his run as a side character for Laura (X-23) was good - but I haven't read that.)

Bless Kelly Thompson (always) for sparking life back into him with (and his relationship with Rogue). And bless the fact that she actually married him to Rogue. Yes, I understand comics -- my god look what they did to Peter and MJ, no one really gets to be happily married except Sue and Reed. He and Rogue are now really tied together in a way that I don't think is going to be undone any time soon.

Even if the X-Office still isn't thrilled with the guy. Krakoa era has been less than ideal. (I can't comment on it fully - I haven't read much of it, as I'm behind on my comic reading.) But I've heard rumors that one reason Thompson was let go was that she didn't want Gambit killed off. And she didn't like the direction they wanted to take the character.

Which leads me to X-Men 97. Killing him off sucked. Really. As a fan, it really sucked. But - my god, the reaction to it. Gambit was amazing. And all I've heard lately is good things about the character. There's been a Gambit resurgence in the best way. He may have went out -- but he went out with a bang. X-Men 97 made an emotional impact with people. And that changes things.

Gambit is cool again.

And I love it.

What's even more exciting is the fact that the X-Office has changed hands again and Gail Simone on Uncanny who (if her Twitter/X feed is to be believed) is really enjoying writing the character. Which means (hopefully) at least another year or two in the comics of some (hopefully) great Gambit stuff.

And maybe there will be some changing of hearts and minds in the X-Office.

It's actually very exciting.

And, guys, I really (really, really) doubt he'll be completely gone from X-Men 97, too.

Because Remy LeBeau never stays down for long.

But as a fan, it's nice to see him be on top again. And I don't think he's going anywhere anytime soon.

[draculasfavoritewife]

No Word For Hero

Summary: You love him and the way he will always be your protector, but sometimes facing the truth is the most terrifying thing of all.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares and discussions of death. The one-two punch of angst and fluffiness all in one. This one is a fair bit more somber than my other Mando stuff.

Another trope I will never ever get tired of -- the "having a nightmare while sleeping with your partner" routine! 🥳 Gets me in my feels every time, particularly with a character like Din who (to me at least) canonically also has frequent nightmares. I first drafted this one a couple summers ago as a result of all my feelings after that big moment in "The Marshal", as I'm sure will be obvious.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

It's coming, exploding up from beneath the billowing sands, looming over everyone, titanic, monstrous, ravenous....

...He turns to you, ever so briefly, tilts his head in that meaningful look you know all too well...that damn look that means he's going to play hero again.

Damn his altruism.

When is he going to stop?

You already know that answer, too. It lurks forever in the back of your mind, awake or asleep, always whispering there, a constant venom ever deepening its grasp around your heart until one day the cold reality finally breaks it.

He'll stop when he finally doesn't come back to you.

When he's at last granted the warrior's death you know he desires.

Only then.

You can't even scream as he disappears down the dragon's throat, too frozen with horror to make a sound....

You bolt upright, gasping for breath, damp hair clinging to your face and tears running down, their salty tang sharp on your lips.

Stupid nightmares.

"Go away," you mutter, rubbing harshly at your eyes. "Just stop."

The cot is small, realistically much too small for two adults, and your distress is painfully evident to the man sharing it with you, whose arm has just been violently dislodged from its place around your torso.

"Bad dream?"

He sounds tired. He hardly ever sleeps through a full night at the best of times, and even then it's rarely a deep sleep.

If the old saying "sleep with one eye open" were actually true, Din would be its personification.

You curse your overactive mind a second time, for disturbing his precious few moments of rest along with your own.

"I'm fine." You don't lie back down, instead pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms tightly around them. Normally you find his quarters chilly, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins makes the room suddenly feel close and stuffy.

He shifts against you in the dark, no doubt to study your posture. "You don't sound fine."

You sigh. "I will be. You should try and get some sleep, Din."

You hear him lean back into the wall, a long exhale betraying stiffness somewhere in his muscles.

You've offered him the side of the bed that's not right up against the wall, but to your surprise he actually likes to be pressed closely between your body and the solidness of metal at his back.

You suspect it gives him a sense of security in a life that holds so little for him.

"I'm sorry I woke you," you add before he can speak again.

"You didn't." His revelation is cool and distant, as if his lack of rest means nothing to him. "I haven't slept at all tonight."

You turn to stare at him in dismay, only to be met with the void of deep darkness. "Why didn't you --"

"What? Wake you up to tell you I can't sleep?" Somehow you know he's shaking his head at you. "That fixes nothing, Cyar'ika. My sleep was disturbed since long before we met." His voice softens as he reaches for you, his large, comfortingly familiar hand stroking down your side. "But when I have you in my arms, listening to your breathing, I can at least find some peace. And that is often enough."

You let out another shuddering breath and gaze out into the dim compartment, the images from your nightmare replaying over and over behind your eyes like a holovid stuck on loop.

"I think I need some air," you murmur.

"Take my shirt, then." You're grateful he doesn't try to stop you; he knows you were taking care of yourself for a long time before you two struck up your partnership. He trusts you to look out for danger.

"Vor'e, Cyare." You slide from the bed, his fingers trailing away from your hip as you break from his gentle touch. He watches as you blindly take his shirt from the pile of clothes left on the floor and pull it over your head, pausing only to grab a vibroblade before exiting his quarters.

"I'll come back," you promise softly.

And the words sting deep down as they leave your lips, knowing that one day, one of you might not be able to keep that promise.

The night is cool and clear on this planet, and the breeze smells like living growth from the thick woods nearby. It's a far cry from the dust and smoke of so many of the worlds you've stayed on before, and soon you start to calm down, heartbeat returning to normal and perspiration drying at the wind's light touch. Everything is peaceful around you, the night birds calling and water flowing somewhere behind the trees.

Not for the first time, your thoughts stray towards the impossibility of trying to stay somewhere like this place, to drop everything you know and carve out a life on a frontier planet somewhere. You and Din and Grogu, living modestly and secretly away from the prying eyes of the Imperials or the Jedi, pretending at normalcy....

There's the key word.

Pretending.

You've played many parts since you lost your buir so many years ago. Dancer in the clubs of the Core worlds, thief, animal wrangler, pilot, hired gun. You could adapt, you feel fairly certain. It's the skill that's most reliably kept you alive this long.

