#fat mattress II

[pepperoniparadise]

1970

[ellemarianne555]

Munch (part II)

Summary: After the events of part one, you pull Aegon into your tent to finish what he started. Very self-indulgent as usual.

Author’s Note: you guys seemed to like obsessed Aegon so much I thought I’d continue the story. This is for all my people who don’t magically come from just having a dick inside you like in porn. And if anyone’s ever made you feel like shit about it, they’re the weirdo not you. Enjoy sweet and fluffy Aeg down below xx

Content warning: mdni, p in v sex, mild breeding kink, unprotected sex, fingering, squirting if you squint, wrap it before you tap it this is fiction.

Word Count: 1500

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Dragging Aegon into your tent, you giggled into his mouth as he tripped over a tree root and you two ended up falling onto the soft mattress. Wooden poles surrounded the tent and a hot fire roared inside, adding a sultry yet cosy feel to the soft interior.

You smiled up at him as he lay on top of you, his body slotted into yours so perfectly that you cursed both of you for waiting so long to act on these feelings. He moaned softly and kissed your neck, biting and nipping and sucking the soft flesh in a way you knew would leave marks that would be hard to explain away the next day. You didn’t care, you wanted everyone to know that he had claimed you and you owned him.

He panted desperately as you slowly moved to undo his shirt, wrapping your legs around him and flipping him over so it was him looking up at you. He grinned broadly as though he was turned on at how bold you were being.

“Hello.” He smiled up at you sweetly and you softly traced his red, puffy lips with your fingers, treating him as the precious thing he was. You leaned up to kiss him again, fiercely, as though you couldn’t get enough of the taste of him.

“Hi.” You grinned back as you again started to undress him. He groaned softly as you kissed up and down his collarbones, alternating between licking and sucking before reaching the small trail of white blond hair that snaked below his trousers. You looked up eyes wide to where Aegon lay sprawled on the pillows, his eyes wet and sparkling as if he’d been drinking from something other than your pussy.

“This okay?” He groaned, gathering your hair back from your face as though in answer as he smiled.

“I’d let you do whatever to me, I think you know that.” You smiled and leant back down only for him to tug firmly on your hair. “But I honestly think I’m going to lose it if I don’t get inside of you right now.” You laughed, him being so desperate was turning you on. You liked the idea that no one else did it for him; no one else made the prince, so famous for getting his dick and lips wet, this hard and aching.

You slowly straddled his waist, as you slipped your dress off your head. Aegon’s eyes were big and wide as he grabbed at your breasts, moaning as he tried to get a palm full in each hand. You giggled again, and swatted his hands away playfully as you reached to undo his trousers and his length slapped free. He was thick, wide enough that your jaw would ache but not big enough that taking him would be a struggle. You were considering the best position when he moaned desperately and thrust up his hips to meet yours.

You spat in your palm and he made an audible gulping noise as you leant down to take his fat cock in hand. He made eye contact with you, moaning deeply but never breaking his stare as you delighted in being able to watch him break apart. You slid your hand up and down his cock, using your thumb to gather slick from his slit before you moved your wrist again. He was moaning desperately now. His hands that had been limp at his side now locked around your waist as you carried on slowly teasing him

“I love you but I really don’t think I’m going to last.” He wheezed and you froze, unsure if he meant what he said or it was just pleasure melting his brain. He smiled bashfully, “I mean it you know. Now I really do want to fuck you.” You gasped as he took control of his own dick, and positioned it beneath your folds. You were still dripping from where he had sucked and mouthed at you not too long ago, so the slide was deep but only seemed to ache for a moment before you wanted more.

You moved your hips up and down, resting your hands on his shoulders, as he wrapped his arms around you and started mouthing into your neck.

“I love you. I’m never going to let you go. Want you to drip with my cum so everyone knows you’re mine and I’m yours. Want to make you limp s-so bad.” Aegon grunted as his thrusts became all the more desperate, he was chasing his high as he slowly moved his hand down to where you were throbbing and started rubbing at your clit.

“Fuck Aegon!” You whispered as his soft fingers came into contact with you. “You’re too big, it’s too much!” You babbled as his pace increased, thrusting upwards, his dick pressing against your inner walls, until you were no longer able to keep your eyes open. You wrapped your legs around him and sunk your nails into his back as he grunted, deep and satisfied, as you felt his warm release fill you up.

You both fell back onto the mattress, panting as he turned over and cupped your face as if to hold you still as he pulled out. It felt like you were no longer whole, and you moaned in protest as he slowly slipped his length out.

“Did you come?” He questioned as you shyly avoided eye contact and nodded. He pulled you up to look at him directly; “I don’t want you to lie to me. I want to make this experience and every other one as good as I feel right now. So answer me; did you come?” You shook your head softly as he traced his thumb around your jaw.

“I don’t really find release from just my fingers or you inside of me.” You said, avoiding his eyes. You felt like it was your fault you hadn’t both come at the same time. Like you weren’t trying hard enough.

“Hey. Listen.” He soothed as he again positioned your face so you couldn’t look away. “That’s perfectly normal and you shouldn’t feel ashamed. Tell me how I can get you there.”

“…Well, ” You said sheepishly, “I was almost there, I just really need your fingers.”

“Where do you want my fingers, sweet thing?” He teased, and you couldn’t help but redden. He was such a flirt.

“On my clit-” and before you could even get the words out he was plunging two fingers back inside you. Where his spend hadn’t yet dried, he took his cum and rubbed it on your clit in soft circles as you sighed in content.

His pace became quicker as he whispered filthily into your ear about how he couldn’t wait to marry you, how he wanted all his children to look as pretty as you did, how he knew that you could help make him a better man. His voice drowned out the slick, wet noises your cunt was making as if it couldn’t help but respond to him. You let out a high, whining noise as you could feel your orgasm getting closer and closer. You squeezed down on his fingers as Aegon continued fingering you gently but firmly.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He whispered into your ear as he kissed you tenderly on the brow.

Your release shot out of you and mixed with his on the mattress beneath. Aegon looked up at you in awe from between your legs, sweaty blond hair plastered to his forehead as he looked utterly wrecked; “Tell me how I do that again.”

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[lovelykhaleesiii]

❛ i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making. ❜

Argon and his girlfriend need to FaceTime due to maybe business stuff, and she gets horny and ruts on a pillow by the sight of his shirtless form…

Aegon ii SMUT Prompt #9

pairing: modern!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

warnings: Daddy kink, mentions of masturbation (female + male), swearing, mentions of p in v, NSFW dialogue.

You hated that Aegon was not with you at this very moment. Gone away for some family business venture, it was only temporary yet undoubtedly challenging, for this was the first instance you guys had at being physically apart. And right now, you needed him in every possible way.

“Aeg, you have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now. Fuck, I miss you, Daddy.”

You sent the text message above, eager to see Aegon’s response. You weren’t normally this upfront or direct, but having been two weeks of little to no pleasure with your own means, you missed your boyfriends fat cock. You felt yourself more temperamental than usual, work was frustrating as it is, and without Aegon’s soothing presence, you felt your mood swings shift without warning.

It was only a minute that had gone by when Aegon had responded.

“I miss you more my Princess. You and that needy, little cunt of yours. You free to video call?”

Without a second to spare, you FaceTimed Aegon immediately, a beaming smile on your face as you laid sprawled over your bed cozily.

“Hey baby.”

Aegon’s husky, low voice echoed from the phone as you returned the welcome.

“Oh Aeg- How much more longer, I’m missing you too much now-”

Your eyes felt teary and Aegon was quick to notice, as his gaze softened on the screen. It seemed he was in bed also, shirtless with a tiresome look on his face. Fuck it drove you wild just seeing him only partially naked, that touch starved feeling you could sate yourself just by the sheer sight of his bare chest.

“Long day, Daddy?”

“Aw baby. Yeah we had meetings all day, boring people just talking on and on. All I could think of was that pretty face and cunt of yours begging, all the things I’m going to do when I’m back.”

“Tell me more, Aeg-”

Shuffling in your position, Aegon notices your hand sneaking it’s way down below the screen where it cuts off, but he knows your mischief. By the look of your face, as your eyes shut momentarily before focusing back on him, squirming.

“More, Aeg. How bad do you want me to beg?”

“Beg like you’ve never done before, I’m going to have you on your fucking knees, crying for my cock, how much you’ve missed it, how much you need it, how nothing could do you the same justice as me.”

“That’s right, Aeg. Nothing-”

The muffling of movements from Aegon’s end, stirred your eyes awake, as your fingers halted below from between your folds.

“Fuck-” Now he was seated upright, one hand holding the phone you’d presumed and the other cutting below the screen, laying down on his abdomen.

“Look at what you do to me, what you make me do. Such a needy, little Princess, I’ve spoiled you too much.”

Helpless moans and pleas of his name escape your mouth just above a whisper. You could feel your back slowly arching against the mattress, as Aegon glared at your tits, bare and free from the restraints of a bra.

“What a mess you are baby, even when I’m not there. Such a pathetic, little mess. Let me see how many.”

Tilting your phone down, as you pulled the shorts down more, Aegon had a visible glimpse of your promiscuous gesture. A cheeky smirk beamed across his face, as his other hand hastened motions from below, his phone swaying in sync to his body.

“Only two? C’mon baby, add another digit for me-”

Doing so, you shoved on more finger in slowly, your hand already coated with your mess, glistening in the dim light reflecting off the phone.

“Good, good girl. Now I’ll show you mine-”

Immediately your eyes widened in alert, as you panned your attention to Aegon’s rigid, upright dick on the screen. His hand hastily and somewhat aggressively jerking his cock, his pre-cum oozing from the blush tip. The size itself was large, his hand just barely gripping its circumference in it’s entirety, and the veins potent, you felt a pang between your thighs, your walls clenching viscerally as if his cock was inside of you at this very second.

“Look at what you do to me, fuck. I have to jerk myself off every chance I get to think of you.”

Your moans became even more excruciatingly loud, and the thrust, sloshing sounds echoing from your phone alongside Aegon’s moans, was like a orchestrated symphony.

“T-Tell me how much you want Daddy’s big, fat cock, baby.”

You could barely make out what Aegon had said, let alone the incoherent thoughts in your mind, as you envisioned him here with you, you remained quiet besides the moaning and groaning.

“Y/N! How much?”

“S-So much,” You quietly whimpered, biting your lip, as you bucked your hips forward, pressing your breasts together, just the perfect sight of your cleavage for Aegon.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.”

“I need Daddy’s cock, so f-fucking much. P-Please, come back to me.”

****

Your wish his command, Aegon couldn’t bare a single more day in your absence. That same night following your little one on one session, he’d booked a return flight, with the excuse that you were “ill.” His family unimpressed by his prompt leave, he could care less about. He had to be with you, if it was one way or another, he was going to fuck you senseless himself, face to face.

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Cloudy With a Chance of Murder.

Part I: leaving the crime scene.

Part II: the phone call.

Part III: a visit to the morgue.

Part IV: the lunch break.

Part V: lunch part II.

Part VI: the perfect cover.

Part VII: the storage closet.

Part VIII: case closed.

Part IX: finding their way.

Must you always be so... so stubborn, Katie?

Apparently, the answer to the question her parent's had frustratedly asked her on many occasions was a big, fat yes.

It's not that she hadn't tried to be a little softer, a little less headstrong. She had decided - the moment she arrived home, alone... again - that she could forgive and forget this whole mess. Because, like Lanie had said (and like she already knew) Castle had only done what he thought was the right thing.

He had explained how they had ended up in his Loft rather than the fancy restaurant he had made reservations at. He had explained the alarming phone call, the shattering glass. And he had explained that no matter what he said or did, Kristina had been on a  mission to get exactly what she wanted.

If anything, he was the victim in all of this. Maybe, just maybe, it was her who owed him an apology. 

Then, as if timed by fate itself, there was a knock at her door. 

He came bearing a heartfelt apology, the intent to start and finish a true conversation about them (one they probably should have had before returning to work, but better late than never) and a promise. A promise that he understands, that is scared too, but that he truly believes they can find their way. 

And just like that, she was ready to forgive. 

She leant in, smile still bright on her face, and Castle dipped his head to brush his  lips against hers. However, it seemed forgiving was going to be much easier than forgetting. The images she had spent the better half of the night fighting off flooded back to the forefront of her mind and she pulled back from the impending we're good now kiss. 

"I'm sorry, I can't," she said as she shook her head slightly, hoping to erase the images like an etch-a-sketch. "It's too soon. I just keep seeing her boobs in your face." 

She walked away, just a few steps to gain a little bit of distance, a little bit of perspective. She just wanted her mind to stop taunting her like this. She wanted the memories to be gone, for good. 

And then came the softly spoken, heartbroken words that managed to do exactly that.

"Do y- do you want me to leave?" 

She turned to face him, took in the pained look of regret that was etched so deep in the tired lines of his face and shook her head.

"No," she said definitively, closing the space between them. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."

And confused, and angry, and a little hurt; but mostly just tired.

She reached up and delicately traced her thumb over his cheek.

"Stay with me?" she whispered the request. "Please." 

He nodded, followed as she led him toward her bedroom. He removed his clothing, down to his boxers, as she pulled back the covers and climbed onto the bed. Kneeling, she moved over to his side and placed her hands on his hips. He joined her on the mattress, kneeling before her, and brushed the hair of her ponytail over her shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Kate," he whispered and she nodded. 

"Me too." 

She leaned in, kissed him slowly. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting - the taste of betrayal, perhaps - but his lips, his tongue; it just tasted like him. Sweet, loyal, hopelessly in love Castle. And her reservations melted away.

Castle pressed his forehead to hers but cupped her face to keep her close; he didn't want to lose this connection, but he also didn't want her to feel rushed. 

"We don't have to," he assured her.

But she shook her head. "I want to." 

Still, he hesitated. She knew that was her fault: she had let her emotions lead her actions too much over these past few days. These past few weeks, actually. And now he was being overly cautious, taking on the role that she would usually fill. Because that was how they worked: serious and unserious, head in the clouds and feet firmly on the ground, a hopeless romantic and a logical thinker. They levelled each other other, brought one another to this ideal middle ground that just seemed to work so perfectly for them. 

But this? This role reversal they had slipped into, it wasn't them It wasn't right. 

"I'm okay, Castle." She assured him with a kiss. "We're okay." 

And she was determined for her words to become truth. 

She kissed him again, with more urgency than before, and he gave into his desires. 

His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her closer, relished in the feel of her body pressed flush against his. 

"I want you," he panted as he moved his attention to peppering kisses along her jawline and down her neck. His hands wandered down her body to her thighs, then glided back up the bared skin and underneath her sleep shirt. "Only you." 

"Show me," she whispered. They broke apart, looked into one another's eyes for just a few short seconds before she smiled and repeated her request. "Show me how much you want me." 

He did exactly that. He poured all the love he had for her into a long, slow, reverent kiss as he lay her back on her bed. He touched her with gentle hands, like she were a priceless artifact to be handled with the utmost care. Kissed her in a way that soothed the hurt and confusion they had both felt in this tumultuous transition into life outside of their little love bubble. Their love-making was a promise that tomorrow was a new day - undoubtedly with new challenges to face - but no matter what may have come their way, they could figure this out together... they could find their way. 

And, in a way that only they could, they righted all their wrongs.

[aegoniiwifey]

Ma’am!! I’ve come to humbly request something from you! 😔 Id love to see chubby aegon with prompt 25, focusing on a body part other than bellies (asker’s choice). I will go feral over man tiddies and those fingers of his thank you in advance.

Changes

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 533

WARNINGS: chubby!aegon, belly kink, mentions of moobs, nipple play, minor references to lactation (kink), nipple sucking, arm kink (?), soft feederism, fat kink, humiliation kink.

A/N - bestie the idea of Aegon with moobs is enough to make me bite wood... you just get me ♥️ I hope you don't mind, I combined the requests together since it was for the same prompt! these requests are based off this prompt list, #25 [focusing on a body part other than bellies (asker’s choice)].

and yes, that is Jim Hopper as a body reference… don’t judge me!

Aegon's weight gain was a change you did not mind at all. In fact, you actually embraced his growth wholeheartedly, even if it was quite substantial.

The most blatant and noticeable physical change was his swollen, plush stomach that tripled in mass and width, fleshy rolls enveloping his sides, ample fat pooling at his hips.

Although, what intrigued you the most about his fattening body, was his tits... Technically, his moobs.

The more he devoured and ate whatever his hungry eyes laid on that was edible, his chest grew exponentially now having handful sized breasts.

The way his nipples and skin around his pecs were sensitive under your gentle, teasing touch, red, raw stretch marks surrounding the skin.

You would often relish in some devious, playful teasing, remarking on how luscious and massive his tits had grown.

"Aeg, baby, your tits are bigger than mine now. Mayhaps we have children, you'll be the one dripping with milk!"

You loved to flick at his sensitive, blush pink nipples. The way he would mindlessly moan when you would caress and fondle at them, massaging his tits with oil and lotion [him having to beg you, as he finds it helps to moisturise his stretching skin].

He would just be squirming, whimpering for more, for him to fuck you for some release, getting stiff from the nipple play.

Sometimes you even greedily enjoy playing with his moobs whilst he is eating or as you hand feed him yourself: as he gets fuller, teasing at how you can sense his tits already growing beneath your hold, the more you stuff him or so he does himself, abundantly.

More so, when you suck on his tits, demanding him to position himself on all fours, stomach just grazing over the surface of the mattress/floor, with you sprawled beneath, lips latched.

Eventually, with the exertion of his heavy weight along with the effects of gravity, his back arching in pain, he much prefers having you seated on his wide, thick lap grinding on him, you nestled in his strong arms, as you suckled on.

Not to mention his ARMS!!!

Aegon originally leaned towards the pudgier side in terms of his physicality.

Although the new lengths he reached now, made the older Aegon look scrawny, as though someone had pumped and inflated him steadily.

His arms bulky and plush now, the meaty flesh filled with copious bulging adipose was enjoyable enough to grip and squeeze.

Often your red, imprinted fingerprints left evident marks against his pale skin, from your tight grip: although Aegon did not mind, he could hardly feel you squeeze with all your bite.

You found them sturdy to hold, especially his broader, softer shoulders.

Even more so, Aegon's hands themselves, his fat had evenly spread across his entire body, even stored in his fingers, becoming pudgier, his grip although rough, was soft with the excess meat on his bones.

His hands, wrists and forearms/elbows scored with creases along certain joints of his body from the ample chub pooling across his limbs.

Nonetheless, you were enthusiastic about Aegon's physicality changes. Worshipping his growth, Aegon was scarcely insecure with his body, for your affections spoke for themselves loudly.

[albertdabuttler]

FaceTime? | F.W.

MASTERLIST

fandom: Harry Potter

PART I - PART II - PART III

pairings: Fred Weasley x F!Reader

WARNINGS: LOOOOTS of cursing. like so many bad words bro mb. implied smut but no actual smut

summary: !!MODERN AU!! Fred calls you in the middle of the night because he can’t sleep, but you look so pretty and he starts getting a little heated up. Part two will be smutty asf.

WC: 2.8k

A/N:The modern part is that smartphones exist. It’s not necessarily “modern” per se. Hogwarts and the like whole franchise is the same with the same characters and ages but you and Fred are still in school (7th year). And basically this part will be the readers POV but the second will be Fred’s. EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN INDIVIDUAL DORM.

Also, please let me know if I made any mistakes! And duh I’m happy to take requests bcs it motivates me to write more.

gif by me !! (bro istg the things id let him do and say to me. he literally INSULTS angles. angles have no choice but to submit to him.)

———————

A groan came from the bottom of your lungs as you unclasped your bra and took it off. The best fucking feeling in the world. Such a relief.

Yawning, you looked at the time realizing you stayed up a little too late reading, the clock reading 12:41 AM. As you changed into your pajamas, you set it down, putting it to charge while you walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Long days were your favorite. Well, not the day part, just the night when your muscles relax as you’ve already finished all your work and your head hits the pillow.

Spitting out the leftover toothpaste and water from your mouth, you splashed your face with some cold water, reaching to the face towel to dry it and finally go to your bed.

You let out a content sigh as your body hit the mattress, the cold material of the sheets causing a smile creep onto your face. You were definitely getting the best sleep tonight.

There was a sound as you were already drifting off, but you ignored it, trying to quickly fall into a deep sleep so that nothing could bother you anymore.

Until you heard it again.

Your eyes shot open as you realized it was the buzzing of your phone, you only left notifications on for important people, such as your close friends and family or whatnot.

Unplugging it and pulling it close enough to see, but far enough that the low light wouldn’t burn your eyes, you unlocked it only to see a new notification from your messages.

It was Fred.

—

F| you awake - 12:53

F| bruh - 12:55

F| wake up i cant sleep - 12:55

F| HEY - 12:56

F| WAJE THE FUCK UO - 12:56

F| .. please - 12:57

F| please ;( - 12:57

You let out a yawn and typed back

You| what do you want - 12:57

F| for you to wake up - 12:57

You| well im awake now so what - 12:57

F| i cant sleep and im bored as hell - 12:58

You| i know your goofy ass did not just wake me up because you cant fucking fall asleep - 12:58

F| hold on, you mean my goofy and FAT AND LUCIOUS ASS, right? - 12:58

You| im going to beat the fucking shit out of you tmr - 12:58

You| and its luscious* 🥱 - 12:58

You| if you actually fuckinf studied basic english you’d probably know how to spell it, but your goofy - not fat and luscious - ass is too busy setting living human beings on fire - 12:59

F| FUCK YOU - 12:59

F| i prank people i dont hurt them 🙄 - 12:59

F| also you misspelled fucking - 12:59

F| also yeah my ass is fat and luscious and all the girls want it - 12:59

F| you just dont wanna say that bcs then that would mean you’ve actually looked at it and i know you’d absolutely hate to admit that ;)) - 1:00

F| also im not the goofy one here anymore, your silly swan looking ass face wants to fight me - 1:00

F| can you believe that shit 😹 - 1:00

F| you actually wanna fight someone who’s like twice your size, the fuck do you think you are -1:01

You| fred if you dont shut the fuck up and go to bed, im telling your mom you had a girl in your room. - 1:01

F| … okay im sorry :( - 1:01

You left him on seen and put your phone back down, turning around in annoyance to cover yourself up and finally fall asleep.

*Buzz*

Letting out a significantly loud groan, you grabbed your phone, ready to tell Fred to “fuck off and suck a dick.”

But your plans changed.

F| hey im really sorry for waking you up and then acting like a douche - 1:03

F| i don’t wanna bother you but do you wanna facetime? - 1:04

F| talking to you is really nice - 1:04

F| thats why i always only text you and no one else, you actually make me feel better - 1:04

F| more at ease ig, enough to help me fall asleep - 1:04

F| come onnnn - 1:04

F| bruh if you dont answer rn im telling cormac you have a big fat crush on him - 1:04

You| fuck you - 1:05

F| i mean… - 1:05

F| if you really want to then i guess i can make an arrangement. - 1:05

Annoyed at his flirtatious mood, you clicked on the FaceTime button and expected him to answer right away but he took a second.

When he picked up, you made an annoyed face at him, him only keeping a straight face but it was enough to make you snort.

You could see him trying to hold back a smile until you made a smolder face and his lips turned upwards into a wide grin.

“You’re so dumb” he said, a small grin still sticking to his face.

“Oh I’m dumb? Says the one who needs his favorite person to fall asleep and can’t spell ‘luscious’.” you scoffed with a chuckle.

“You think you’re my favorite person? Getting cocky are we?” he questioned, his face morphing into that all too familiar competitive smirk.

“Yeah, am I not?” you stated,

His smirk grew wider, more competition in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re one of my favorites.” he responded.

You chuckled and spoke again, changing the topic before he made you blush.

“What are you doing on Friday? Wanna go to Hogsmead?” you asked.

“Yeah sure, I’ve got a prank to play on Snape so you’ve gotta come with me to that first, you’re my lucky charm.” he said.

“That sounds… Not so platonic, Fred. What are you implying?” you joked.

“Oh, shut up. You know thats not what I meant. You’re just fun to have around.” he scoffed.

“Just fun? You don’t love me?” you made a pouty face at him.

He hesitated for a second.

“…Well when you put it like that…” he said with a silly voice, causing you to throw your head back in laughter. He chuckled.

Laughing for a little bit, you only heard silence from the phone so when your laugh died down, you looked at him. God, you wished you hadn’t.

He had a sweet smile on his face, like he was admiring you. He was on his side with the right side of his face on the pillow squishing it, making him look adorable. Left hand underneath his face, his short orange hair was lightly fanning over his forehead, and it was quite messy, but it made him look… Cute.

…

No.

…

Hot.

His messy hair made him look hot. It always did. You considered yourself one of the luckiest people on the planet for having him be such a close friend of yours. It meant he’d let you touch it.

All the times you’d ruffled it when meeting him in the corridors, all the times you’d play with it while he fell asleep on your lap after studying for so long. (With you, of course. He’d never spend his own time studying.) All the times you just looked at it and admired it and it’s softness, how fluffy it was.

All the times you’d thought about tugging on it while he destroys you from the inside out.

But that would never happen…

So you snapped yourself back into reality and just continued to look at him. He was so beautiful.

So handsome.

You could marry him but you’d melt at the sight of him in a black and white suit for you.

He made your heart sink to your pussy whenever he’d walk up to you after quidditch, sweaty hair, flushed cheeks from the windburn.

Your knees weak whenever he wore just his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and had loosened his tie.

Shaking your head slightly, you watched him through your phone screen, your eyes adjusting enough for you to see the shape of his shoulders.

Fuck. They were so broad.

And his chest, it was like a brick wall. Even if it was covered with a t-shirt, his muscles were on the brink of ripping it.

At this point, you’d had no choice but to think about when you’d hug him, the warmth of having yourself in his arms while your face was stuffed in his chest.

When you used it as a pillow on the weekends as you were having sleep-overs, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

Your back being pressed tightly up against it whilst he’s inside you and whispering into your ear how good you were making him feel.

It was getting out of hand how many fantasies you’d made up about him but you couldn’t stop yourself now. You were admiring every last inch of him you could see.

His lips.

Thinking about how they would feel if he was massaging them against yours.

Both the ones on your face and the ones below your belt.

His eyes.

They had a certain sparkle in them. It wasn’t romantic or anything like that.

Though you weren’t sure it was platonic either.

But what you were sure of was that Fred Weasley had a tight hold on you whether he knew it or not.

“So….” you said with a croak in your voice,

“So?” He repeated, the same admirable look in his eyes, that sweet, tooth-rotting smile still on his face. He wanted you to keep talking but it was incredibly difficult when he looked like that.

“Um I was-“ you began but he interrupted you,

“Wait is that that stupid old shirt George got you for Christmas 5th year?” he asked.

You chuckled, “Yeah,”

You stretched your arms out to be able to point the phone at it, looking down at it yourself. It was a white shirt with a little blue cat on the front, and some extremely long joke on the back that ended with “There’s no punchline, but you sure as hell were bored enough to read the back of a stranger’s shirt.”

Swallowing, he spoke again. “Wow, I can’t believe it still fits you.” You both chuckled.

“I mean it’s only been about two years, not like I’ve grown that much since then. Plus, George got it like two sizes too big,” you laughed.

He smiled, “You know, I had the perfect gift for you but I lost it two days before Christmas that year. I think someone stole it and I was so sad that I couldn’t give it to you.”

“Awh. What was it?” you asked.

“I’m not telling you.” He smirked.

“Bruh come on. You lost it so just tell me, it’s not like you’re going to die if you do.”

“Yeah well I don’t want to. If its such a pain in your ass then I’ll tell you this, it was an inside joke from third year.” he told you.

“Wait, lemme think…” you looked up and bit your lip as you tried your hardest to remember all the stupid jokes you made in third year.

“Ah! I know! Was it the time you and I snuck off in the middle of the night and caught Snape reading that really cheesy poem out loud? I forgot what it was about but I remember it was really funny. You wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks.” you said

“No, that’s not it. Not even close.” he said.

“I have no idea then.” you said.

He went silent again and just kept looking at you. Smiling.

It made the room really hot. You tried looking elsewhere, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him and his ridiculously good looks.

“Look at me.” he said, taking his hand out from under his face to avoid it falling asleep and getting pins and needles.

When you heard him, it was like a half whisper, his voice was so soft and it sent fireworks all throughout your guts.

As you looked his way, he had a small smirk on him.

Why the fuck does he always have to smirk?

Your face was starting to get hot.

“What” you said.

“Let’s have a staring contest.” he replied.

“That’s dumb.” you stated.

“You’re dumb.” he retorted.

“No, I actually study. You spend all your time making jokes and pranking people and you never study. You always only study with me and I literally do like 80% of the w-“

“Just stop talking” he interrupted and giggled at the argument you were trying to make.

You let out a sigh and looked at him with a disappointed face.

He sighed too but just kept his eyes locked on you. He wouldn’t stop and it was starting to bother you a little bit.

“Damn okay.” you said.

He squirmed in his place, it seemed his room was also starting to get as hot as yours.

Chewing the inside of his bottom lip, his smile slowly began to fade.

You had to start looking around awkwardly.

His eyes seemed to be getting heavy and they kept closing, he’d shoot them back open only to keep fucking eyeing at you.

“If you’re about to fall asleep then we can just talk tomorrow. Unless—you’re sure… you wanna stay on call…?” you spoke.

His eyebrows twitched and he responded, “M-Yeah…” he sighed. His eyes fluttering shut once again.

“You look like you’re on the verge of falling asleep into oblivion, Freddie.” you giggled. He probably didn’t hear you since he was actually already starting to pass out, but he did.

He rolled his eyes back and you took that as a sign that he was actually starting to get pissed off that you kept on talking.

Turning his head to stuff his face in his pillow, he let out a groan that sounded like he had been working out all day.

A small cry came from him that indicated he’d been deprived of something he loved for months, and he still managed to look back at you, but with furrowed eyebrows, hooded, watery eyes, and his mouth slightly agape.

“I-I’m gonna go to bed.” he choked out, stuttering as if he was on the verge of crying.

“Oh, okay, goodnight then, I love you.” you said with a sympathetic smile, he probably had a long day and needed your presence somehow, it seemed that he needed to let a cry out now that you were hanging up.

His face actually got really red and he replied.

“I love you too…” he sighed.

“So much.” he inhaled sharply before closing his eyes tightly, his face scrunching up like he just poured lemon on an open wound.

When he opened his eyes, he sent a small, forced smile your way.

You hung up and hesitantly put your phone down, turning around and covering yourself back up so you could sleep.

Tossing and turning for like five minutes, you turned back around and texted Fred again to ask him if he was okay. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get any sleep if you were worried about him and didn’t know what was wrong.

You| you okay freddie? - 1:31

…

No answer.

You waited for about a minute until you decided to click the FaceTime button again since you wouldn’t wait for him to text back.

He took a second to pick up.

When he did, he was now on his back, holding the phone above his head.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Are you okay, Freddie?” you asked, you knew he liked it when you called him ‘Freddie’ so you did it now just to bring him comfort.

“Uhm…” he licked his lips and looked down towards the end of his bed.

“..Yeah, I’m fine. I just had a long and… stressful day with… uh, grades.” he looked back up at you now, he looked fine and relaxed. A little nervous might you add.

You noticed he wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore and there was a hint of sweat on his forehead.

…

He definitely had a terrible day.

Yeah.

That’s all.

“Erm okay well.. Goodnight then I guess… See you at breakfast.” you tried your best to hide the fact that you were worried sick about him.

He chuckled, “Goodnight then, love.” he sent a big smile at you and it made you feel better, but you hung up as fast as humanly possible so that he wouldn’t notice your nerves.

You were glad that he was okay now.

Throwing your phone on your nightstand for the last time, you finally turned to try and sleep.

But not before turning back around and grabbing your phone again,

You| can i go to your room? - 1:37

———————

There’s a part two coming with Fred’s POV 😻

TAGLIST

[cinnaminyoons]

( GUARD DOG – PT II. )

ミ☆ time heals all wounds. but what happens when they reopen?