But Din....

He's so deeply entrenched in his upbringing. His honor, and the hunt, mean everything to him. Whatever else he tries to be, he will always be the Mandalorian first and foremost. The Way runs through his veins, thicker than blood, and the fierce heart of a warrior beats beneath the beskar.

It's why he will ultimately always make sacrifices to keep those under his protection safe.

It's who he is. His identity.

The reason that one day he might not emerge from the belly of the beast in triumph.

And you love him, exactly the way he is. You'd never ask him to change.

But Maker, sometimes the knowledge of what that means hurts deeper than any physical wound.

So you stand there at the edge of the woods and let the tears come, let the sobs wrack your body as you bury yourself deeper in his comforting shirt, praying that the day never comes that all you have left are memories and clothes that smell like him.

Eventually, your grief runs its course and you can breathe once again. The crunch of footsteps in the damp grass warrants a side glance, but as you thought, it's only your beroya, come to check on you, no doubt.

"You've been out here a long time," he remarks.

"Had a lot on my mind."

He encircles you in his arms from behind, chin resting in the dip of your shoulder. You're surprised that he didn't replace his helmet to come out here, but sunrise is still a long way off.

"I'm usually the one with the nightmares," he teases softly. "This one must have been rough. Want to talk?"

You find his hands at your waist, interlock your fingers with his.

"I lost someone. Someone very important to me."

Turning slightly so you can rest your cheek against his, you kiss the very edge of his lips. "It scares me, Din."

He's quiet for some time, and you try to imagine the expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispers. "I can't give you anything but my word that I will always try my hardest to come back to you. That is what fuels me, ner'kar'ta. The fire in my blood, the strength in my bones, is knowing that I need to make it back for you. But I realize that it is a double-edged blade. Because it also means I would give everything, to keep you safe in the end."

"I know, Din. I remember what my buir used to tell me, you know, how we have no word for 'hero' in our mother tongue, because to be Mando'ade is to risk all for the ones you love. I know I'm so selfish." You turn all the way around at last, hiding your face in his bare chest. "But I accept your vow. And it will have to be enough."

Collecting yourself and finally raising your haunted gaze to his, you manage a small smile. "But I will fight for you, Din Djarin. Death will find one hell of a struggle when it finally comes for you, I can promise you that."

"There's my girl." The fond grin in his voice is audible. "Now, will you come back to bed? It's getting lonesome in there."

You let him lead you back to the ship, and the sigh of the wind now seems to promise to whisk your fears away for the time being.

The door slides shut behind you, and you shiver, realizing all of a sudden just how cold you are. His shirt is a welcome barrier against the biting chill, and you wonder how he was able to get along without it outside.

"Cold?" he asks.

"Yes." You reach out for him, wordlessly begging for his warmth.

He sidesteps you and folds his arms across his chest. "Take it off," he demands, and indicates the shirt with a nod, husky voice brimming with humor and a shade of something hungrier. "Or I will."

You hug the worn fabric closer to your body and shake your head mutinously. "But it's the only thing keeping me warm!"

"So you've chosen the hard way." He crosses the small space in a couple of long strides and starts to tease the garment off of you, bit by agonizing bit. "And how dare you let a piece of clothing do a man's job."

"You're making me cold again," you complain as he pulls you into bed with him, the hunter retreating back to his lair to finish off his fortunate prey.

"Then honor dictates I repair the damage I've caused," he hums, and you surrender to the bliss of being completely enveloped in his embrace. Din has always run hot, ever since you started sleeping together, and his warmth and familiar weight are so much better than any sweet dream of yours could be.

In the here and now, he's still alive, and he's still yours.

There will be no more tears tonight.

"Better?" he growls into your throat.

You run your fingers through his thick curls, sighing at the way he always manages to banish all of your dark thoughts away. And maybe now there will even be time for him to get some sleep before morning as well.

"I am now."

Vor'e = Thank you

Buir = Parent

Beroya = Bounty Hunter

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Mando'ade = Child of Mandalore

[illusioninfnty]

can i request rafe x fwb reader where reader finds out hes dating sofia and she goes to confront him that he didnt even have the decency to let her know their arrangement was over and he says "who said it was over?''

Thank you for the request anon! Just a quick note, I have not watched a single minute of Outer Banks lol. Because of this I didn’t add in any of the canon plot but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Empty Words || Rafe Cameron x Reader

Your relationship with Rafe was complicated, to say the least.

You argued, you partied, you flirted, you fucked, and you fought in the most vicious ways. There were many times when you left him, told him you couldn’t do it anymore, but there was something about him that always had you crawling back.

Rafe always made you feel special, despite the casual status of your relationship. He was the best sex you’ve ever had, and you’ve slept with quite a number of people. He was more attentive than any other guy, making sure you came each and every time. Even if it was for his own ego, to say he could make you cum, you didn’t care as long as you got some pleasure out of it.

He could be chivalrous when he wanted to, something simple as holding doors for you and paying for your drinks to initially coming over for sex but ending up taking care of you when you were feeling under the weather.

And then there was the jealousy.

Rafe was a possessive man, no doubt about that. Despite his refusal to date you, keeping your relationship strictly as friends with benefits, the amount of times he got into fights with guys who flirted with you at parties or bars was astronomical. It would take more than both hands to count the amount of times you had to drag Rafe back to your house to clean up his bloody knuckles and pray that he doesn’t get arrested over something so stupid.

He felt like a jealous boyfriend, yet every time you would bring up making your relationship more serious, he would scoff in your face and say he doesn’t do that stuff.

You don’t think you’d ever truly understand him.

You stare at the text from Rafe that you just got, perplexed. You told him not to reach out to you again after yet another bar fight, what you want to be your last time being with him.

Key word: want.

The come over flashes in your face like a warning sign, and you don’t even know how to reply at this point. You hate the way you’re so close to doing just that, the magnetic pull he has on you working its magic.

But you’re so focused on the text to notice that you walk right into someone else.