⤷ PAIRING jjk x m!reader

⤷ WORD COUNT 3.0k

⤷ TAGS explicit + non-explicit murder, gore, knife/gun use, (another) torture scene, the lore!!, vv slight possessive jk

⤷ SERIES part one 

⤷ REQUESTED

for guard dog i’d say something about reader’s past bothering him like him missing his family or sum n goes to this place where he has a lot of memories as a kid, he leaves for a while (without telling jk cause he would wanna come too, but reader wants time just for himself ) and how jk would react because their is radio silence from readers side for a day or two. ITS JUST A SUGGESTION 😭 YOU DONT HAVE TO DO IT IF U DONT LIKE ILYSM!!!

for once, the skies are perfectly clear. there are no wispy grey clouds, no rhombuses of rain streaking down in the distance. the moon is full, glowing softly among faded stars, and casts shallow blue shadows over everything within its reach.

the curtains are drawn tight over the window next to the bed. the air inside is cool and still, and only the occasional rustle of cloth breaks the serenity.

the bedroom itself is bare except for necessities. light shapes are cut out of age-yellowed walls where shelves or sets of drawers once were. bi-fold closet doors sit slightly ajar next to the entrance to the room, and if one were to peek inside, they’d find nothing but dust-heavy cobwebs.

despite the abandoned feel of the room – matching the rest of the house – two figures lay entwined on the queen-sized bed. one of them stirs, his brow creasing lightly.

your line of work requires a light sleep. danger lurks around every door and in every corner, and depending on what it wields, it can spell out a very brutal end for you. deep sleep is a vulnerability you long ceased to have.

you lift yourself from the bundles of blankets – slowly, as to not wake jeongguk. he shivers unconsciously, folding his shoulders in towards his chest – the absence of your body’s warmth protectively over him is strange. he can never let himself fall asleep without you. his hands slide beneath his pillow.

something feels wrong. 

readily alert, you move off of the mattress and slide a stiletto switchblade off of the stool beside the bed. the blade flicks up with a satisfying and audible whisper as you stick to the walls and slip into the adjacent bathroom.

there aren’t voices downstairs. you put patrols in and around the perimeter for jeongguk’s safety, and those inside the house are some of your most trusted members. often, they play blackjack at the dining table.

jeongguk looks awfully exposed, hugging your pillow for its lingering heat, and the sight nearly drags you back to him. but there’s nowhere to hide in the hall outside – it’s a straight line leading down the stairs. if there had been a breach that was able to take out your best people silently, then you want all the advantage you can get.

the bedroom door opens. it’s almost impossible to tell but you strain your hearing, and the slight hush of cloth on the edge of the door gives it away.

a dark shape halts by the slit of the bathroom door. you do not breathe, do not move, despite being close enough to discern the shine of the buttons of a jacket.

movement is what draws a human’s attention. it is a remnant of their predator days. you have found that simply being still is the best form of stealth. hide the human outline and remain frozen as you do now, and even the keenest of eyes tend to fail.

the intruder turns and moves away, creeping towards the bed. the figure is tense and seems to falter partway through. it isn’t a hesitance to do the act – it is the gut feeling of a predator outmatched.

your arm shoots out around his neck. the blade is at his throat before he can blink. fat jewels of blood bead along it as he struggles fiercely, scratching at your bare arm.

“wake him and i’ll slice your throat open.” the edge of the knife presses against him – a warning. the slightest movement cuts it deeper. “who sent you?”

the man’s breath is sour like cigarette smoke. he chuckles roughly. “the prince’s faithful guard dog. an honour to meet ya at last.”

you push the blade into his skin a few millimetres. the man lets out a choked grunt. you lean down closer to his ear. “who… sent… you?”

with each word, you tighten your hold on him. he jabs backwards with his thumb where your eyes are – had your reflexes been slower.

his heavy boots stomp as he fights back. jeongguk’s shape sits up in bed, the blanket falling around his waist. when he stands, his hand slides out beneath his pillow and reveals a handgun.

he killed your people. he tried to blind you. he woke your beloved.

the anger simmering under your skin boils over as you drive the knife deep into his throat. flesh and muscle split easily under your skilled hands and the man flails, choking, gasping.

he claws at his throat, at your skin, his nails turning into crescents stained dark. the round whites of his eyes bulge out of his laughing face, threaded with red veins – it’s a blood moon, a damnation, a prophecy of the worst kind. in his death you see your own.

those eyes. those terrible eyes, rolling like marbles in their sockets.

you drop the body hastily and it thumps heavily to the floor.

“how did he get in here?” jeongguk asks, swinging his legs over the edge. “we have to go. now.”

“you stay,” you reply. your voice sounds odd in your own head. “i’ll go check it out. get some rest.”

something unreadable passes over his face as you grab the body by the back of the collar and drag it out of the bedroom. you close the door softly behind you.

the walls in here are thin and jeongguk hears every bump down the stairs. thud-thud-thud-thud. you’re not being gentle at all.

he sighs and returns to bed, but doesn’t lie down. he watches the entrance, expecting your return at any second.

after a minute, he thinks you might be cleaning yourself off. these sheets are white, after all, and stains are an extra irritant to an already stressful life.

after the next two minutes alone he gets out of bed. he takes his gun with him and rests his finger delicately on the trigger as he descends the stairs, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

he’s grown up in this life and has developed an instinct for this sort of thing. he listens for creaking floorboards in the shadows and watches for swaying curtains. he swipes a torch off of the dining table, where four hands of cards lay face-down, and clicks it on.

the bodies of his most loyal members lay scattered. they fell where the others wouldn’t see and as jeongguk searches the house, the unsettling feeling of realisation sits in the pit of his stomach.

the house is boarded up and triple-locked, yet no signs of forced entry. no sound of it, either. the intruder had been inside before they even arrived.

the open back door squeaks on its hinges. jeongguk steps over the still-warm body of their uninvited guest, crumpled like a dropped sack of potatoes. he swears under his breath as the white torchlight sweeps over the back porch.

fresh, uneven ruts have been marked into the soil at the base of the steps, as if someone’s heels had dragged along the ground, kicking and struggling.

the dirt is dry and crumbling, sticking to the soles of his feet as he follows the grooves around the side of the house. three of his perimeter guards are slumped in the shadow of the rusted garden shed, furrows in the dirt leading to their boots.

he’s not a religious man, but he knows the three brothers had been. he closes his eyes and whispers a quick prayer, for what it’s worth.

moving away, the torch illuminates a patch of dark red, soaked up by the earth. he crouches to inspect it.

not yet a dark brown. soil clumps together. the blood’s fresh.

after that, there are only footprints in the dirt, though deeper than the single one before. large shoes, no drag marks – probably someone jeongguk’s height, able to dead-lift a man several metres to the street quietly and efficiently.

the dusty footprints lead onto the cracked footpath. the large tree that bursts through the concrete obscures the prints, and they disappear near the curb.

jeongguk lowers the gun and clicks off the torch. he spins on his heel and stalks back the way he came, his fists clenched tight. he never gets a goddamn break.

—

“where is he?”

his fist slams into the man’s face and the man makes a pitiful choked sound, saliva dribbling down his chin. his left eye’s swollen shut, his nose is crooked, and blood drips into his open mouth.

“i told you,” he mumbles thickly, lips sealed with dried blood. “don’t kill me, i didn’t tell no lie, they took ‘im there—”

“yet he wasn’t,” jeongguk interrupts, flexing his tattooed hand as he pulls on a golden knuckleduster. he turns his hand over and the diamonds embedded in it sparkle under the white light.

what a wonderful gift. beautiful, yet fully functioning. he’s been told that the diamonds actually make it more painful if he hits them just right.

he turns back to the man in the chair. his eyes are hard and stony. a light pops in the ceiling.

“i’m not going to kill you,” he says. “i’ve passed that point. while you won’t see some of your little friends again, know that i can make things a hell of a lot worse for you.”

jeongguk steps forward and lifts his hand, and the man flinches. he grabs a fistful of damp hair and tugs his head from side to side almost playfully.

“we’re stuck here together until you give me what i want.” he walks a slow circle around him, shoes clicking against the concrete. he stops behind him. “and what i want is to have what belongs to me… returned to me.”

“i s-swear i’m tellin’ you all i know! i’m not the guy you want, i’m just some—”

“think. think harder. tell me absolutely everything you’ve heard. and if you’ve got nothing else after that,” he shrugs, pressing the cold brass knuckles against the man’s cheek, “then throw your workmates under the bus. they’ll be more forgiving than i ever will be.”

—

it has been three days since jeongguk last slept. he’s running on fumes and revenge. he’s using every connection he has, every eye on the street. despite his meticulously put-together suits, the edges of his fingernails are crusted with red.

his father would be furious in that cold, sneering way of his – everything he taught his son melting away because of that boy. how funny it is to be killing for the person meant to do it for him.

“the cemetery.”

jeongguk leans forward, tilting his head. he sticks out like a sore thumb in his burgundy blazer and oxford shoes. to seem less conspicuous, he had rolled up the blazer’s sleeves and taken off his tie, though its effect is still ‘business casual’.

“cemetery – can i get directions there?” after a moment, unused to pleading, he adds, “please?”

the young woman behind the counter lifts an eyebrow, frothing milk in the coffee machine. “it’s far west, a few kilometres from the edge of town. there’s a hill with a big cross. if you follow the road, it’s impossible to miss.”

“don’t stay once the sun starts to go down,” a male co-worker adds helpfully. “and this isn’t about superstition. it gets real dark real fast out there. it’s hopeless if you want to get back on foot.”

“thanks,” says jeongguk. “i’ll find my way.”

the woman holds out a large coffee in a takeaway cup. “hope you find him. i don’t think i could deal with having my boyfriend full-on disappear like that.”

jeongguk accepts the cup and nods, not bothering to correct her. you’re more than boyfriends. “have a good day.”

they – the only two running the coffee shop – wave as he exits. he dodges parents struggling to hold onto a screaming child covered in ice cream and takes a sip of his drink.

it’s good coffee. small communities always make the best stuff – none of that big-city bull where everyone’s tired and stressed and underpaid, making flavoured liquid that they call coffee.

jeongguk feels strangely at ease in the town. nobody knows him here – only that he’s a foreigner searching for a local – and it’s quite nice to not have to constantly look over his shoulder. he can enjoy his coffee and the quiet.

he slides into his rented blue kia, places his cup in the holder, and goes on his way. it’s early afternoon, almost two, and the sky’s grey. something’s building in the distance, big and dark – likely a storm. if all goes well, he won’t stay long enough to watch it pass.

the woman’s right. the cemetery is right there on the edge of the road, placed on top of the nearest hill.

there are no vehicles nearby but there is a clean puma duffel bag dumped in some dry grass on the road’s shoulder. jeongguk unzips it, revealing a salad of guns. a sawed-off with loose slugs in a side pocket, a five-shot revolver with two bullets, an assault rifle with an extra clip. he doesn’t recognise any of them.

he zips it shut and tosses it into the backseat of the car. he treks up to the cemetery entrance and pushes open the black wrought-iron gates. the gravestones are polished and wiped down, and the flowers and wreaths aren't too dead-looking. the oldest must have been left in the morning.

a lone figure kneels under a tree. it’s so still that a passing eye might mistake it for another tall gravestone, but jeongguk would recognise those shoulders anywhere.

the cold tip of a gun presses against the crown of your head.

“do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?”

your head turns a few degrees. “yes.”

a short breath of wind sweeps the hair from your face. on your forehead, slicing through your right eyebrow, is a shallow cut held shut by two butterfly stitches.

“i haven’t killed in years,” he says placidly, pushing the gun harder into your skull. “yet you… you… drive me insane.”

“that’s love. s’what it does.”

“my hands are filthy,” he hisses, “because of you.”

“i told you not to do that.”

“i don’t listen to you.”

a dry smile pulls at your lips. “no, you don’t.”

he clicks his tongue and shoves the handgun back into his waistband. “why are you here, yn?” he asks, voice flat. “why didn’t you return to me the moment you could?”

no sweetheart, no my love. he’s angry at you – justifiably.

“wanted space to think.”

“i would’ve given it to you, had you asked.”

at last, you raise your eyes to his face. both of you know he wouldn’t. he loves you too much to let you out of his sight like that.

jeongguk steps forward next to you and crosses his arms. he scans the gravestone you’re kneeling in front of. a bunch of white lilies, tied together with a purple ribbon, lay below the name. another one sits under the grave beside it.

he says, eyes trained on the etched words, “you were born here.”

“i was.”

“my father meant to kill you.”

“he did.”

jeongguk glances at you. “i’ve never asked this, but… why didn’t he?”

“you’re talkative today.”

he glowers.

you let out a long sigh. “bad choices, running away, starting anew in a small town where nobody knows them. standard story. maybe age was getting to your father or something – he said keeping me alive, given to you, balanced my family’s betrayal.”

he knows his father was all about power. he must’ve made a connection between you as the representation of your family, and jeongguk as the representation of his own. charging you to take care of jeongguk, the son of the man who killed your parents, was a sick play of power and hierarchy.

you lift your gaze to him once more, studying him. “you look fuck-awful.”

“and you’ve seen better days.”

after a heavy moment, he kneels beside you. the wind picks up, curling his inky hair around its fingers. “how long did they keep you?”

gently, you take his wrist and check the date on his watch. no scratch nor dent has befallen it. “two days. after that, i made my way here.”

“what did they want?”

“shockingly, me. their boss even came down to speak to me personally about switching sides.” his hand tightens around yours. “then i gunned down his cronies and let him run with his tail between his legs.”

“good.” he shifts so that your thighs touch. “you’re mine.”

the two of you sit there for a while, kneeling in the dirt with the charcoal waves of the sea glittering past the hill. the fleur-de-lis spear-tipped fence seems dull in comparison to the churning water. 

jeongguk inhales sharply, lowering his eyes to the two gravestones. same death date, same last name. “not really the ‘meet-the-parents’ situation you dream of.”

“no, it isn’t.” you shake your head and get to your feet, brushing the dirt off your knees. “i’ve spent enough time here. let’s go home.”

maybe it’s the sleep deprivation finally breaking through his fraying nerves. coffee and adrenaline can only get one so far.

when you’re several metres away, back turned, jeongguk inclines his head towards the gravestones in a slight bow. “i love him like nothing else,” he says quietly. “i’ll take care of him as best i can.”

with as much dignity as he can muster, he pats the dust off his slim trousers and returns to the cemetery gates. you wait against it, staring at the vanishing road with your arms and ankles crossed.

wordlessly, you extend a hand. jeongguk takes it. if you’re thinking anything, you don’t say it, and neither of you turns around for one last glance. death is death and it will win one day, but until then, you’re content with knowing you will be facing it together.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

listen... Chris "hate" fucking Seb's mouth. 👅 i'm thinking about how much they both love it. Chris loves to use Seb's mouth as nothing but a hole to fuck and Seb absolutely loves to feel used like that

Yes

I am so here for rough oral and I am so here for this especially after I haven't thought about/talked about Sebastian's oral fixation in forever! And this gives off a lot of energy for when they're both pent up and wanting to just fucking go for it (more so than they usually do anyway 👀). Plus, there are so many scenarios for this too, like, sure Sebastian could just be blowing Chris and Chris gets rough with it but also-

Sebastian might be laying back on their bed, his head hanging slightly off the edge of the mattress so Chris can stand over him and guide his cock into his mouth and really fuck his throat good and deep until Sebastian is moaning around him, enjoying the stretch and fullness and desperately grabbing at Chris' thighs and hips and wanting more even though there's no fucking way Chris could stuff himself any deeper in his throat. It doesn't matter. Sebastian just wants more. More. He even wants Chris to press on his throat over the bulge of his cock where it's fucking in and out of him and choke Seb on his cock further... please. Sebastian wants Chris to get off on it. Get off on feeling himself fucking Sebastian, taking him, using him- making sure all Sebastian can feel is Chris and all he can taste is Chris. All he can think about is Chris. Entirely wrapped up in Chris and doing everything he can do to please him by being a good little hole for him to wreck without getting anything in return (not yet), even though his cock is fattened up, lying against his belly, and leaking. His bare thighs spread wide because anytime he brushes his hard, hard cock it makes him want friction even more. But he can't get ii. It's pointless. All he needs is to focus on Chris. Focus on the way his cock hammers in and out of his mouth, thick and fat and so good. Seb loves it. He loves pleasing Chris. He loves being able to take him like no one else could before- taking his thrusts and girth and- fuck. yeah. Chris never lasts long when he's on the recieving end of Sebastian's blow jobs skills, even if he's not actively doing much like this, his ability to take it is still maddeningly hot.

Sebastian could be on his knees with his wrists cuffed behind his back so his hands can't get in the way. All with collar around his throat as he stares up at Chris silently, desperately. His eyes watering and pleading. His mouth stuffed full of cock and lips shiny and red where they're stretched open. Mouth full of dick as Chris uses one hand to anchor in Sebastian's hair, grabbing and tugging it until it stings so good, and his other hand looped around the ring at the front of Sebastian's collar, pulling at his throat too. Making sure Sebastian can't get away. Not with his hair pulled or his collar grabbed possessively. He's at Chris' mercy in the best way, loving- living for every moment of it. All Sebastian can do is swallow and swallow and moan and try not to choke as Chris fucks his face. Nearly about to pass out because he's so fucking turned on by being used and so hot for the way Chris' hips just keep getting more and more sloppy the more Sebastian moans and blinks back tears, fighting the way they want to roll down his flushed cheeks, Seb unraveling the more he's used, and Chris unraveling as he causes it and watches it happen 🥴 feeding off of each other perfectly until they're both a mess, Chris cumming down Sebastian's throat as he raggedly moans and Sebastian not far behind because it's over for him too the second Chris gives him permission to rut against his leg.