“Fuck!” you hiss, rubbing your shoulder in the spot that made contact with the other girl. The impact causes your phone to drop out of your hand, and you bend to pick it up. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh my gosh!” You hear the girl call your name. A quick glance up has you staring into the face of Sarah Cameron, Rafe’s younger sister. “It’s been forever! How are you doing?”

Sarah is as upbeat as ever, and her infectious smile causes your mood to shift and you can’t help but smile back at her. “I’ve been well,” you reply gently.

She nods enthusiastically. Seeming to be in an even peppier mood than usual. “It sucks that I can’t see you as much anymore, but I’m glad that you finally got away from Rafe.” She pouts and rolls her eyes. “He was such a dick to you. I don’t know how someone so sweet like you could’ve ever been friends with him.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Got away?” You ask. You aren’t sure what she means by that. Besides, with the way he’s texting you, it doesn’t seem like he wants to be “away” from you.

“You didn’t hear? He’s, like, been official with Sofia for a bit. She posted on her Instagram and everything.”

You can feel your face heat up in anger over her words. You couldn’t believe you allowed yourself to be played like that. He had the fucking audacity to text you to come over, to embarrass you in public with his jealousy, all for him to have a girlfriend at the same time?

“Thanks, Sarah,” you say to the girl hurriedly. “I have to go. It was nice seeing you.”

You don’t wait to hear her reply before you storm off.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach the Cameron household. You’ve been there countless times before, and you also know that now is one of the few times when Rafe will be the only one home. You knock on the door, loud enough so that he can hear you.

He answers quicker than usual, probably expecting your presence as your answer to his text. His typical smirk is plastered to his face, and it makes you more pissed than horny as all of Sarah’s words come back to you.

“Took you long enough,” he starts, trailing his hand down to your ass. You push his arm off you, turning past him and crossing your arms. Your jaw is clenched and Rafe’s eyes are questioning now.

“What the fuck, Rafe?” You ask, your tone clipped. “I’m done. Done with you.”

He doesn’t even have the decency to respond, just staring down at you with intense eyes. “Goddammit!” You push against his chest, annoyed with his indifference. He grabs your wrists, restraining you in your place. “I’m not kidding. I’m seriously done, Rafe.” You fight against his hold to no avail.

“Don’t fucking do this,” he says, his words coming from deep in his throat. It’s a tone he rarely uses with you, one he saves for when he’s absolutely pissed. “What’s it this time? Someone got in your ear?”

“Sarah told me—”

“Fucking Sarah,” Rafe interrupts. “Always in my fucking business. Don’t listen to her, she just wants to piss me off.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring him and finishing your previous statement. “She told me you're with Sofia.”

You can feel his whole body still, and your heart drops at the now confirmed truth. It makes you even angrier—him acting like this, despite lying to your face and choosing to date another girl.

“That doesn’t mean shit,” he says through clenched teeth. His eyes are intense as he bores his gaze into you. “You’re my girl.”

Before, you’d swoon at his words, but now it makes you shudder in disgust.

“God, I can’t fucking believe you!” you scoff in his face. “You don’t even have the decency to end things with me before finally getting a girlfriend?”

Rafe is eerily silent. It unsettles you, and you fight to release yourself from our grip and finally leave him once and for all. 

But he doesn’t let you go. Rafe holds your wrist tightly, pushing forward into his house until he has you pressed against a wall. His free hand moves up towards your face. He ghosts it over your throat and you swallow harshly, your breathing shaky. He settles his hand around your jawline, squeezing it hard. You don’t dare to make a move.

His next words make your whole body run cold.

“Who said it was over?”

[vanillawurld]

༊*·˚West Coast

✧.* Pair - Miguel O'hara x Fem! Reader

✧.* Tags & Warnings - Smut, a little bit of fluff, swearing, kissing, teasing, fingering, sexual choking, slight spanking, degrading and praising, unprotected sex, Y/N's on the cream team, private sex (you'll see what I mean), crying, and creampie. (let me know if I missed anything)

✧.* Summary - Every spider-person in the building assumed that Miguel had left the building to complete a mission since they were unable find him, but little did they know he was too busy secretly fucking his favorite girl behind closed doors...

✧.* Extra - Reader is hinted to be from the West Coast of the U.S. Reader is hinted to being Latina. Reader is hinted of being a variant of Thena from the eternals. Miguel is a tiny bit out of character (and by that I mean a little bit nicer).

✧.* Word Count - 2,256

Miguel never really saw or thought of himself getting close to anyone. It's canon that every time a spider person gets close to someone, they get put them in an immense amount of danger. That's the sole main reason why he never wanted to get close to someone. Until he met her.

"You know Miguel, you're so negative. Why can't you have fun for once?" Y/N asked.

Miguel just ignored her snarky comment. He always said he didn't have time for stupidities and that he had too much work, he couldn't be distracted. There are some moments that people would think he was absent from the building because he's always locked in doing his multiverse work. and this was one of the times people thought he was away.

"Hey, come on. You need a break. You look like you haven't slept in day-"

"That's because I haven't." Miguel interrupted Y/N in an angry annoyed tone.

Y/N just looked at him and furrowed her eyebrows, " Ay, pero no te 'nojes. I'm just suggesting what's best for your health."

"I don't have time for your dumbass comments, Y/N. If you don't have anything useful to say, then don't say anything at all." Miguel replied and continued looking at different scenes from different dimensions.

Y/N just stayed quiet and sulked in the chair she had set next to Miguel. She hated when Miguel would get mad at her, especially if it was her fault. But oh how she loved how hot he looked. Her stomach would twist in guilt at him yelling at her, but she couldn't deny that she would get a little aroused.

A few minutes went by of pure silence. The only noise being made was the noises Miguel's devices were making. Y/N looked up at Miguel and smiled.

"You know, down on the West Coast, we have this saying... How did it go again? Shit, era como 'Late afternoon on the West Coast ends with the sky doing all its brilliant stuff.' " Y/N said. She missed her home in the West Coast. She missed the beautiful beaches and sunny skies. Miguel just looked at her and smirked just a tiny bit. He had forgotten she was pulled from the West Coast. He pulled a chair behind him and sat down to face her. "The West Coast, huh? Escuché que es muy bonito ahí."

Y/N's eyes went wide at him saying that. "Nunca has ido al West Coast?!"

Miguel only shook his head.

The two sat and talked to each other for quite a while to the point where they ignored anyone who tried calling them form their little watch devices. It was strange. Having a full civil conversation with Miguel without him insulting her or getting mad at her was very peaceful to say the least.

The tall male couldn’t deny that he enjoyed his conversation with Y/N. He always admired how courageous she was on her earth. For the love of Aphrodite, her hero name is inspired by the goddess of war and wisdom herself, Athena!

After the two stopped talking, they just looked at each other. Y/N’s eyes gleaming, attracting Miguel.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He whispered.

"Like what?" she innocently said to him.

Miguel stood up from his chair and got closer to the girl. He grabbed her jaw and leaned in, analyzing her face. She was a pretty girl, no doubt. He saw how some of the spider-people would stutter when speaking to her or how they would find anything to compliment her, whether it was her pretty eyes, funny jokes, or elegant fighting skills. They would do anything to make her smile.

That's what pissed O'hara off the most. He always told himself that he was just angry at other bullshit that was from a mission, but the little voice in the back of his head would be telling him he was angry because he was seeing other people trying to get to Y/N. That little voice was always the loudest. Miguel got tired of just staring at her. Their faces were so close to each other. Both O'hara and L/N closed the gap between them and started kissing like crazy.

It was sloppy.

The kiss was sloppy. They didn't have time for all of that slow lovey dovey bullshit. They needed to taste each other. Y/N stood up from her seat to fully experience the messy kiss. Lips moving aggressively. Tongues being shoved down each other's throats. Hands were wandering on each other's bodies.

Miguel pulled away from the kiss and made Y/N sit on a counter so he could stand in the middle of her legs. He started leaving small pecks on her lips all the way down to her collarbone. He loved hearing her whimper. It turned him on even more.

He started stripping her out of her clothes. He needed to see her in all of her glory. Y/N got a little embarrassed at the fact she was fully naked and he was still in his spider-suit, so she rested both of her hands on her private area to cover up a little bit. But Miguel didn't take that reaction very lightly.

He forcefully took her hands away from in between her thighs and slightly bared his fangs. "Don't try to cover now, slut." Miguel snarled.

"It's not fair that im all naked and you're not..." she said in response.

Miguel smirked and stepped back. He started to take off the top half of his suit. His buff figure was insane to Y/N. It's like he was molded by the gods. Miguel went back to kissing her collarbone, but this time his hands started wandering down to her most sensitive area. His fingers immediately started rubbing up and down on her wet pussy, making Y/N whimper.

Miguel looked at Y/N's face and gave her a smug smile. He needed to see more. He immediately shoved two fingers inside her wet hole and started fingering her, loving the sound of her arousal and moans.

"Te miras muy bonita, moaning for me." he whispered in her ear.

Miguel made Y/N fall into tiny pieces whenever she's with or around him. She couldn't help it. His broad strong shoulders and muscular back made her melt like ice cream and his muscles made her face warm like the morning sun.

Y/N's erotic moans made Miguel solid hard. The more she moaned, the faster his fingers kept going. She kept getting louder and louder. She couldn't take it, she needed him inside her, pounding into her like a crazy man and Miguel knew she needed him. He just loved to tease her.

"Miguel, please. I need you."

"What do you need exactly, princesa.

"I need you to fuck me~ Use me however you want~ I'm all yours..." She moaned out.

Miguel pulled his fingers out and stuck them in Y/N's mouth, making her taste her own arousal. He groaned at the sight of her sucking on his fingers, looking at him with those precious eyes that were begging him to fuck her.

He pulled away from her mouth and started taking off the bottom half of the spider suit, leaving him in his underwear. Letting his pretty girl in front of him drool at the sight of his bulge. He pulled out his hard cock and started stroking it a little bit in front of her, teasing her a bit.

"Get off the fucking table and turn around." He demanded, to which Y/N willingly complied to.

He forcefully grabbed the back of her neck and made her bend over, making her whimper at his strength. He lined the tip of his dick on her pussy and slightly pushed in. He knew what he was doing. Don't get him wrong, he wanted the same she wanted. He wanted nothing more to just pound into her until she forgot her own name, but he loved to see her all worked up.

Y/N started backing up a tiny bit so she could feel more of him inside her, but Miguel didn't like that. He slapped her ass cheek to make her stop, making Y/N moan at the impact. "You can't wait to get fuck, huh chiquita? You want me to fuck you? Yeah?" he teased.

Y/N whimpered and kept telling him yes. "Please fuck me, I need you inside m-" she was cut off by her own pornographic moan since Miguel shoved himself inside with no warning. He groaned at the feeling of her walls hugging his dick so tightly.

He started pounding into her, making her moan loudly. He suddenly remembered that people in the building thought he was absent from the building, and if they hear Y/N's sweet moans from inside his working headroom, they will know something is up and barge in. Miguel leaned forward and grabbed Y/N's throat and pulled her upper body towards his chest.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't need anyone barging in on me fucking you. Unless you want that to happen since you're moaning so fucking loud like a whore." he groaned in her ear. Y/N could only moan in response. The pleasure she was feeling in her body was too good.

"No? You don't want to listen?" Miguel started pounding into her even harder, making her scream in pleasure. The pleasure was starting to become too much for Y/N to the point where she started feeling tears build up in her eyes. Her vision started to become blurred so she closed her eyes and felt the tears fall from her eyes.

"You're such a good girl, baby. Taking me so well like a fucking slut." He praised. He started to leave little kisses on her cheek and had his unoccupied hand travel down to rub her puffy clit. He looked down to watch his cock disappear and reappear with every thrust he made and with every thrust he made, he realized Y/N was creaming more and more. To the point that it started reaching his fingers that were rubbing her clit.

The sight of Y/N creaming made O'hara's thrusts more aggressive. His groans started to become louder and louder. Everything was going smoothly and full of pleasure until Y/N's little watch started ringing, indicating someone was calling her. Miguel's thrusting didn't slow down though, he didn't care.

"Answer it." he demanded.

Y/N's eyes widened, "B-But-"

"But nothing, answer it or I'll stop fucking you."