Also just-

Chris letting Sebastian go in hard on his dick without any assistance. Sebastian choking himself and making himself gag, sloppy and wet and so so eager and good all while Chris is reclined back, manspreading, recklessly- deliciously confident, and telling Seb, "better make it good for me, baby, or 'm gonna get myself off without you. And you won't be allowed to touch me... maybe I won't even let you watch, I'll kick you outta the bedroom and you'll have to sit outside the closed door like a bad dog. Jus' listen t'me moan and use the fleshlight like I wanna use my good boy's mouth." Sebastian. fucking. loves. it. when. Chris. lets. his. mouth. run. He can't get enough of it. It makes him go in even Harder even though he knows Chris is just talking. Just talking because he can't stop himself, so enamored with Sebastian and so drunk on pleasure. Not only is it his words, his mouth running a mile a minute, full of Boston and deep, rumbling arousal, but it's also how Chris is sitting back with heavily lidded eyes, watching Seb push himself. Watching Seb without touching him, his arms spread over the back of the sofa instead, his thighs spread wide- owning the space. Careless in a gutting way. It makes Sebastian pulling off to talk, whining if he's honest, with his lips still brushing the tip of Chris' cock, slutty and shameless as he moans, "please, Chris, please- fuck my face. Make it like you like it. Fuck my mouth hard. I want it. Want it so bad, please!" Because he wants it. Truthfully he does. Not for show, not just for Chris. He wants it.

Chris slapping Sebastian's face while he blows him 🥴🥴🥴 I cannot elaborate on that without bursting into flames I'm sorry

And, GOD, Chris' fingers fucking Sebastian's mouth like he would finger his hole, starting slow with one... moving onto two... then three... and putting a fourth in finally, teasing his lips with his thumb... all the while Chris teases Sebastian to treat his fingers well so he can earn his cock. "Show me you'll treat it right, honey... gonna earn it before I put my dick between these lips and pound that gorgeous fuckin' mouth-"

Sebastian could sink to his knees after a premiere... Chris unlocked the front door for them, stumbling inside first but then in comes Sebastian who finds himself pinned to the door as Chris turns to close it behind Sebastian. Smashing them in tight. Chest-to-chest. And as much as Seb could and would stand for being fucked against the door like this... he really wants something else tonight. He wants something rougher- meaner with the way Chris is all dressed up and rough around the edges with his beard and darker-than-Cap-blonde hair. Not to mention the whole debacle from earlier, getting hit on and almost getting grabbed if not for Chris' intervening charm, talking to the stranger, talking them both but also telling them off for continuing to pursue someone who said they didn't want it. So now, Sebastian lets his knees weaken fully at the dark, heavy look Chris is giving him- looking like he wants to eat Sebastian. And ends up on his knees. Pressed tightly between Chris' legs and the solid wood door. It feels like he can't breathe. The air thick and the space is limited. Eagerly though, Sebastian laps up the way Chris groans and grabs fistfuls of his hair, messing it up from its previously perfect style, reacting to the sight of him on his knees. Then, delicately Sebastian whispers as he traces his lips up the inseam of Chris' slacks, "I want you to use my mouth." His cheeks burn at the raunchy admission. "I want you to fuck my mouth like you have to remind me I'm yours. Like you have to remind me I can't let other guys flirt with me." Chris growls. They both know no one (between the two of them) needs any reminders of their relationship but the idea of Chris shoving his cock into Sebastian's mouth and groaning and panting and swearing, you're fucking mine, this mouth is mine, nobody can fill this hungry mouth up like I can, huh? Nobody. Just me. Just me, sweetheart. I know these pretty lips are in high demand, everybody wants to kiss you, everybody wants to do such fuckin' dirty shit to you 'cause they look at your pretty face and your pretty mouth and they know what it can do. But they can't have it. They can't have it even if you might not mind being shared around like a party favor, used all night. Because I mind it. You're mine and I can't fucking help but keep you to myself. Makes me feel like a bad man, sweetheart, how much I want to keep you under me all the time. Always in my reach. Can't trust other people to know how to behave around you 'cause you're so fuckin' gorgeous. Well... it's too good for it not to happen. Too good for Sebastian to not let his tears fall and his gag reflex nearly choke him on Chris' dick as he's pinned to the inside of their front door, taking Chris' dick because they couldn’t wait a second past their first glimpse of privacy. Taking it hard and fast and glorious.

But, uhh, yeah...

Sebastian's mouth 👀

[istumpysk]

do you think jon and sansa will have pups, i mean kids?

I would be genuinely surprised if Sansa wasn’t pregnant by the end of ADOS. I know the level of discomfort we all have over this, but there’s a lot to suggest this isn’t getting the epilogue treatment.

For starters, there’s the disturbing level of focus placed upon her body type. I’m no historian, but I know that women were deterred from being too thin, as it could have ill effects on their fertility. It’s offensive, but that same line of thinking is found throughout the series.

Catelyn half expected that the maester would be yet another son of Walder Frey's, but Brenett did not have the look. He was a great fat man, bald and double-chinned and none too clean, to judge from the raven droppings that stained the sleeves of his robes, yet he seemed amiable enough. When she told him of Edmure's concerns about Lady Roslin's fertility, he chuckled. "Your lord brother need have no fear, Lady Catelyn. She's small, I'll grant you, and narrow in the hips, but her mother was the same, and Lady Bethany gave Lord Walder a child every year." – Catelyn VI, ASOS

+.+

"My lord has a new wife to give him sons."

"And won't my bastard love that? Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. – Reek III, ADWD

+.+

"Twelve," said Hotho. "Fair and fertile, newly flowered, with hair the color of honey. Her breasts are small as yet, but she has good hips. She takes after her mother, more than me." – The Iron Captain, AFFC

+.+

Oh, that's an open wound, thought Alayne. Lyonel Corbray's first wife had given him nothing but a frail, sickly babe who died in infancy, and during all those years Ser Lyn had remained his brother's heir. When the poor woman finally died, however, Petyr Baelish had stepped in and brokered a new marriage for Lord Corbray. The second Lady Corbray was sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant, but she had come with an immense dowry, and men said she was a tall, strapping, healthy girl, with big breasts and good, wide hips. And fertile too, it seems. – Alayne I, TWOW

Then there’s Sansa.

A new gown?" she said, as wary as she was astonished.        

"More lovely than any you have worn, my lady," the old woman promised. She measured Sansa's hips with a length of knotted string. "All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it."                 

"Which queen?" Margaery was not yet Joff's queen, but she had been Renly's. Or did she mean the Queen of Thorns? Or . . .

"The Queen Regent, to be sure."

"Queen Cersei?"

"None other. She has honored me with her custom for many a year." The old woman laid her string along the inside of Sansa's leg. "Her Grace said to me that you are a woman now, and should not dress like a little girl. Hold out your arm."                 

Sansa lifted her arm. She needed a new gown, that was true. She had grown three inches in the past year, and most of her old wardrobe had been ruined by the smoke when she'd tried to burn her mattress on the day of her first flowering.

"Your bosom will be as lovely as the queen's," the old woman said as she looped her string around Sansa's chest. "You should not hide it so."

The comment made her blush. Yet the last time she'd gone riding, she could not lace her jerkin all the way to the top, and the stableboy gaped at her as he helped her mount. Sometimes she caught grown men looking at her chest as well, and some of her tunics were so tight she could scarce breathe in them. – Sansa II, ASOS

+.+

She studied Alayne's face and chest. "You are prettier than me, but my breasts are larger. The maesters say large breasts produce no more milk than small ones, but I do not believe it. Have you ever known a wet nurse with small teats? Yours are ample for a girl your age, but as they are bastard breasts, I shan't concern myself with them." Myranda edged her mule closer. "You know our Mya's not a maid, I trust?" – Alayne II, AFFC

+.+

Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms." It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest. – Alayne I, TWOW

As disgusting as this all is, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the author is communicating Sansa has physical attributes that people in this world would associate with fertility.

Moving on. Quickly.

Then we have all the motherhood/fertility imagery, and foreshadowing.

A dozen yellow chicks escaped when Sansa’s egg broke.

Cracking / Breaking a Gigantic Egg @butterflies-dragons

Butterbumps arrived before the food, dressed in a jester’s suit of green and yellow feathers with a floppy coxcomb. An immense round fat man, as big as three Moon Boys, he came cartwheeling into the hall, vaulted onto the table, and laid a gigantic egg right in front of Sansa. “Break it, my lady,” he commanded. When she did, a dozen yellow chicks escaped and began running in all directions. “Catch them!” Butterbumps exclaimed. – Sansa I, ASOS

A bat in Sansa’s tummy.

Bat Wings / Dragon Wings  @butterflies-dragons

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat. – Sansa IV, ASOS 

Persephone rejects the pomegranate, chooses a pear.

The Pomegranate Imagery @sxpiosexualx

Pears and Fertility @butterflies-dragons

 Petyr cut a pomegranate in two with his dagger, offering half to Sansa. "You should try and eat, my lady."

"Thank you, my lord." Pomegranate seeds were so messy; Sansa chose a pear instead, and took a small delicate bite. It was very ripe. The juice ran down her chin. – Sansa VI, ASOS

Too young to be a mother?

"A child?" said Sansa, uncertainly.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry."

"I . . . I am married, my lady." – Sansa VI, ASOS

Famously fertile and untouched during the fighting? Jon Snow being fed?

The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. – Jon IV, ADWD

Tyrion thinking back on a passage from The Seven-Pointed Star. Probably wise to pay attention when the Seven are mentioned.

The maid brought him a girl with eyes like deep blue pools. [Deep enough to drown in???] The mother *ahem* made her fertile.

Tyrion thought of Tysha. He glanced out at the fields where once the gods had walked. "What sort of gods make rats and plagues and dwarfs?" Another passage from The Seven-Pointed Star came back to him. "The Maid brought him forth a girl as supple as a willow with eyes like deep blue pools, and Hugor declared that he would have her for his bride. So the Mother made her fertile, and the Crone foretold that she would bear the king four-and-forty mighty sons. The Warrior gave strength to their arms, whilst the Smith wrought for each a suit of iron plates." – Tyrion II, ADWD

Which is a nice little segue to bring up those infamous fertile Tully genes.

Then there’s things like The Mother’s Hymn featuring heavily in Sansa’s arc, her often being depicted as taking on matriarchal type duties, or all the ‘Queen having princes and princesses’ foreshadowing. You could go on for days.

Then we have Jon Snow. With Jon Snow, the author doth protest too much, methinks. 

None of us will ever father sons.

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor." – Jon I, AGOT

Family over duty, and honor.

"Then Lord Eddard is a man in ten thousand. Most of us are not so strong. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms … or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. – Jon VIII, AGOT

Robb will marry a princess, and father sons, not Jon Snow.

Mormont gave a whistle, and the bird flew to him again and settled on his arm. "A lord's one thing, a king's another." He offered the raven a handful of corn from his pocket. "They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, and velvets of a hundred different colors, while you live and die in black ringmail. He will wed some beautiful princess and father sons on her. You'll have no wife, nor will you ever hold a child of your own blood in your arms. Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they'll call Your Grace. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung. Tell me that none of this troubles you, Jon . . . and I'll name you a liar, and know I have the truth of it." – Jon I, ACOK

Did he ever have a maid or wedding?

The moon was rising behind one mountain and the sun sinking behind another as Jon struck sparks from flint and dagger, until finally a wisp of smoke appeared. Qhorin came and stood over him as the first flame rose up flickering from the shavings of bark and dead dry pine needles. "As shy as a maid on her wedding night," the big ranger said in a soft voice, "and near as fair. Sometimes a man forgets how pretty a fire can be."                 

He was not a man you'd expect to speak of maids and wedding nights. So far as Jon knew, Qhorin had spent his whole life in the Watch. Did he ever love a maid or have a wedding? He could not ask. Instead he fanned the fire. When the blaze was all acrackle, he peeled off his stiff gloves to warm his hands, and sighed, wondering if ever a kiss had felt as good. The warmth spread through his fingers like melting butter. – Jon VIII, ACOK

Never dared dream of it.

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. – Jon XII, ASOS

Same dreams.

She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya. – Sansa II, ASOS

Above all else though, I think it’s close to insanity to believe George wouldn’t indicate how the line of succession of House Stark will continue.

The counter-argument would be that this all might change without a five-year gap, but I don’t think so.

The five-year gap is abandoned, and almost immediately we learn that Alayne has aged herself up to 14, Arianne Martell lost her maidenhead at the age of 14 to a bastard, and Asha Greyjoy’s moon blood wakened her desire. Right.

Let’s also not forget we begin the series with a 13 year old Daenerys conceiving.

It’s probably still going to happen. I suggest pretending she’s 26 to cope. That’s what I do.

[palbabor-writes]

yan Shigaraki pt. iii

Also known as: MOMMY KINK 

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ only, dubcon, mentions of rape, bondage, drugging, kidnapping, blow jobs, cunniliginus, vaginal fingering, mind break, manipulation, prostate milking, switching, mommy kink, DARK FIC 

Word Count: 9307 

Notes: back y’all. this one focuses on that mommy kink everyone has been requesting, so, uh, come get your juice. 

this fic is dedicated to & beta edited by @kugutsuu​. i am but a humble acolyte at her shrine, so if you wanna see some grade A mommy kink, or more Tomura porn, plz, go read her stuff. it is marvelous.

Part III: MOMMY KINK

part i || part ii  

The shower is grimy. Thankfully, most of the stains are old patches of soap scum or neglected bits of grout. You’d asked Tomura once, to clean it, but he’d just chuckled and shoved you into the glass box, saying he’d think about it, if you’re good. 

It’s a pity you haven’t made it back onto the “good,” list.

It’s been three weeks and although Tomura has kept you close, hardly letting you slip from his sight, binding you when he has to leave the confines of his room, he’s clearly sulking in his lingering annoyance. An annoyance that’s firmly directed at you. 

His touches are less frequent and there’s been a decided lack of that early, awed, wonderment and soft persistences. He used to stroke his fingers down your skin when you slept beside him, careful to let you know that he’s being cautious, not wanting to frighten, or worry you. Now, when he flops beside you, he turns his back, curling up, on his side of the mattress, shouldering off your tentative pets.  

He’s distant and you can’t adjust to it.

You reach for the plain sliver of bar soap and work it into your shivering arms, building suds and foam under your fingers. The shower door is fogging up, thick with the wet heat from the spraying water, but you can make out Tomura’s outline. He’s perched on a low stool, one that he’s placed specifically in the tiled room, so he can keep an eye on you, so he can make sure you don’t try to slither away from him again. 

It’s frustrating, the warring closeness and aloofness he’s giving you, and you grumpily slough off the bubbles of soap, watching as they swirl down the rusted drain. You were going to come back, you justify, wetting your hair and hoping there’s enough shampoo left to give it a proper soak. You only wanted to get your cat. It’s not your fault he’d forgotten him, when he’d drugged you and placed you under his power. Sure, you could have told him about the feline, but you just…

You wanted to do it yourself. 

Since he’s taken you, you don’t get to do a lot of things by yourself anymore and you needed to prove...no...that’s not right. You’d wanted to taste the fresh air that night and yank yourself out from under Tomura’s omnipresent thumb. It’s exhausting, being held like this. You know, in his own twisted way, that Tomura loves you and there’s some answering part of you that’s starting to care for him, too, but those feelings don’t make you any less caged. Besides, you sigh, combing the shampoo into your hair, how could you not find yourself slipping into a ragged dependency?   

How were you possibly supposed to prevent those budding needs? After all, took care of you and he fed you, both physically and sexually. God, you’d never had anyone fuck you like he did. You’re almost certain that he’d been a virgin when he fucked you, that first night, but damn, he’d more than made up for his inexperience with a genuine desire to see you satisfied. 

It’s an odd rush of emotions. 