Y/N's shaky hand pressed the button to answer the call and answered it like how anyone would answer a regular phone call. "Y/N, it's me." A voice called out.

Ben.

Ben fucking Reilly.

The Spiderman that would take his flirting with Y/N a little too far for Miguel. "H-hey Ben! Is there a r- oh fuck - reason why you're calling?" Y/N tried answering without sounding suspicious.

Ben let out a dramatic sigh, "Yes, there is actually." He dramatically said. Ben was a very dramatic Spiderman. Some spider-people would call him a wannabe anime character from how much he exaggerates things.

"Well what is-" "I just wanted to-" they both spoke at the same time. Ben let out another dramatic sigh, "Y/N, please. Don't interrupt."

Y/N brought her hand up to her mouth to try and hide the moans she wanted to let out so badly. "Y/N, I wanted to call you and ask you out on a very amazing date. I think you are the woman of my dreams and I need a strong woman like you by my side." Ben dramatcially said.

That was the final straw for Miguel.

Miguel gripped both of his hands on Y/N plump ass and started pounding into her even harder, making Y/N's tears come down even more. Y/N's grip on her mouth tightened even more, in fear of letting out a moan and ruining everything.

"Is that a yes or a no, princesa," Miguel whispered as he smirked. He forcefully took her hand off her mouth for her to answer. Y/N didn't want Ben to know Miguel was drilling into her. That would be so embarrassing.

"I-I'm sorry, Ben! I can't t-talk right now" she tried her best to say. Ben let out another dramatic sigh, "But why, Y/N?"

"Because she's busy," Miguel said out loud. He pressed the hang-up button and continued his vicious pounding. Y/N began to feel a strange but pleasurable feeling in her abdomen and so did Miguel.

"Fuck, Miguel~ I'm gonna cum~"

"Yeah? You wanna cum, baby?~" Miguel teased. Y/N moaned in response and didn't have time for his teasing. She let out her final erotic moan and came. She came all over his cock. Miguel came shortly after and filled Y/N up with his load.

Miguel groaned and let his upper body softly lay on Y/N's back, giving it little kisses. They stayed like that until their gasps started to slow down. Miguel pulled out and watched as his cum started coming out of her pussy. Running down her thigh and some even dropping to the floor. He smiled at his accomplishment.

"Okay, are you two done now!? I have some very important data I need to run and I've been waiting patiently!" a voice said, making Miguel and Y/N snap their necks to the right to see the iconic female hologram.

"Lyla, you scared the shit out of us, a-and why are you turned around?" Miguel asked confusingly.

"Because I don't want to see both of you naked! Hurry up and get dressed I need your monitor to run some data!"

˖◛. *. ⋆ Vanilla Speaks

Can you tell that i like lana del rey

also me fighting the urge to add Salvadoran slang because I'm salvadoran...

+ Ay, pero no te 'nojes - Oh but don't get mad

+ era como - It was like

+ Escuché que es muy bonito ahí - I heard it's very beautiful over there

+ Nunca has ido al - You've never been to

+ Te miras muy bonita -You look very beautiful

+ princesa - Princess

+ chiquita - little thing/ little one

[didishawn]

Sex therapy is what works the best (Pedri x Reader x Ferran)

Warnings: Ferran is not dating Sira, Pedri thinks a good fuck is what his friend needs to get back to his top level, smut, Pedri watches his best friend fuck his girlfriend, sorry not sorry Ferran is hot, mentions of the internet asking for Ferran's head because of his recent performance on the club, lots of Spanish

Masterlist

Ferran is disappointed in himself, another bad match and half of the Internet beating him down, asking for his departure from the team. His psychologist says its all in his head, that once he gets mentally better everything else will do too. He can't help but doubt it, he thinks he is bad, he won't get out of this one, and like the memes say, he will do better to start learning, Chinese or Japanese because he most likely will end up playing there.

He is a shell of himself seating in one of the corners of the changing room as his teammates celebrate the victory when he feels to taps on his shoulder, Pedri sits next to him, watching him with sorrow, the midfielder feels sorry for his friend.

"Venga, que no pasa nada, ya lo harás mejor en el próximo partido" he tries to cheer him up, but the other shakes his head. (come on, it's nothing, you will do better on the next match)

"Dudo que Xavi me vuelva a sacar tras el desastre de hoy" (I doubt Xavi will have me on the field again after today's disaster)

"Que va, ya verás que si, chacho. Todo está en tu cabeza, una vez te olvides de lo que dicen los gilipollas de Twitter, todo irá mejor" (no way, you will see, man. Everything is in your head, once you forget what those assholes in Twitter say, everything will be better)

Ferran has his face buried on his hands, hiding his dreadful expression from his friend "¿Y que pasa si no está todo dentro de mi cabeza? Capaz es que simplemente doy asco. Llevo ya meses en el psicólogo, hago un partido bueno, y luego todo vuelve a lo de siempre" (and what if it's not all inside my head? Maybe I simply suck. I have been at the psychologist for months, I do a good match, then everything goes back to the same as alway)

His friend is quiet for a second, before saying "Creo tengo una idea para sacarte de la mala racha" (I think I have an idea to get you out from the losing streak)

"Tú estás mal de la cabeza" Ferran tells him once they are on his friend's car after dropping off Gavi, the other shakes his head. (you are sick in the head)

"Que va, tú hazme caso. Lo que te falta a ti es una buena follada para liberar estrés" (no way, you pay attention to what I say. What you need is a good fuck to release stress)

"¿Una buena follada con tu novia?" he asks, unbelieving, Ferran is sure Pedri is on weed or something. (a good fuck with your girlfriend?)

"¿Por qué no?" (why not?)

"¿Y que pasa si ella no quiere?" (and what if she doesn't want to?)

"Lo hará. Si escucharas las cosas que dice sobre ti no tendrías dudas. Que si estás cachondisimo que si no se que" (she will. If you heard the stuff she says about you, you would have no doubts. That you are so hot, and more that I can't remember)

The two boys arrive to the house you share with Pedri and Fer, though the midfielder knows his brother to be out with some chick. They hear your low humming and feel the delicious smell of whatever you are cooking. You are distracted when they see you, dressed in Barça's shirt after having to miss the match to study, it's big on you and hides the shorts that Ferran guesses you are wearing. You dance around the kitchen to the sound of Quevedo and Pedri has a giant smile on his face as he watches while Ferran struggles to keep his eyes from your ass. You were indeed only wearing panties under the blue and red shirt.

"¿Te la pasas bien?" (having fun?)

You spin around on record time and are on your boyfriend's arm as soon as you recognise his voice, lips meeting his as you congratulate him on their win, you get off him and also embrace Ferran in a not-so-tight hug and give him your congratulations too.

"¿Tienes hambre, Ferran? Hice suficiente comida para todos" (are you hungry, Ferran? I made enough food for everyone)

"Tiene hambre, pero no de tu comida" (he is hungry, but not for your food)

Ferran hits his friend to shut him up as he laughs, you give them a confused look but choose to ignore your boyfriend's idiotic comments.

It is not until you three are sat eating dinner, when Pedri's plan reaches your ears and you understand everything.

That is how you end up like this, on all fours as Ferran pounds into you from the back, Pedri is sat on a corner watching everything while pumping his dick.

It's impossible for you to contain your moans, your boyfriend's best friends dick reaching incredibly deep inside you, almost kissing your cervix as he brings you in closer by the strong grip on your waist.

"¿Qué tal te vas sintiendo, Ferran? Ella parece que bien" your boyfriend comments, watchful gaze on your forms, how your head is buried by Ferran's hand into the pillow, but not even that can quiet the angelic noises coming from you. (how are you doing, Ferran? She seems to be having fun)

"No entiendo como la dejas sola ni un momento, con lo puto apretada que está, parece que estoy en el cielo" (I don't understand how you even leave her alone for a second, with how fucking tight she is, it feels like I am in heaven)

"Una buena folladita por la mañana y por la tarde y vas tirando. Después de los partidos fuera, hay que recuperar" (a good fuck on the morning and afternoon. After away matches you make up for it)

Pedri's grip on his own dick tightens too, but his hand doesn't compare to the real thing as he watches Ferran abandone your insides, spin you around, your eyes on each other and mouths meeting, your leg on the boy's shoulder, making you let out a scream when he again slams into you. From Pedri's position, he can see your eyes filling up with pleasure tears, your nails bury into his friend's back, surely leaving marks that won't go away on the next few days. Ferran's lips meet you neck, sucking on it, he too wants to leave a mark, Pedri doesn't mind, one hickey doesn't even compare to what he always leaves on you.

You watch Ferran through your teary eyes, you are in a haze, can't really manage to think straight at all. You look down, watching as his cock slams repeatedly into you, how his abs clench, as do his thick thighs that you have always drooled about -all with Pedri's permission. He reaches down again to make out with you, his chain moving as violently as his hips do, the cool metal buries into your chest as he lets go of your leg, his big hands on your ass picking you up and seating you on those thighs you love so much, still pounding into you as hard in that position while also helping you ride him, moving you as if you were a ragdoll as your moans get louder and hold into his strong shoulders.

You eyes meet Pedri's, he winks at you and you clench when you see his cum all over his strong stomach and thighs, still pumping his dick in a slower matter, Ferran groans at your tighter self, the sound getting you closer to the edge until you finally let yourself go, making everything wetter than it already is.

You can feel Ferran's balls clenching under you as he trembles, he too is close, you reach down and massage them, that makes it for him. He gives you the last few thrusts, stronger than any before and cums deep inside you, you are glad you are in birth control. He trembles as you hop off his dick, your hands massaging his chest up and down to help him come down from the extasis of his orgasm, he was ashamed to confess it had been a while since the last time he had one from another person and not his hand.

"Ayúdala a limpiarse, ¿no?" Ferran nods with gone eyes, his thighs still tremble, yet not as hard as yours, he struggles to stand up, Pedri stops him "Con la lengua Ferran, así es mejor" (help her clean herself, no? With your tongue Ferran, it's better that way)

The boy nods, strong hands gripping into your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue licks from you hole to your clit, lips wrapping and sucking on it as you can't help but move around. One arm wraps around your waist, the other leads his fingers into your hole, pushing in whatever cum has come out, pumping once or twice, you are so sensitive that you cum again in no time. Ferran separates as you push his head away from your clit, he places a kiss on your cheek and falls down next to you.

Pedri stands up, and walks towards you two "Descansen qué ahora me toca a mi follar y tú por la boca" (rest that's it's now my turn to fuck and yours in her mouth)

That night is a long one, your bed is a bit small for the three of you, but you make it work. The next morning there are promises to repeat the experience, no bad performance from Ferran needed as an excuse, but now know that if the bad performance continues, Ferran will for surely attend this therapy asides from the one with his psychologist.

Needless to say, maybe Pedri was right about the whole thing, as the next match Ferran starts in, he leaves the field with a goal and an assistance on his back, the whole Internet praising him as the hypocrites they all are.

That night, the three of you celebrate, the therapy will for sure continue.

[motherofdragonflies]

The Elevator Game: A Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Written by: @motherofdragonflies / bexgowen

Art by: @xfancyfranart

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 95,000

Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Choose Your Own Adventure Style, Psychological Horror, Canon Divergent, Post 15x03, Case Fic

Summary: 

The game is simple.

Get in an elevator, alone, and follow the rules. If you follow them correctly, the elevator will rise and when the doors open, they will open onto a world that is not your own.

When his brother goes missing after investigating the death of a teenage girl in a hotel in St. Louis, Dean Winchester is dismayed to discover it involved an internet legend called “the Elevator Game”.

He’s even more dismayed when Castiel—who walked away weeks ago and hasn’t been returning Dean’s calls—shows up, also looking for Sam.

Dean doesn’t want to work with Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t seem thrilled about working with him, either. Can they put their differences aside when  they discover that Sam disappeared after playing the Elevator Game? Will Dean and Castiel play the elevator game and travel to the Other World themselves? Will they find Sam before it's too late? 

The choice, dear reader, is yours. You are in control of the story.

But choose wisely, for once you play the Elevator Game, things may never be the same again.

Excerpt:

“Where did Ali hear about the game?” Sam’s voice asked. 