You feel equal parts guilt and anger pressing at you. You didn’t mean for this to happen and it’s not fair he’s still taking it out on you. Besides, you’d only wanted to get your cat that night. You didn’t have grand plans of escape, or reporting Tomura’s undoubted villain status to the police. No, you would have come back. The most you would have risked was sneaking one quiet night's sleep in your old bed, but you would have slunk back to him in the morning, ready to see his outstretched arms and those lovely, fervid, eyes that flashed so much adoration when they rested upon you.

Yes, it had all gone to plan, that is, until he caught you. 

He hadn’t spoken much, since that night, and you missed those early conversations the two of you shared. You know you’ve perturbed him, angered him, hurt him, and it’s starting to feel like there's nothing you can do about it. 

However, while you were kept under strict watch, your rescued cat, on the other hand, has grown into a regal prince, free to strut about the hideout, often weaving under Tomura’s red shoes. Never, never, ever, would you have thought that you’d be jealous of a cat, of your cat. But you can’t help but bristle at the affection Tomura showers down on your feline, and your cat, that damned smug little thing, lapped it all up, purring and fat, content with his new supremacy.

You suck your teeth at the thought and quickly dash your head under the reassuring spray of the shower. When you turn, you catch sight of Tomura’s outline again and a sudden idea pops into your head. Before your failed rescue mission, Tomura had often luxuriated under your touches, almost vibrating some nights, drunk off the pleasure of your stroking hands. Although he’s been detached, maybe...maybe you could bridge that gap, with the right incentive, of course. 

“Um, Tomura?” you call, curling your arms about your chest, shivering as you step from the misting of warm water. 

He grunts, but that hazy silhouette doesn’t shift, solid and unyielding, despite your soft voice. You bite your lip and step closer, pressing yourself against the slick glass, not ready to give up. 

“Can you come here, please?” you try again, infusing honey and light into your tone, hoping it might convince him to turn. 

“What is it?” Tomura grumbles, but you notice him shift and you smile at your tiny victory. 

“I need you, just for a second, if you...please, Tomura?” you’re trailing your fingers over the frosted dips and imperfections of the shower door and you can tell he’s starting to waver. It’s hard for him to pull away when you whine out his name like that. It’s likely a control thing, but that gasping want, that echo of need is something he’s done his best to encourage, liking that he can make you slip into a gooey, broken, state. 

He stands and pads toward the steaming shower and you bite back a grin, pleased he’s maneuvering into place. Once he’s close, you crack the door open and poke your dripping head out, searching for his eyes. Tomura pauses when he catches sight of you, vermillion iries dark, narrowed and suspicious. 

“What?” he asks again, his lips curling, lifting that jagged scar and revealing a line of straight, white, teeth. 

“Can...can you do me a favor?” you question, dragging your tongue across your lower lip, tugging at the plush skin, silently rejoicing when you catch his eyes lowering, following the motion. 

“Depends,” he snaps, his gaze flashing back to yours. You give a soft huff, disappointed that he’s not bending, at least, not yet. 

“Will you, um, take a shower with me?”

Tomura snorts, looking over your sopping hair. “Don’t be stupid, you’re practically done.”

“What if I want to clean you off?”

“You calling me gross?”

“No,” you stammer, aghast and unsure if he’s joking. “I just...I want to do this, for you. You’ve been so good to me, I want to do something nice for you, too.”

“Liar,” Tomura taunts, but he does step closer, leaning one arm on the brass frame and peering over your half concealed form. 

“I’m not lying. I’d really like to– ”

“Not that. You’re lying about me being good to you. Don’t give me that look, you know it’s true. Should I list it out for you? To prove it. Let’s see, I’ve kidnapped you, fucked you, against your will, until all you can do is drool, begging me to stop, and I’m pretty sure that’s fucking called rape. What else? Oh, I’ve drugged you, tied you up for hours, almost killed your cat, ah, and I’ve been ignoring you, doing my fucking best to make you feel like the ungrateful little slut that you are. That enough? Or should I give you some more?”

You roll your shoulders, agitated. “Tomura, that’s not...I don’t want to talk about that. I want– ”

“You want to pretend again. To put on an act and go about the motions. Wait until I’ve lowered my guard and then you’ll fucking– hey– stop!” Tomura bristles when your wet fingers curl around his dark shirt, yanking him toward you and dangerously close to the wet tiles. His nose wrinkles and he tries to bat you away, hands roughly knocking against your pruned skin. 

“Tomura, please. I’m not...I just want to be close to you. Don’t push me away, I’m sorry. I’ve told you that before and I’ll tell you again. You know I didn’t mean– ”

“Didn’t mean to sneak out of a window? You fucking accidentally woke up and thought, good time to make sure he’s out on a meeting, better make the most of this? Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you (Y/N),” Tomura growls, finally succeeding in shaking himself free, glaring down at your damp, wrinkled, brow. 

Sighing, you sulk back into the warmth of the shower, pouting your lips and shaking  your head, dropping tiny flecks of water across Tomura’s dark shirt and bare feet. “You’re really not going to forgive me, huh? Even if I tell you that I’m sorry, even if I ask for you to let me hold you? 

That’s fucking mean, Tomura. You’re such a jerk. A fucking ass. You’re making me feel like some kind of bitch. Yeah, I didn’t ask for you to fucking kidnap me, but what do you want me to do? 

It’s not my fault that...that I like you. That I like when you’re nice to me, that I like when you make me feel so...so good, and, well, wanted. You can’t...what am I supposed to do? At this rate, I’ll just hate you. So, if that’s what you’re...what...what you’re want...oh.”

You’d turned your face, while you snapped and berated him, so the feeling of his hard, bare chest, and the sucking pressure of his lips startles you. When your face lifts to his, his long fingers wrap under your chin, forcing you to look at him. His red gaze ensnares you and your breath catches, granting him the opportunity to shut the glass door behind him and press you against the slippery tiles. His free hand shifts to the temperature gauge and he rolls the heat down, hissing at the sting of the shifting water. 

“Fine,” he smirks, slotting himself against your curves, letting you feel his rising cock and the sharp planes of his muscles. “I’m here. What is this, so called, nice thing you want to do for me?” 

You laugh at his dripping sarcasm and arch into his arms, pleased when he gifts you a quiet shiver. “Turn around,” you smile, your eyes roving over his exposed figure hungrily. Tomura sucks his teeth, but he does as you ask and you reach beside him, slipping the block of bar soap into your palm. You scoot close and dampen the sharp protrusions of his shoulder blades, slicking them with the lukewarm water before pressing the soap over him. Once you get a decent lather built up, you let your fingers dip into his corded sinews, massaging out the rough patches until he’s groaning, a pleased hum radiating from his chest. 

“Does that feel ok?” you ask, watching him tremble when you hit a particularly sensitive spot. Tomura responds by shifting back, cracking his back as he bows into your touch. You smile and cup some water over him, sloshing away the bubbles. Once his back is clean and gleaming, you rub yourself against him, kissing his neck. 

“What’s your plan?” Tomura sighs, his voice hushed. He cranes his neck and you catch a glimpse of one bright eye, watching you, waiting for your response. 

“Plan?” you ask, confused by his meaning. 

“Yeah, you trying to butter me up? You think this is gonna change my mind? If you do something nice for me, I’ll have to repay you? Let my guard down?”

You click your tongue and pull him to you, urging him to turn around, so you can see him properly. “Stop it,” you tut, raising the soap again and repeating the soft circles and easy massages, liking that he’s starting to duck his head, a light flush seeping over his chest and nose. “I want to do this for you. Call me stupid, but it makes me happy to see you relaxed. There’s something nice about your face and...and how you look at me. Besides, you haven’t looked at me like that...since...since before that night.” 

Tomura glances away at the reminder, breaking the hard stare he’d fixed you with, but he takes a shallow step toward you, letting the tips of your nipples glide over his slippery pectorals. You gasp at the sensation, enjoying the sweet tightening that races along your areola, puckering the buds into stiff peaks. 

“Well? Don’t leave the job half finished. Keep going,” Tomura rasps, his hands cupping your lifted wrist and moving the soap over his sternum, before passing it along his abdomen. Nodding, you gulp and work your way down until you have to kneel, your knees digging into the water logged floor. Your head lines up with his half hardened cock and you eye the velvety flesh ravenously. You chance a peek up at him, but he’s still refusing to meet your eyes, his head turned, scowling darkly at the wet tiles. 

“Tomura,” you begin, releasing the bar of soap, letting the rushing water snag it, carrying it toward the pull of the drain. “Why don’t you let me take care of this for you?”

Above you, his jaw sets and you can hear him grinding his teeth, trying to shrug off that deepening red blush. You’re not quite sure why he’s so affected by this, but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Your fingers slide up his thighs, nails gently scraping and pressing as you near the apex of his hips, watching him rise under temptation of your proximity. Once you’re grazing along his dark curls, he unconsciously thrusts toward you, a tiny droplet of precum budding out of his slit, gleaming in the light of the bathroom. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” you ask, your heart thumping wildly, unsure where this sudden urge, this need, to have him supplicate himself for you, is coming from. You want him to ask, no, you want him to moan for you as he blushes and pants. Oh, yes. That would look so good on him. “I can help,” you continue, careful to keep your eyes down, not wanting to give yourself away. “It looks...it looks like you need me to take care of you. Just ask me, Tomura. Ask me to..to…”

Tomura’s hand on the back of your head makes you lose your train of thought and you sputter into silence, your eyes lifting to his, waiting. He glares down at you, imperious and chilling. His nostrils flare when you breathe across his leaking tip and his hips shift again, thumping his heavy cock head against your parted lips. 

“Suck,” he commands and immediately, you do your utmost to take him all in, your jaw aching at the familiar weight of him. Tomura groans at the suction and his eyes finally slip closed. You hollow your cheeks and curl your tongue, racing the wet appendage over his thick veins, feeling him pulse and swell. He’s salty and so, so deliciously earthy. Your mind clouds over and all thoughts of making him bend to you fly out the window, content in the happy pleasure of making him spill down your waiting throat. 

******

Later, when you’re both dry and stretched out on his tattered mattress, he turns to you, pressing his face into your arms, sighing happily when you stroke a hand down his hair. It’s been a while, since he’s come to you like this, all contented nuzzles and heavy exhales. Even before your misguided escape, he would rather have you cling to him, than he to you. No, this is a different kind of touch. You curl around him and he begins to slacken in your hold, drifting into the welcoming embrace of sleep. 

As the night passes around you, you revisit those musings you’d had in the shower, when he was doing his best to ignore you as you gently needled him, wanting to hear him ask you for your attention. You’d never thought much on domination, how could you? Half of the time, you were bound or gagged, especially in the early days of your capture. Tomura had always been unrelenting in his control and you hadn’t done much to question his iron backed rule, at least, not until tonight. 

But once you noticed that tight lipped expression and that delightful blush he’d given you? Oh, you wanted something very different from him then. Imagine, you think, a mischievous smirk lifting your lips, just imagine him, gasping and whining, just for you. He’d look so nice, so handsome, like that. 

You’ll have to be cautious and you’ll need to go slow, but fuck, you want to see him beg. Tonight was a good step. You’d slipped back into his good graces and you’d shown that he can trust himself, and you, to let him show you a gentler, more vulnerable side of himself. Now, let’s see if you can get something different from this arrangement. Besides, you reason, if you’re stuck here, you might as well have a little bit of fun. 

******

He’s got you pinned down, his powerful thighs digging into your spread hips, slapping his meaty balls against the wet curve of your ass. His fingers are hovering over your clit, but he’s careful not to touch. He isn’t wanting you to cum, not yet. You can’t breathe when he takes you like this and his lips are close to the hollow of your throat, rising and lowering in time with his jagged thrusts. 

“You’re too quiet tonight,” Tomura rumbles, his tongue dipping out to swipe up some droplets of sweat that have slipped down your chin. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me this is all you can take? I’ve seen you give me more. That’s it, be a good little slut, be my good girl, let me hear you.” 

His thumb slithers to your pulsing bud, slipping under the swollen hood and encouraging that pulpy flesh to throb out, hot and wanting. You gasp and he lifts his head, pressing a rough kiss to the side of your mouth. 

“Almost,” he taunts, positioning his index finger above his thumb, at the top of your clit, trapping it in his hold. The sharp, painfully cloying sensation he sparks makes you arch and his cock slips deeper, the head tapping against that final barrier of your cervix. You hiss at the distant echo of pain and Tomura sighs above you, surging his hips forward and grinding down, scraping his pelvis against yours, watching you tremble around him. 

“You take me so fucking well, (Y/N). Such a pretty little pussy, all wet and open, so flushed and all mine.”

When he tucks back, gliding his length from your weeping cunt, you find your voice and you shiver out a question, hoping, praying, he’ll entertain the idea. “T-Tomura, I...I want to ride you.” 

His brow furrows and he gives you a bewildered look, red eyes flashing over your distant, blissed out, expression. “Huh?”

“I said, I want to r-ride you. I want you on your back so I can...ohh...fuck,” your demand shakes to a halt as he gives you a harsh cant, his cock swelling as your walls flutter around him. 

“What’s wrong with this?” he scoffs, lifting his rubbing fingers and leaving your clit abandoned and aching. You keen at the loss, hips blindly rising, hoping you’ll catch him before he’s too far away. 

“Damn it,” you sulk, missing your target and tilting your chin, meeting his hazy eyes and wrinkling your nose. “There’s nothing wrong with this, I just want you deeper. Fucking you...ah– fucking you, when you’re on your back, will let me take more of you. Come on, just this once? If you don’t like it, I– ”

In the blink of an eye, Tomura wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, slinking under your quivering legs and stretching himself on the sheets. Your fingers scrabble for balance, accidentally scratching down his stomach. He growls at the sudden, trickling, pain but he’s impatient for you to move, so he responds to your unintended hurt by thrusting up, into your heat, leaking some of your copious arousal onto his thighs. 

“This doesn’t feel any different,” he grouses, his eyes glaring up at you before they dodge away, scowling out at his room, already frustrated that he’s given into your request, especially since it’s not looking like he’ll be getting much out of it.  

“Give me a second,” you complain, finally steadying yourself and bracing your knees on the soft mattress. Once you’ve gotten your barings, you rise up, savoring the sting of his thick cock as it’s lifted from you. You roll your hips when you lower yourself and Tomura grunts, minutely curving his back, his lips curling into a pleased grimace. “How’s that?” you ask, preparing to repeat the motion, keeping your legs close and your pussy clenched, exulting in his choked moans. 

“It...it’s ok,” Tomura concedes, a lovely blush beginning to seep over his face. His fingers tremble when they settle on your working hips, urging you to pick up your pace, but you ignore his silent request, circling yourself as you bottom him out, gently teasing him. 

“Awe,” you pout, trailing your hands to him, cupping at his jaw and turning him toward you. His eyes meet yours briefly and he quietly murmurs a few curses, trying to pull his chin from your warm digits. “Just ok?” you continue, letting your legs spread, rutting him into you, squeezing your sopping channel around his length. “I’m hurt. I figured you’d like this. Don’t I feel good? You feel amazing, so fucking hard and oh– Did you like that? Mmm, that felt nice. Tell me what it feels like for you, Tomura. I wanna know.” 

He dips his head back, unable to resist giving you a few sharp thrusts, his hips taking on a mind of their own as he begins to pulse inside you. That blush has bled down his neck and onto his broad chest, sprinkling his skin with a rosy hue. You drag your nails over the redness and he sucks in an unsteady breath, his eyes popping open and fixing you with a dazed stare. 

“Come on,” you taunt, bringing your knees back to the sides of his hips and lifting, rising, until his tip is beginning to slip from your quivering core. He hums at the feeling and the scar on his lip quirks as he gulps down a snarl. “I know, I’ll make a deal with you. Tell me how it feels for you and I’ll give you what you want,” you bargain, jutting your hips back and forth, teasing his swollen cock head until he’s digging bruises into your plush thighs. 

“What...what are you…doing...” Tomura gasps, his head lifting as he attempts to regain some control, his hands gripping you, trying to force you back to him. You click your tongue and lean away, out of his reach. “Don’t be like that. I just want to hear what you think. How can I possibly know if this feels good, if it makes you happy, if you don’t tell me?”

Tomura’s legs curl under you and his head shakes, white hair trailing along his neck, sticking to his damp skin. “I– it...it feels ok, I told you that.”

“Daw, but that’s vague,” you sulk, although you do sink down his straining cock, not quite all the way to his base, but low enough to reward him. Tomura sputters out a hiss when you do and he flops back to the bed, shaking. “Come on Tomura, give me a little more? Please?” you ask, fingers trailing along his stomach, drawing patterns into his slopes and grooves. 