“She, uh, she loved scary stuff. Horror movies, urban legends, that kinda thing. I think she found it on reddit, in one of those scary story subreddits? I don’t know, I don’t…I don’t like that kind of thing. But, um, she was always talking about wanting to try it but you need a tall building and we’d never been anywhere anyway tall enough until…”

“Until that night. Did you tell the police?”

Lilah scoffed. “I told them. They didn’t believe me.”

“Lilah…what do you think happened?”

“I... I think…I think it worked.”

The audio file ended, and Dean sorted through the rest of the papers from the envelope Lilah had given him. The first page was a print out from a true crime subreddit: Dean recognised it as one that Sam checked constantly. His brother had highlighted a post on the page, one consisting of a single line that was posted four days after Alison and the others had disappeared:

Ali Bleaker played the elevator game.

Frowning, Dean turned to the next page and found that it was an article from a website called “The Ghost In My Machine”, titled “The Most Dangerous Games: The Elevator Game Revisited.”

Dean snorted at the title but read on:

"Some people know it as ‘Elevator To Another World’. For others, it’s the ‘Elevator to Hell’... But no matter the name, this peculiar…game, I suppose—although there’s nothing playful about it—it always said to have the same outcome, as long as you follow its rules to a T: By riding an elevator alone, visiting a handful of floors in a particular order as you go, you can transport yourself to another world entirely."

Dean stared at the words on the page.

Another world.

“Jesus, Sam, tell me you didn’t.”

Once upon a time, Dean might have dismissed the claim of ‘another world’ as something out of a science fiction story. But having visited several other worlds, Dean knew that alternate realities, multiverses—whatever you wanted to call them— were real. He doubted that something as simple as riding an elevator could take you to another world, but the idea wasn’t as far-fetched as he once would have believed it to be.

Snatching up his computer, Dean quickly pulled up the phone tracking site that he’d bookmarked and searched for the location of Sam’s phone. 

He was not at all surprised when the map showed Sam’s phone was at The Millennium Hotel, where Alison Bleaker had died.

Going up at @deancashorrorfest this October!

[pulpbeing]

whenever i go to church, if im not asleep i always thinkin bout fuckin my fav on the altar (this case, dottie,,)

excuse me if this seems too. you know.. sacrilege ,, (i dont know if you actually like god or forced to like big daddy up in the sky) feel free to ignore my ramblings im a crazed man

yk,, thinkin bout maybe you're a priest. n you end up with a sinner of a lover.. he gotta repent, right? just bending him over the altar, making him wet the bible with his drool and tears.. poundin into him so hard and relentlessly but your words are sooo sweet and just praises, makes him so dizzy cuz you're tuggin on his hair harshly as ya make him read the bible,, tellin him good for tryin to read even tho his babblin and his eyes are blurry from cryin,, makin him bite onto a rosary as u cum inside of him, but never stoppin until you think he's repented for his sins despite him being so fucked out and cumming so many times he can't think anymore,,, only how good your cock feels inside of him 😰😰

of course can't forget about the confession booth. favorite place to think about doing it. making him touch himself on the other side as you tell him what to do, and allll the nasty stuff u want to do to him and he's whining for you because he can't possibly finish without you :( then stuffing his mouth full of your cock, telling him to be quiet as you let others in for confessions... n he's tryiing so hard to stay quiet but ohh he just loves how you grip on his hair so harshly and bury his face down to your crotch till he could barely breathe.. choking till theres tears in his eyes and he's gripping on your thighs until your skin bruises... n when they leave, you fuck his throat and express disappointment that he's not keeping shut, but you forgive him and that you believe that he can do better! and ofc he would,, so he tries and tries again at every person that enters the booth.. not getting a taste of your release bc he keeps failing,, n he wants to sob cuz fuck he wants your cum down his throat so bad.. but its worth it, you're always very generous when u reward him when he finally does it right 💞💞

basically sweet priest that has effectively broke his mind,, makin a man like dottore worship you like a god n would get on his knees for you without any questions... thinkin mindbreaking him with really sweet praises that he now can't live without em,,,

i was raised christian, specifically pentecostal and missionary, so i don’t have much experience at all with catholic practices beyond media i’ve consumed o7 and dw. i don’t believe in the man upstairs. sacrilege is my middle name with how much gay sex shit i be thinking in a church. if he hasn’t struck me down yet, doubt he exists as i’ve been told lolol. not like i’d want my church’s version of a hypocritical god.

n e ways

if he can’t even accept your god-fearing, pure love, you doubt he can accept god into his heart for sure. he’s too greedy, always begging for more of you, of your semen, more of you folding him in half and bending him over so roughly you leave bruises on him for days. watch how he shivers in sinful delight when you tut in disappointment into his ear, calling him a “worthless whore destined to an eternity of damnation” and a “greedy, filthy sinner.” the wood of the altar is only saved by the nun’s habit you have him wear, the modest dress flipped up and held from behind to expose his greedy hole, ring of frothy white around it that exposed just how sinful he’s willing to be if he’ll defile such a place with his filthy, dirty words and sins. but… it’s better if he only sins with you, and since your god is merciful, you just have to forgive him, make him repent and beg forgiveness from the lord as you pump him full yet again, force his head back by grabbing his dyed hair and make him look at the ceiling, to the heavens above as he screams your name. looks like you have to have him repent again.

like any pastor, one must guide their sheep through all, especially when they misbehave— especially ones like dottore, who at the moment, doesn’t even deserve to have you properly continue with his guidance with how sloppy and loud he is, sinful mouth drooling and slobbering with every bob of his head, so, in his punishment, you keep him from his reward. of course, you still have a job to do, still have others to guide, so while he pouts with his lips still attached to your sex, you attend to follower after follower, your merciful god granting them all forgiveness as you do with your pitiful dottore. like all lambs, he’ll eventually learn to listen completely lest they be led astray and be devoured by the wolves— so he takes your gift, his throat bulging with how you fill him like the holy spirit does to a true believer. he takes it all as he should, eyes fluttering to a close as he basks in your forgiveness and mercy.

ah, it seems as though he sees you as his god now.

[kasdeyalilith]

A Love Too Late

Note: So the most voted character in the poll is Diluc! Almost beating Xiao by 1 % so I decided to add him too and another surprise character in another fic but knowing my works you already have some clues hahahaha. Anyways here's the requested piece also thank you all for voting and stuff it's super fun.

Warning/s: Angst

Character/s: Diluc x Reader; Xiao x Reader

Synopsis: Grasping at the end of the thread in the hope of rekindling the lost love with you, but they're too late because you've already decided to marry someone else.

DILUC

A knock echoes across the room before Barbara peeks in and told you that the wedding will begin. She excused herself, fidgeting in embarrassment, when she realized that you were preoccupied fixing your dress and checking your reflection in the mirror. A pathetic excuse, really, anything to delay making the most important decision of your life.

Marrying Kaeya was-is the best decision for you to make, after everything went downhill with Diluc he was always there to comfort and help you whenever you need it.

Yet there's always that nagging feeling that something is still missing, because even though you're happy with Kaeya now, the love you felt with Diluc is different. A love in its purest form that was ripped from you before you could even save it.

Loving Diluc will always be the best part of your life, but it's time to move on; even if you love Diluc, you know your relationship will never be the same again after what happened.

Sighing, you left your room tightly holding the bouquet of Kaeya's favorite flowers closely after making your decision.

You crossed the halls, counting the pillars before the looming door of the Cathedral came into view.

Caught up in trance you didn't even notice the shade of red before being led away. Your body, as if possessed, yields to his touch without even knowing who your captor is.

You have memorized and engraved that very scent and the curves of his hands, the dips of his shoulders.

He stopped walking but never let go of your hand, holding it closer as if you were about to vanish before his eyes.

“Don’t do it” he pleads

Head pounding from what’s happening, you drew your hand away in disbelief. Your eyes glaring at him as if anything could be so simple after what had happened.

“You don’t love him like I-”

“Don’t even start saying that bullshit again Diluc, we’re done and I know I’ll be happy with Kaeya”

His eyes shifted as the name of his brother leave your lips.

“By marrying him?”

He moves closer to you after he realizes you won't respond. His usual hard exterior is now bare and pleading as he stares into your eyes.

“I know all those things I did is unforgivable. I won’t even forgive myself but I am still in love with you (Y/n). I know I treated you poorly when you’ve been nothing but supportive and loving especially when my Dad- I shouldn’t have done all those things to you”

“But you did it anyway Diluc, I’m getting married now and the only thing you could do is to let me go”

“I can’t”

You faced him, your heart was burning and breaking so much that even crying won’t even be enough to show your pain, he's here expressing his everlasting love for you while in the past you've waited and waited for him to tell you that he loves you even if he's warming the bed of some woman he met at his tavern.

“You’re selfish you know that? Barging into my life again as if you can undo all that hurt you caused. Well shits been done Diluc, I’ve moved on and because I’m stupid and a pathetic excuse of a human I know that even if I marry Kaeya I’ll still care for you and that I can’t live without you but don’t make me prove that I can”

He moves to take your hand again but stops when you both heard someone running to your direction.

“(Y/n)? We’re all looking for you, if you’re having doubts and or anxious, I understand we can- what are you doing here?”

Kaeya's relief at seeing you was quickly replaced with a sneer directed at his brother.

“You’re not a part of this brother, best to leave us-” Diluc tries to hide you with his body but you stepped out of his reach before he can hold you again.

“No Diluc, we’re done here. Least you can do is respect my decision”

Turning your back to him, you keep your shoulders square as you brave your way through the halls.

You waited until the walls obscure your view of him before collapsing on Kaeya's embrace, silently crying on his shoulder as you ignore Diluc's shouts of your name.

XIAO

He could feel the wind shifting, he can trace the nostalgia gleefully dancing with the gale.

The yaksha leans into the breeze as he surrendered to it, his clothes flapping against the wind. It was almost like the sound of their laughter, clear and calming even against the howl of the wind.

“Haven’t seen you relaxed like this since forever” you teleported beside him

Xiao stumbles as he regains his composure, you’re always like this, even the vigilant yaksha can be caught lacking when it comes to you. Only you.

“What do you need (Y/n)?”

He tries to be stern, crossing his arms for good measure but blushes when you walk closer to brush a single leaf from his hair.

“I’m here to deliver this”

The adeptus was just opening the envelope you gave him when you started speaking, drumming your fingers against the wooden railing to hide the nervousness in your voice.

“It’ll mean a lot to me if you come Alatus”

A wedding invitation, adorned with red and crimson borders contrasting his teal blue hues. The sides of the paper crumples under his hand before he give it back to you.

“Don’t expect me to make an appearance, the adepti are very busy to even entertain such occasions”

“But Cloud Retainer and the others are coming! Even Morax and Barbatos and Ganyu even Madame Ping!” your voice reaching a note higher to make a point.

“Why even invite me? Besides you’re tying yourself to that mortal. A foolish act honestly, you’re an adeptus and you’re going to waste your life with someone whose life is but a fickle?”

“That mortal saved and loved me when I’m in my lowest-”

“And I do not?!”

Surprised by his outburst, you tried calming him down as you smile hesitantly.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say Xiao and you know it”

“Then leave me be, go and waste your life away with him. I don’t care”

“Let go of my hand then”

Xiao only glares at you, his grip on your hand never faltering.

“You’re always like this, you always push me away then act as if you love me back. I tried Xiao, I really did but I grew tired of all this. It was like always crossing a tightrope with you. When you ended the relationship, I respected that and still tried to be there for you because before all this you were my friend but I’m so tired Xiao. I don’t think I can even be in your life anymore”

“No. (Y/n), I- let’s try again. This time I promise to not hurt you so please don’t- I don’t think I can live in a world without you in it”

He speaks softly, his breath catching as he waits for your answer.

“If you asked me years ago Xiao, I would have said yes but I can’t betray Kazuha like that”

Xiao's heart breaks for you again as he gazes at you. He can't see the love you had for him in your eyes as you usually do, he can’t accept the fact that he’s too late and already lost you to someone else.

You sighed, used to him disappearing on you in the past, as he vanished in a whisp of curling black smoke before you could move. Unbeknownst to you, a teal feathered bird was circling the mountains of Liyue, his song crying of regret and heartbreak.