“It feels...warm and it’s wet, so fucking wet, but...it...it hurts...I want more. Give me more. You said you’d take me deeper, not...not...ah– yes...yes…” He’s rasping as you engulf him to his hilt. You use your hands to brace yourself, picking up that cant, spearing him into you and keening when he hits something soft at the front of your pussy. Tomura’s eyes gleam when he notices your trembling and he lifts his legs, planting his feet under you and slamming himself into your undulating cunt. 

Your fingers wander to your clit and you start to roll those heady circles against yourself, oscillating waves of pleasure from your slippery bud. Tomura lets out a long sigh and he shivers as you break, edging yourself along that sharp ledge and falling into the mind numbing ecstasy that waits. As you drip and clench around him, Tomura gives out a weak shout and releases into you, thick bursts of his cum pulsing against your overstimulated and aching walls. 

You fall against him and he clings to you, kissing sloppily at your damp brow. After the heat of your coupling, your skin quickly begins to cool and you burrow into his warmth, careful to keep him tucked inside you, enjoying the softening of his length and the oozing slop that’s leaking from your cunt and onto the sheets. 

“What was that?” Tomura asks, his voice distant, awed.

“What?” you repeat innocently, pleased that these little pushes you’re giving him are working. You like seeing him disheveled and desperate and you want to see more. 

******

 It’s been easier between the two of you, since you’d worked your way back into his trust, but Tomura, being Tomura, still has his darker moments. 

He hasn’t permitted you to leave his room, still bringing you meals and keeping you close, binding you, or locking you in, when he can’t. But the nights are very different. He’s gentle with you again and he likes to duck into your arms, his white head pillowed against your breast. For your part, you’ve done your best to foster those urges, welcoming him and whispering soft words of praise over his bowed head. It’s a quiet lull and you like the shaking kisses he gives you, pleased with your acceptance. 

One evening, however, he comes to you in a blind rage.

Someone’s done something to shake him, to work him into this state, molding him into a walking, talking, callous being of anger and vitriol, but he won’t give you any names, or any particular reason for the sudden wrath. Instead, he opts to shove you down and spread you open, barely slipping his pants over his hips as he tugs his engorged, leaking, cock from the elastic band of his boxers. You’re not prepared for his first thrust and he growls in frustration as he sticks to you, lingering outside of your heat, unable to press forward. 

“Fuck,” he snarls, slicking his tongue over one thumb and lowering it to your clit, frantically rubbing at you, encouraging you to bead some of that glimmering arousal over your lower lips. 

“Tomura...Tomura...wait...I’m...ouch,” you whine, unable to hold still, shrinking from his aggression. “You can’t just shove your dick in me...I’ve gotta– ”

“Shut up,” Tomura grunts, maintaining that rough pressure, pinching at your half risen clit, pulling the hood away and mashing the pad of his thumb over the tiny bud. “I just want to...damn it…why won’t you– This isn’t fucking fair. I thought...I thought you were always ready for me, now? Why bother with you if you can’t give me what I want? Fucking slut, come on. I know you want me. Why won’t you– hey!”

Grateful that he’s neglected to tie you down today, you kick at him, scrabbling away from his belligerent touches. Tomura, displeased, snatches your ankle and tumbles you over, cracking his hand against your newly presented ass, startling a strangled gasp from your lips.

“Stop that,” he scolds, yanking you back and pressing you down, lifting your posterior and running a warm palm down the fleshy curve, soaking in the heat he’s struck from your skin. “I’m going to fuck you, so you might as well get used to that idea. Now, keep still (Y/N).”

“And I told you to hang on,” you grumble, twisting your head around to glower up at him. Shockingly, he pauses, his eyes narrowing as he leans back, lowering his hand to his throbbing length, tugging at himself, relieving some of the pressure that he’s worked up, waiting.  

“Just...what happened? Can’t you at least talk to me, before you try to fuck me inside out? What– ”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Tomura frowns, already pulling you back to him, prepared to line up with your unprepared cunt and shove his way inside you, ready or not. 

“No, wait. But what if– ”

“But what if?” Tomura mimics, unamused with your continued struggles. “My head hurts and I want to feel you. So, stop arguing with me, stop being such a–”

“If you finish that sentence I swear to fucking God, Tomura, I’ll– ”

“What? You’ll what? What are you gonna do? Huh?”

“Ugh, stop being such an ass, Tomura. It’s not like I pissed you off. How would you like it if I did this shit to you?”

“If you fucked me until I couldn’t think anymore? I’d say thank you and not be so– ”

“So let me do that,” you snap, wriggling out of his grip and flipping yourself around, fingers already reaching for his half clothed thighs and pulling yourself up to him. Tomura freezes underneath your touch and his eyes are wide, whisking over your upturned face. 

“You’ve got this, mmm, backwards,” he grouses, unable to resist bucking into you when one of your palms slips over his dripping cock.

“Do I?” you smile, kissing along his jaw, pausing to suck at his earlobe. He gasps at the sensation and his head butts into you, easing you off of that sensitive skin. “I’ll make it good for you, I promise,” you coo. 

He’s quiet for a time and the only sounds you can hear are the wet squelches of your hand, gliding up and down his succulent cock, squeezing when you reach the tip and working some of that dribbling precum over your fingers. You’re about to posit another question when you hear him, breathy and low, rumbling out his answer to your soft seduction. 

“Fine. What do you want me to do?”

Oh, fuck yes. You bite back your smile and pull yourself from his neck, meeting his eyes and reveling in that sweet blush he’s gifting you. Your hand keeps up a delicious friction, mollifying his ragged needs, and you study his face, debating your next move. He looks frustrated, but there’s something else hiding behind those vermillion eyes, something that’s curious, avid. 

“Let’s see,” you ponder, already feeling intoxicated off of this new sensation, this burgeoning power he’s bestowing you. “Since you were, oh, so impatient earlier, how about you show me just how wet you want me to be?”

Tomura snorts, rolling his eyes. “You could have just said you wanted me to eat you out.”

“Oh? I’m sorry, was my request unclear about that?” you smart, lifting your fingers away from his cock, pausing to wipe his slick lubrication down his pants. Tomura sucks his teeth at that, but lets the impudence slide. “Well?” you question, laying back and cocking your head at him, spreading your legs, granting him a swift peek at your flushing pussy. “You gonna make me wait all day? Oh, and take your pants off. It’s not fair you always get to keep all the layers on.”

“Why the fuck am I letting you do this, again?” Tomura growls, slipping his long legs out of his stained jeans and tossing them on the floor. His shirt follows and, despite his grumbling, he quickly slots himself between your spread thighs, his nose already dipped and sniffing loudly, inhaling the heady aroma of you dampening curls. 

His fingers thread to your dewy folds and he splits your lips apart, gathering some of the gossamer webs along his fingertips. You give him a pleased hum and he sinks his index finger into you, head lifting so he can watch you arch against the intrusion. “Hey, (Y/N),” he smirks, adding a second finger and v-ing the two, stretching you open, “I asked you a question.”

“Because you wanna see what I’ve got planned for you,” you gasp out, lifting yourself onto your elbows, wanting to observe his teasing explorations. 

“Do I? What makes you think that?”

“You can’t help yourself. Besides, I think you like pleasing me. You like when I tell you nice things or when I say you’re doing a good job.”

“Hmph,” Tomura jeers, shaking his head at your assessment, but he doesn’t comment further, content to silently watch as your cunt swallows his fingers. Your arousal soon coats the digits and begins to drip down his palm and onto his wrist. He’s just about to lean forward, to press those rough lips against you when you tut at him.

“Uh-uh,” you scold, lowering one knee and trapping his hand between your thighs, barring him from you. Tomura flashes a displeased expression your way, but humors you, stilling his movement. “Gotta ask,” you inform him, arching one delicate brow at his redding cheeks. 

“Ask? I thought you said you wanted me to make you wet?” Tomura sneers, his red eyes hardening, like flecked rubies in the darkness of his room. 

“Sure did. So, do you think you’ve done a good enough job? Or are you wanting to do more?”

Tomura’s jaw flops open and he fixes you with a sour look. “What?”

“It’s not that difficult, Tomura. I want to know if this is the best you can do?” 

“Of course it’s not. It’s– ”

“Well then,” you interrupt, lifting your knee again and arching yourself toward him. “Show me. Ask me if you can eat me out.” 

“I’m not– I–” His eyes have drifted from yours and that blush is deepening, seeping over his skin, staining him with his flustered want. Oh, this is working too well, you think, tilting your head at his abashed grumbling. 

“Come on, handsome,” you call, trailing your foot along his lean side, watching him quake and gasp. “Do it for me? Just this once?”

Tomura glances back up at you and he clicks his teeth together, trying to muster his wavering desires. “C-can I eat you out?” 

“Oh, baby. That was so fucking good, thank you. Go on, you earned it.”

In seconds, Tomura’s beet red face is buried between your thighs. His lips latch onto your clit and he starts to suckle at the budding flesh, his saliva leaching from his lips. The warmth of him makes you shiver and your fingers sink into his silvery hair, threading along the strands and scritching at his scalp. His caresses are sloppy and he hunches himself closer, lapping and slurping at you, groaning when you flutter around his imbedded fingers. 

As you’re indulging yourself, whispering soft encouragement over his bowed head, you notice one of his hands drifting toward his straining cock, his fingers twitching as they grasp at the bulbous head, eager to work out some of that simmering pressure. “Stop that!” you snap, startling him, making him lose his grip on you. 

You curl your digits into his hair, yanking him up, straining his neck as you demand his full attention. His eyes are narrowed and gleaming, ire written all over his slicked face. 

“What the f-fuck?” he growls, tongue lapping at the residual threads of your arousal, trying to work steel into his voice.

“I said you could eat me out, not that you could touch yourself,” you retort, tugging at his hair until he’s moaning, his hips unconsciously humping against the bed. “Oh, you like that? Well that doesn’t work at all. Get on your knees.”

“What? I thought that– ”

“Get on your fucking knees, Tomura.”

“Stop telling me what to do you fucking– ah– God.” Your fingers release his hair and before he can stumble out another snarl you’re shoving him back, your hand wrapping around his cock, squeezing and pressing quick jerks over him. 

You let him fall to his back and you loom over him, teeth latching onto his scarred neck, biting and pulling, coaxing a low whine from his throat. Your hand slows and he keeps trying to rut into your palm, his legs trembling as he flounders against the sheets. “You wanna cum? Hmm, do you? You want me to finish you off? Talk to me, Tomura.”

He’s overwrought under your ministrations, his head lowered and his brow furrowed. His eyes keep opening and closing, too disjointed to focus on anything but your touch. He tries to gulp something out, but it’s lost in a smothered groan seconds later. He looks fucking cute, you think, watching him, rutting your hips over his raised knee. Drool starts to fleck out of his mouth and his back bows and arches. He’s practically unhinged, but it’s not enough. He’d never let you get away with not answering a question, so why should he get special treatment?

Your hand slows and he pouts, a long groan leaching from between his clenched teeth. “I asked you a question,” you mime, licking along his cheek, pulling some of that extra saliva he’d frothed out into your waiting mouth. “Do you want me to finish you off? Or should I leave you like this?”

“P-plea...finish me off,” he whispers, his voice rasping. 

“Ooh, was that what I think it was? Baby, did you almost say please? I’d love that so much. Oh fuck, that makes me want to take care of you.” You kiss at his temple and he quakes, his hips rising, trying to force your palm back into that rhythm. 

“I didn’t...I didn’t mean to...just fucking…(Y/N)...” Tomura lets out a reedy whine when you lift your hand from him, letting his cock spring from your grasp, the tip curving toward his stomach, swollen and red. 

“Oh no, you didn’t mean to? That’s not nice, no that’s not fucking nice at all. Especially after I just told you how much I liked that idea.” you lift your sticky fingers to your lips and lick up the last bits of his precum, humming contentedly and lifting your eyes to his. He’s watching you, his eyes hooded and dark. His breaths are coming in low heaves and he’s gritting his teeth, but he hasn’t reached for himself. No, there is a wild look in his eyes and you want to see if you can make it worse.

“Say please and I’ll touch you,” you tell him, your voice lulling, tempting.

He looks away from you and he starts to shake his head, but then you hear him, whisper thin, broken, and oh, so fucking needy, so exquisite. “Please, I-I wanna cum. Touch me, please (Y/N).”

You take him back into your hands, your fingers gentle as they wrap around that velvet skin, careful to build him back up slowly. You rise up on your knees and tilt his chin up, wanting to feel his lips on yours. Tomura sucks in a ragged breath when you tap soft caress to him, his body surging forward, demanding more. You indulge him, letting him slip his rough tongue into your mouth, pressing and dipping until he’s inebriated off the sheer closeness of you. When you pull away he lets out a huff and you stroke a hand down his flushed face. 

“You’re doing so well baby. Do you like it?”

“Y-yes, can...can you g-go faster?” he stammers, his mouth falling open and head tipping back when you acquiesce, picking up speed. He’s starting to sway, his back hunkering forward and backwards, knees spreading, drifting closer and closer to his release. Your thumb traces over his slit and you pull a glistening strand of precum from him, clinging and wet as it dangles across the short distance you’ve created. 

“God, handsome. You’re doing such a good job, I’m so fucking proud of you. I know it’s not easy, but you’re perfect. How does it feel, love? Are you gonna cum for me?”

He moans at your declarations, unable to even gasp the words out, leaning forward and burying his face in your shoulder. His brow is jagged against your smooth skin, but you let him rub himself against you, feeling the heat of his blush and the damp stick of his lips as he tries to catch his breath. 

“It’s ok, baby. I’ll take care of you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Are you ready to cum for me?”

He nods, his head thumping on your neck, another thin strip of drool escaping his open mouth. It trickles down your breast, cooling and prickling your flesh as it passes. You kiss at his lowered brow and he sighs, muttering something that’s too distant for you to hear. 

“Hmm, love? What was that? I can’t hear you,” you tell him, tightening the grip on his slippery cock, feeling those tell-tale flutterings that proceed his release. He’s scalding under your palm and he keeps trying to scoot closer, his hands shaking beside his hips, one of them reaching for you and digging into your side. 

“I-I said...fuck...let me cum, mom...m-mommy, please,” the last two words leave him on a yelp and he pulses in your hand, spurting thick cables of his cum across your lap and his. 

In the lull that follows, Tomura drags you against him, not caring that he’s smearing himself all over you and his chest. He pulls you down and wraps his long arms around you, caging you to him as he regains his breathing. You ignore the wet sticking that he’s rubbing into your lower half and you pull yourself higher, shifting until you can see his face. He’s still flushed and his eyes are clouded, but he lets you kiss at the side of his face. 

A silence stretches over the two of you and you’re unsure what to say. 

You’d liked pushing him and you’d liked how he bent to your demands, but that last comment, that final utterance he’d grunted into your shoulder as he worked himself into a frenzy, well, you’re not sure how you felt about that. Sure, it had made your pussy clench and you’re fairly certain it would only take a quick tweak of your fingers to shatter that burning ache within you, but what exactly have you awakened? Would he even acknowledge it, later after he’s escaped this haze that he’s slipped into? Would he...would he let you do that to him again? 

His drying cum is making your skin pull and you try to shift from his hold, but Tomura keeps clutching you, refusing to budge. 

“I- I just want to clean myself. Can I go to the bathroom? I’ll be– ”

“Don’t go, not yet,” Tomura replies, his tone gravel and forgotten ash. His arms tighten and you chance a quick glance at his turned face, meeting his eyes and absolutely melting. 

His expression is slack and his eyes are wide, with a childlike wonderment, and when you look at him he smiles. “Stay with me?” he asks and you wrap yourself around him, feeling for that familiar beat of his heart as it pulses, steady and strong, under your shaking fingers. 

******

A few days later, Tomura tells you to put on a new, grey, robe and leads you down one of the long walkways, toward one of the closed rooms that sits at the back of the hideout. He opens the door and hot steam pours from the tiled space, bushing against your face and tickling your nose. Inside sits a porcelain, square, ofuro bath. Your eyes lift to his, but he’s not looking at you. Instead, he’s wholly focused on tugging you inside, sliding the door shut and sealing you both in the fresh condensation.

“Leave your robe on that table by the door,” he tells you, already stripping off his dark shirt and lowering his four fingered grip to his belt, clattering the metal under his nails. You shift to obey, carefully folding the soft fabric and waiting for him, shivering against the cool tiles.

Tomura turns to you once he’s finished and regards you silently, his eyes lingering over your face. “Come on,” he rasps, gesturing his head toward the bath. He lets you step in first and once you’ve sunk into the water he wedges himself behind you, hissing against the warmth. Tentatively, you lean your back to his chest and Tomura shifts you over him, slotting his legs alongside your hips. Once you’re both comfortable, you slide your feet to the end of the tub, resting your head close to Tomura’s collarbone, quietly luxuriating in the gentle warmth. 

“So, um, I didn’t even know this room was here. Not that I know a lot about any of the rooms, so I guess that’s a stupid point. Anyway, why did you wanna do this? I mean...I like this, I’m just confused,” you correct, tilting your head up to look at his face. His eyes are closed and his lip is set into a light curve, smirking at your question. 

“Think of it as my way of getting you back for the other night, in the shower,” he rumbles, his voice deep as it reverberates around your ears. 

“Really?” you laugh, trailing your hand over the water, watching the ripples spread and fade. 

“Yeah, haven’t seen you this off balance in weeks,” Tomura teases, resting his chin over your head. 

“Pfft,” you scoff, brushing a bit of water over his chest, “you wish.” 

“I do,” he sighs, bringing his arm down over you, quieting your playful splashes. “I figured you’d like this and you’ve shown me that it’s nice to do things for the people you love.” The mention of the word love makes your heart miss a beat and you try to peek up at his face again, but his chin holds you still. It’s not the first time he’s said it to you. No, he’s said it plenty of times before and in plenty of ways. Sometimes it was a threat, other times it was a calculation, something that was supposed to make you pause, make you second guess yourself, letting a strange, nagging guilt prick along the back of your mind. 

But, there’s something different about this utterance of the endearment.

It’s quiet and it’s spoken with no layering of underlying motives. No, he said it like he...like he meant it, perhaps for the first time. You press back against his slick pectorals and he hums at the weight of you, pleased by your response to his declaration. The water laps at your sides and you snach his arms, wrapping them around you, stroking delicate designs over his wet skin. 

******

“I don’t– I don’t think that’s it,” you pant, your fingers slick. They’re too slippery, really. You can’t get a good grip on him and you keep flicking your eyes up to his, positive he’s gonna to buck you off of him any second.

He’s quiet, his lips set into a white line, but that blush of his, oh, that will never not look nice. When you fumble again he shifts, arching and impatient, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. Why would he?

It was his idea after all.

He’d murmured the request when the water cooled about the two of you. But your chill was forgotten as soon as he rasped the words against your ear, tickling your sensitive skin. When you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, his cock began to swell behind you, prodding and curious. 

As you entered his dark bedroom, he didn’t even give you a moment to breathe, lifting you to him, lips biting, sucking, licking you senseless. Once your knees bumped the mattress he urged you to sit, leaving your side to fish something out of a nearby drawer. He tapped the bottle down on the lone side table, nudging it expectantly and fixing you with a grinning leer. 

You’ve never done anything like this, never thought about it, never...no...no, that’s a lie. You have thought about it before and you’ve heard about it, too. I-It was supposed to feel good, right? 

Now, if you could only do this correctly.

You ball your hand into a fist and bite your lip, take a steadying breath and give him another lidded glance, watching him from the curtain of your eyelashes. “Ready?” you ask, rubbing your thumb and index finger together, trying to warm up the glossy lube. 

Tomura doesn’t grace you with a verbal affirmation, instead he simply nods his head, cascading his white hair over his forehead. Alright, you think, scooting closer and lowering one finger to him, reaching for his cock with your opposite hand. You grip him firmly, coiling your digits and admiring the dribble of precum that greets your pump. Tomura lets out a low exhale and arches again, those fervid eyes falling behind his eyelids. 

While you’re pulling and squeezing him, your trembling finger traces a circle around his puckered asshole, teasing at the muscle, giving him time to adjust. Once you’ve dampened him to your satisfaction, you dip into that warmth and gasp, your other hand faltering, accidentally loosening your hold on his straining length. 

You peek up at him, but his head has fallen back and his broad chest is heaving. Again, he’s not protesting, or demanding that you stop, so you keep going. That first ring of muscle is tight, pinching your intruding digit when you try to sink further. As you wait for him to acclimate to the foreign sensation, you focus on his cock, bending your head over him and giving him a long suck. Your tongue swirls around his tip and you lap at the bubbling, salty, precum that floods your mouth. Again, Tomura stretches and shoves his hips forward, encouraging you, wordlessly telling you to keep going. 

His dick slides from your lips with a wet pop and your hand makes up for the loss, jerking moans from his open lips. You twist your opposite wrist and drive your finger in, plunging the last knuckle past that quivering ring. Flexing the digit, you begin to feel around for a bulge, the one that he asked you to stimulate for him.

He said he wanted to know how it felt and, best of all, he wanted you to push him until he begged you to stop.

It’s hot and sleek inside him and you’re worried that you might miss it. After all, it’s not like...wait...what...is that? There’s something protruding and it feels both hard and soft under your finger pad. Unsure, you stroke over it again and Tomura does something wonderful in response.

When you apply the slightest whisper of pressure his legs curl up, bracing his feet against the sheets and he lets out the breathiest whine. His fingers scrabble beside him, slapping and gripping at the bedding until you’re sure he’s about to decay the whole fucking thing and leave you both blinking on the dusty floor. 

“D-did– that feel good?” you query, amazed at the clenching his body is doing. Tomura nods his head, white hair splayed across the mattress and you pause, waiting for him to gather himself back together. 

“Again,” he finally grunts, craning his neck to give you a staggered glare, his eyes cloudy.  

Licking your lips, you give the gland another press and Tomura practically writhes off the bed. He’s groaning and gasping, choking out your name as he works himself closer. His cock pulsates in your hand and a line of milky white cum spurts out. It’s not enough to be a true release, but it makes your mouth go dry. 

Tomura sits up and his eyes immediately ensnare yours, blazing as he looks up at you. “Fucking keep going, don’t stop,” he barks, his voice splintered, hoarse. Keeping your finger close to the swell of his prostate, you shake your head at him. Tomura snarls at your impudence, but when you start to withdraw your finger he quiets, his teeth grinding behind his scowling face. 

“Don’t be an ass,” you challenge, fingers scooping up some of his leaked cum, using it to ease your renewed motions. Tomura buckles at that and his head drops to his chest, shaking out a few unsteady breaths. “If you want me to keep touching you like this, you better ask me nicely.” To emphasize your point, you lightly scrape your nail over that sensitive spot inside him, making him shudder and sigh. 

“Keep going, please,” he spits out. It’s dripping with more false supplication than true politeness, but you’ll take it. Since he reacted so well to that first press, you can’t help but wonder what he’ll do when you circle some modulated pressure around him. Oh, and it’s a perfect reaction. As soon as you complete that first rotation he’s a gooey mess, his bowed head shaking and nodding as he scrapes out your name.    

“Oh handsome,” you sigh, watching as another burst of precum trickles from his slit, coating your hand in a tacky sheen of pearl colored liquid. “You look so good. Being such a good boy and taking me like this. Does it feel good? Do you like it? Talk to me.”

Tomura whimpers when you repeat the oscillation, his voice slipping into a giddy edge, cracking and rising. “Fuck yes. It– it feels– oh fuck– again, again. Do it again. I-I mean...please. Ohhh God, (Y/N)!” 

He’s laughing now, his throat snagging as his moans hit a high pitched garble. “Ah-haha— I know, you liked it when I called you mommy. I saw your fucking face. It looked so pretty. Want me to say it again? Ah– oh, oh. I’ll do it. I’ll do it if you keep– hahaaa— fuck, fuck, fuck– I’ll– m-mommy. Oh, fucking God. Mommy don’t stop! Come here, fucking come here. I don’t care if you’re not rubbing my dick. Come here mommy and let me show you how much I fucking waaant you.”

His hands paw at you and he drags you up, lifting you with a lithe strength that you’ve never seen. Your finger, too slick to withstand the pull, slips from him and he groans at the loss. “I didn’t mean–” you begin, but he silences you with a fevered kiss, his teeth clinking against yours. He drowns out your protestations and swiftly straddles you over him, pressing you down and spearing you onto his messy cock. 

Once he bottoms out, the tip of him pulsing deliciously as he indulges himself in your wet heat, he leans back and gives you a wild grin, his eyes bright. “Fuck, yes. Ride me mommy. Let me show you what a good boy I am.”

notes: (￣▽￣*)ゞ  

tags: @libiraki​ (i’m tagging you cuz imma make you into a tomura fucker if it’s the last thing i do) @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​

[prettynxsty]

Acridity II

Sub!Namjoon x Domme!Reader

Warnings: Futa/Girlcock, Joon has a pussy, fingering, gratuitous nipple play, size kink (small top/ big bottom), creampie,

Summary: Sometimes you just need a good romp in the comfort of your home.

AN: This is part 2 of Salinity, go read that first for some context. Enjoy the bedroom hair esque pic. :))))

You push yourself back onto your knees, pushing your own shorts down your hips to fish out your cock. It twitched in your hand as you gave it a few strokes, you wanted to to fuck him slow and deep.

He glances down at you from over the bridge of his nose, his eyes were soft. A wordless request to feel you again, your warmth felt so much better than his.

Your breath jumps in your throat, you can feel your cock jump in your loose grip. He just didn’t understand how easily he was just able to do this to you.

Releasing your dick, you plant your hands around his hips and lay back against him. He seizes up for a second, head curling backward with a silent whimper. Your dick was thick enough to press between his folds and spread them open. Nestling between his fat Venusian tongues, you lean forward and press your nose against the base of his neck.

Anise and almond. You’d never regret purchasing this cologne from the roadshop for him. Herbaceous and aromatic, your drag the tip of your nose up the column of his throat. Hypnotized, your fingers come to gently curl around the base of his neck. His sigh is cool against the shell of your ear.

Nutty, toasty, warm. He smelt like the pits of a home, well loved, the kind that remains a fond memory.

It reminds you of the dampened earth squishing under your bare feet as a child. Rain. One that chooses to create and destroy within its prior breath, nourishing green that has yet to flourish.

Your lips seal around the juncture of where his shoulder meets his neck, suckling on it. The taste is so uniquely him. Acridity. The tip of your tongue undulates over the small sliver of skin. It tastes fresh and powdery, salty, yet acerbic.

His flavor bites back at you. His fingers curl into the bottom of your shirt, holding you against him as if you would drift away. You imagine you can taste the plums he loved to eat in the summer. Your teeth graze his skin just as he would to the plump flesh of fruit.

You climb further up his neck, equidistant to the previous mark which began to flush already. It’d ripen completely later.

“Baby,” he is neither begging nor pleading this time. Rather, beckoning.

You dot the rest of his flesh with hickies before you reach his mouth. He consumes you before you do him. His lips wrap around yours, smacking gently against your upper lip. You suck his tongue in between your lips, running your own along beside it. It’s a gentle exchange back and forth.

He gains his foothold, slipping his hands up the back of your shirt. His fingertips leave behind stinging trails that spread their fire over the rest of your body. He could surely feel your cock jumping against his cunt, you could almost feel the confidence swelling in his chest. You were just as trapped to him as he to you.

“Let me fuck you,” your whisper was breathless against his lower lip. His heart skips forward, his softened eyes boring straight into you.

You lean backward and sit back on your haunches. Your eyes never leave his as you clumsily reach for the nightstand. The drawer closes with a thump that you nearly missed as you pop open the cap on the K.Y Jelly.

You squeeze it over the base of your cock, piping a line all the way to the fat pink tip. You grip it with a trembling hand and begin to massage it over your length.

You didn’t neglect the rest of your responsibilities, watching him shift toward you and tilt his hips toward you. Your mouth runs dry as you watch his adonis belt ripple and stretch, blending down toward the pussy nestled between the swell of his inner thighs.

You squeeze a generous dollop on your fingers before carefully tossing it onto the nightstand again. You lean forward, slipping your fingers past his thick folds and smear it around his hole. You pepper soft kisses against his mouth as you press the tips of your fingers around the velvety entrance.

You resist the urge to groan, you couldn’t wait to feel him stretch and open up around you. His head lolls to the side with a mewl that sends blood rushing straight to your dick. His hand comes to rest on your forearm, gripping it.

You work your fingers in, curling them in and out for a short moment. You could hardly wait, pulling your fingers away eventually. You position yourself between his thighs, his legs coming to rest around your thighs easily.

You grip your cock with your left hand, dragging it in between his meaty folds. You waste no time, pressing into him before dropping your hand to rest on the other side of his waist. He raises his arms, wrapping them around your upper back to guide you to lay against him.

You sighed, pressing your nose in between his pecs as you slowly work your way in him.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me, babe.” He breathes into the air.

A sharp breath squeezes through your lips, your hips jerked forward as his cunt greedily swallows in more of you.

It made him feel so sexy when you were like this, the prey holds the predator on a leash. His hips tilt forward, opening him up to take you even deeper. Right there, he shifts his thighs and locks them around your hips, bordering on your waist.

Your growl is muffled between his tits, Namjoon keens beautifully in response. You carefully shift your weight onto your elbows, planting them deeply in the mattress before rearing back.

There it is, that feeling that made his toes curl. Your skin claps against his gently as you plunge in deep. His moans are slurred, drunk from the pleasure.

He doesn’t need to ask for more, you just understand when he starts lifting his hips to receive more of you. Your teeth set tightly in your jaw as you take it, flesh rebounding from his noisily. He whines breathily as thanks.

Your need to consume him only grows, a clumsy hand gripping some of his shirt and pushing it upward. He releases his grip around your shoulders, allowing you to scrunch his shirt up to his collarbone. Then you see it, his pecs bouncing lightly with each thrust.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you hiss as you snap your hips against his with more force. His beautiful lips spread into a smile before parting in a wail that makes you burn.

You tilt your head, allowing your tongue to fall from your lips and dangle over his right nipple. The hardened nub flicks back and forth against the tip of your tongue. You can feel him nearly glaring at you, you spoiled him by playing with them so often.

You never failed to suckle on them, pinch them, twist, and rub them whenever you made out with him. He at first found it strange, until it became something that he needed.

You couldn’t only tease him for so long and engage. He makes a choked noise as you suck it into your mouth and roll your tongue right over the center.

Your eyes squeeze shut, rolling your head back slightly and tugging his nipple with it. Your moan sends tingles across the expanse of his chest, it drove you crazy when he bucked back against you.

“Sto-” he squeals as you roll his nipple between your teeth. You release it with a harsh suckle and smack of your lips, diving back in.

Your hips move of their own accord, fucking him harder and faster. You can see the shadow of the headboard rocking in the corner of your eye. His other nipple calls your attention, bouncing right along with the rest of his chest.

You shift sides, occupying his right nipple with your finger tips. His back arches off of the bed as you squeeze it between your fingers, tugging until he whined.

You could feel the tension building in your stomach, your head was beyond thought. Blips of static twinkle in place of what would be your inner voice.

You flex your tongue, dragging it over his breast flesh like some dirty beast. He was your pretty maiden, preening and singing for you.

“Fuck, I-” your breath stutters as you hammer in and mold your body against his for the final stroke. His pussy responds noisily, his cum smeared over your length some time ago.

His head thumps against the headboard with a mewl, his cum caked up around the base of your cock. Neither of you mind making a mess on the sheets.

You lean in and press gentle kisses in the seam of his pecs and collarbone. You could always clean later, you always loved to bask in the warmth of after. His arms come up loosely, wrapping around your waist and a large hand strokes your upper back.

[butterflies-dragons]

SANSA STARK & TARGARYEN IMAGERY

A list of Targaryen Imagery around Sansa Stark in A Song of Ice and Fire

Fire and Blood

Black and Red

Silver and Purple

Dragon's Tail

Dragon Wings

Dragon Eggs

Dragon Skulls

Golden Dragons

Dragon Knights

Valyrian Steel

Dance of the Dragons

Maegor the Cruel

Baelor the Blessed

Aegon the Unworthy

Prince Aemon the Dragonknight

Aerys the Mad King

Rhaegar the ast dragon

Bonus: Fiery Hair

1. FIRE AND BLOOD

Sansa slid off her mare, but she was too slow. Arya swung with both hands. There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince's head, and then everything happened at once before Sansa's horrified eyes. Joffrey staggered and whirled around, roaring curses. Mycah ran for the trees as fast as his legs would take him. Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion's Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. "I hate her!" she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night's fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

When the king's herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she'd had them dye it black and you couldn't see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Then she realized that the blood had soaked through the sheet into the featherbed, so she bundled that up as well, but it was big and cumbersome, hard to move. Sansa could get only half of it into the fire. She was on her knees, struggling to shove the mattress into the flames as thick grey smoke eddied around her and filled the room, when the door burst open and she heard her maid gasp.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws."

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime VII

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

2. BLACK AND RED

The queen wore a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn into her bodice, covering her from neck to bosom. They were cut in the shape of teardrops, as if the queen were weeping blood.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Tyrion wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and lions’ heads. But the gash across his face was raw and red, and his nose was a hideous scab. “You are very beautiful, Sansa,” he told her.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

3. SILVER AND PURPLE

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

"Thank you, ser." Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

"You've waited so long, be patient awhile longer. Here, I have something for you." Ser Dontos fumbled in his pouch and drew out a silvery spiderweb, dangling it between his thick fingers.

It was a hair net of fine-spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Sansa took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, so dark they drank the moonlight. "What stones are these?"

"Black amethysts from Asshai. The rarest kind, a deep true purple by daylight."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VIII

Sansa wore a gown of silvery satin trimmed in vair, with dagged sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined in soft purple felt. Shae had arranged her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with dark purple gemstones. Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight."

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

4. DRAGON WINGS

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

"What wife?"

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

5. DRAGON EGGS

Butterbumps arrived before the food, dressed in a jester’s suit of green and yellow feathers with a floppy coxcomb. An immense round fat man, as big as three Moon Boys, he came cartwheeling into the hall, vaulted onto the table, and laid a gigantic egg right in front of Sansa. “Break it, my lady,” he commanded. When she did, a dozen yellow chicks escaped and began running in all directions. “Catch them!” Butterbumps exclaimed. Little Lady Bulwer snagged one and handed it to him, whereby he tilted back his head, popped it into his huge rubbery mouth, and seemed to swallow it whole. When he belched, tiny yellow feathers flew out his nose. Lady Bulwer began to wail in distress, but her tears turned into a sudden squeal of delight when the chick came squirming out of the sleeve of her gown and ran down her arm.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

In the Queen's Ballroom they broke their fast on honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts, gammon steaks, bacon, fingerfish crisped in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and a Dornish dish of onions, cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers.

[…] Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

6. DRAGON’S TAIL

The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him.

"Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet."

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail."

"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."

Is it true? she wondered. Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was one of Joffrey's enemies now, her brother Robb another. Her father had died by the king's command. Must Robb and her lady mother die next? The comet was red, but Joffrey was Baratheon as much as Lannister, and their sigil was a black stag on a golden field. Shouldn't the gods have sent Joff a golden comet?

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

7. DRAGON SKULLS

Within, the dragon skulls were waiting, and so was Shae. “I thought m’lord had forgotten me.” Her dress was draped over a black tooth near as tall as she was, and she stood within the dragon’s jaws, nude. Balerion, he thought. Or was it Vhagar? One dragon skull looked much like another.

[...] After, as they lay entwined amongst the dragon skulls, he rested his head against her, inhaling the smooth clean smell of her hair. “We should go back,” he said reluctantly. “It must be near dawn. Sansa will be waking.

[...] The Others can take my guilt, he thought as he slipped his tunic over his head. Why should I be guilty? My wife wants no part of me, and most especially not the part that seems to want her. Perhaps he ought to tell her about Shae. It was not as though he was the first man ever to keep a concubine. Sansa’s own oh-so-honorable father had given her a bastard brother. For all he knew, his wife might be thrilled to learn that he was fucking Shae, so long as it spared her his unwelcome touch.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VII

8. GOLDEN DRAGONS

"The queen raised her voice. "A hundred golden dragons to the man who brings me its skin!”

“A costly pelt,” Robert grumbled. “I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold.”

[...] Shortly, Jory brought him Ice.

When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.”

“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.

“All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard III

"Petyr Baelish put a hand on the rail. "But first you’ll want your payment. Ten thousand dragons, was it?”

“Ten thousand.” Dontos rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “As you promised, my lord.”

[...] “But he saved me.”

“He sold you for a promise of ten thousand dragons.

[...]“Sansa felt sick. "He said he was my Florian.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

“Your sister’s had no difficulty finding witnesses to your guilt.” Ser Kevan rolled up the parchment. “Ser Addam has men hunting for your wife. Varys has offered a hundred stags for word of her whereabouts, and a hundred dragons for the girl herself. If the girl can be found she will be found, and I shall bring her to you. I see no harm in husband and wife sharing the same cell and giving comfort to one another.”

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IX

Someplace no stag ever found … though a dragon might.

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne III

"A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that's not likely, is it?"

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

9. DRAGON KNIGHTS

She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

"True knights would never harm women and children." The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

"True knights." The queen seemed to find that wonderfully amusing. "No doubt you're right. So why don't you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I'm sure it won't be very long now."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa V

They continued down the serpentine and across a small sunken courtyard. Ser Dontos shoved open a heavy door and lit a taper. They were inside a long gallery. Along the walls stood empty suits of armor, dark and dusty, their helms crested with rows of scales that continued down their backs. As they hurried past, the taper's light made the shadows of each scale stretch and twist. The hollow knights are turning into dragons, she thought.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

10. VALYRIAN STEEL

Lord Tywin waited until last to present the king with his own gift: a longsword. Its scabbard was made of cherrywood, gold, and oiled red leather, studded with golden lions' heads. The lions had ruby eyes, she saw. The ballroom fell silent as Joffrey unsheathed the blade and thrust the sword above his head. Red and black ripples in the steel shimmered in the morning light.

[…] "A great sword must have a great name, my lords! What shall I call it?"

[…] The guests were shouting out names for the new blade. Joff dismissed a dozen before he heard one he liked. "Widow's Wail!" he cried.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

But she had another longsword hidden in her bedroll. She sat on the bed and took it out. Gold glimmered yellow in the candlelight and rubies smoldered red. When she slid Oathkeeper from the ornate scabbard, Brienne's breath caught in her throat. Black and red the ripples ran, deep within the steel. Valyrian steel, spell-forged. It was a sword fit for a hero. When she was small, her nurse had filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with the noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and other champions. Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not. "You'll be defending Ned Stark's daughter with Ned Stark's own steel," Jaime had promised.

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne I

11. DANCE OF THE DRAGONS

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the "Dance of the Dragons," Ned inspected the bruise himself. "I hope Forel is not being too hard on you," he said.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

12. MAEGOR THE CRUEL

The room where Sansa had been confined was at the top of the highest tower of Maegor's Holdfast.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

In the tower room at the heart of Maegor's Holdfast, Sansa gave herself to the darkness.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

13. BAELOR THE BLESSED

"Baelor starved himself to death, fasting," said Tyrion. "His uncle served him loyally as Hand, as he had served the Young Dragon before him. Viserys might only have reigned a year, but he ruled for fifteen, while Daeron warred and Baelor prayed." He made a sour face. "And if he did remove his nephew, can you blame him? Someone had to save the realm from Baelor's follies."

Sansa was shocked. "But Baelor the Blessed was a great king. He walked the Boneway barefoot to make peace with Dorne, and rescued the Dragonknight from a snakepit. The vipers refused to strike him because he was so pure and holy."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

14. AEGON THE UNWORTHY

Aegon the Unworthy had never harmed Queen Naerys, perhaps for fear of their brother the Dragonknight . . . but when another of his Kingsguard fell in love with one of his mistresses, the king had taken both their heads.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

"A king can have other women. Whores. My father did. One of the Aegons did too. The third one, or the fourth. He had lots of whores and lots of bastards." As they whirled to the music, Joff gave her a moist kiss. "My uncle will bring you to my bed whenever I command it."

Sansa shook her head. "He won't."

"He will, or I'll have his head. That King Aegon, he had any woman he wanted, whether they were married or no."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

15. PRINCE AEMON THE DRAGONKNIGHT

He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

"Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey." She tried to smile bravely for him. "I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies."

"Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

16. AERYS THE MAD KING

"Ser Ilyn has not been feeling talkative these past fourteen years," Lord Renly commented with a sly smile.

Joffrey gave his uncle a look of pure loathing, then took Sansa's hands in his own. "Aerys Targaryen had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

"The battleground is right up ahead, where the river bends. That was where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen, you know. He smashed in his chest, crunch, right through the armor." Joffrey swung an imaginary warhammer to show her how it was done. "Then my uncle Jaime killed old Aerys, and my father was king."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

"You can't talk to me that way. The king can do as he likes."

"Aerys Targaryen did as he liked. Has your mother ever told you what happened to him?"

Ser Boros Blount harrumphed. "No man threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

17. RHAEGAR THE LAST DRAGON

"The battleground is right up ahead, where the river bends. That was where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen, you know. He smashed in his chest, crunch, right through the armor." Joffrey swung an imaginary warhammer to show her how it was done.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

"My father told everyone my bedding had caught fire, and our maester gave me ointments. Ointments! Gregor got his ointments too. Four years later, they anointed him with the seven oils and he recited his knightly vows and Rhaegar Targaryen tapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Arise, Ser Gregor.'"

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

18. BONUS: FIERY HAIR

Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor."

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

[celtics534]

At Least for Tonight: Part II

Part 1

As promised, part 2! I hope y’all enjoyed these little hinny moments! Again, thank you anon who sent me the ask! 

Read both parts on: FF.net or AO3

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Ginny breathed in deeply, her eyes drooping closed. 

 “Ginny, dear.” Her mother’s voice was soothing as a hand ran along her back. “Why don’t you head up to Gryffindor tower, try to find a place to sleep for the night?”

 She opened her eyes to look into the ones that matched hers perfectly. The sorrow in Molly’s normally bright eyes was overwhelming, even after just one second. It was like the pain Ginny’s mother was feeling was palpable. Yet, Molly was putting on a brave front, trying to care for her daughter… for her children that had survived.  

 “Mum.” Ginny wanted to stay with her mother, to try to comfort her, but her treasonous body denied her the chance, forcing a jaw-popping yawn out of her. 

 Molly gave her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Go on now, love.” She pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head before gently guiding Ginny from her shoulder.  Ginny shakily rose from her vigil beside her mother. Her steps were uncertain as she started towards the marble stairs. 

 For all her years at Hogwarts, Ginny had never minded the trek up to the Gryffindor Common Room. Especially when she was dreading the potion essay awaiting her, or when she and Harry had —

 Harry

 Harry

The name was like an invocation in her mind. Harry Potter, who had just stopped the most heinous monster for years. Harry Potter, the man who had practically disappeared off the face of the Earth for nearly a year. Harry James Potter, Ginny’s ex-boyfriend and the man she had missed with every fiber of her being. 

 Ginny’s mind started thinking back to the last time she’d seen him, the last time they’d been alone long enough to have a real moment. That moment had kept Ginny sane through the most arduous year of her life. When she crawled into bed at night, Ginny had replayed the feeling of his fingers teasing her waist, the softness of his lips, the intensity of his eyes as he held her close to him in the dim moonlight of the Burrow kitchen. 

 God, that felt like a lifetime ago, yet at the same time, the phantom feeling made it feel as if it were only yesterday. With a sudden realization, Ginny remembered Harry hadn’t been in the Great Hall when she’d left. A wave of panic coursed through her. What had happened to him? Where had he gone? 

 She forced her overtired mind to think. Where would someone go after fighting for their life? It was hard to keep her mind straight when she was so tired… tired… Bloody hell, Harry would be exhausted after everything he’d been through! Hell, the reports about the Gringotts break-in had been less than forty-two hours ago. And knowing Harry, and that was something Ginny prided herself in, he would go to the place he’d slept for the past six years while at Hogwart. Ginny’s stride quickened as she climbed flight after flight, ignoring the destruction around her. She couldn’t think about what had been her life for the last twenty-four hours. Ginny refused to replay the violent memories that were trying to push to the forethought of her mind. Instead, she kept them at bay with one thought -- or better yet one person. Harry. She needed to see him with her own eyes. Just at least for one minute. 

 She came to a dead halt in front of the Fat Lady portrait, for the first time considering she hadn’t known been at school in months and the password had more than likely changed. “Er —”

 The Fat Lady simply smiled at her before swinging wide.

 “Thanks,” Ginny murmured as she climbed into the common room. Her left foot caught on the edge of the portrait, nearly making her land flat on her face. Ginny cursed as she caught herself. That would be the last thing she needed, a sprained ankle. 

 Letting out a long sigh, Ginny looked around the seemingly untouched tower. Everything looked exactly as it had for the last six years. Tables in the corners, comfy couches strategically in front of the fireplace. If Ginny didn’t know better she’d be able to pretend a war hadn’t just come to completion mere hours beforehand. 

 She looked over towards the girl’s staircase. That’s where her mother would expect her to go, back to the sixth year’s dorm and her old bed. But Ginny’s heart and feet had other plans. She was halfway up to the seventh year’s boy’s room before she even realized she’d begun to move. The door was ajar, making it easy for Ginny to peek inside. No sounds could be heard, nothing seemed disturbed… except one bed by the far window. She could see his mop of messy black hair. 

 There she’d seen him. Ginny could now go back down the stairs and find her own bed... Except, again her feet pulled her towards him. 

 Ginny stood beside his bed, taking in the man before her. He lay on his back, seemingly dead to the world. Hell, if Ginny hadn’t seen his chest rise and fall she might have thought he was truly dead. 

 Harry Potter is dead. 

 The words came back to her with the sharpness of a knife, making her breath hitch. Fuck… hearing those words… The way it had echoed all around her. Never before had words suffocated her, but as she’d stood beside her brothers in the Great Hall and Voldemort’s cruel voice reverted off the stone, Ginny had lost her ability to breath… to think.

 “Gin?” 

 She blinked rapidly, forcing tears she hadn’t known about, to fall down to her cheeks. Her focus fell onto his eyes. The eyes that had come haunted her dreams. His brow was creased as he blinked up at her. 

 Ginny swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Hey.”

 Hey… that was the first thing she said to him after so long! Ginny wanted to smack her forehead, but Harry simply smiled at her. 

 “Hey.” He started to sit up, but Ginny’s hand shot out to land on his chest stopping him.  

 “Don’t move, you’ve got to be tired.” 

 He blinked at her, his breathing labored. After a second he leaned back onto his pillows, his chest rising high with every breath under her palm. They stared at each other, neither seeming able to break the silence between them. Hell, all Ginny could do was drink him in. Take in every bit of him… there… alive. 

 Harry’s gaze took on a new intensity… something about it Ginny couldn’t place, but it still sent shivers down her spine. 

 “Ginny,” Her name on his lips is what did it. It broke the dam that had been holding back everything in Ginny’s chest. A sob rose into her throat and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Then another and then she was crying as she stood there beside his bed. 

 Before she could even try to regain her composure, Harry had taken her hand and tugged her into him. Her body covered his as he held her close. His fingers caught in the knots matting her hair, but Ginny could feel the pain. No, she was consumed by the truth of all that had happened. The fact that her brother was dead, Voldemort was gone, that Harry was there with her. Her face fell into the crook of his neck, tears dampening his skin.

 “Shh.” His murmur vibrated in his chest, his fingers still brushing the knots out of her hair. “Ginny, shh.” 

 “Holy hell, Harry,” Ginny spoke through her sobs, her words muffled. “Holy fucking hell.”

 “I know, love.” His voice was comforting, though she could feel the tremble in his chest. “I know.”

 She breathed in deeply, trying to control the rapid emotions. Blood, sweat, and dirt all came to her senses. But most of all she smelled him. Harry. His naturally woodsy scent that brought her back to warm sunny days around the lake. How a smell could make her feel so… safe made no sense to her, but with every inhale she was able to breathe a little better.

 Her chest hurt as the sobs slowed and the tears trailed off. She breathed in one more shuddering breath before pulling away from Harry’s neck. Harry was silently crying, tear tracks stained his cheeks. His eyes were focused on the ceiling as he tried to silently handle his grief while comforting her. Ginny’s heart broke for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, her thumbs wiping the dampness. 

 His eyes came back down, locking onto her hers. The way his bottom lip quivered made Ginny’s chest tighten. “Oh, Harry.” She pressed her lips to his trembling ones. She could feel his breath hitch as their lips connected. There was so much pain… so much anguish... But in that moment Ginny didn’t feel any of it. She only felt him, the way his lips felt against hers. 

 It wasn’t passion driving them, but a need. A need for each other, for solace, that she could only seem to find in him. 

 They broke apart slowly, her forehead coming to rest on his. Ginny’s body felt as if it weighed a million tons. With the last of her strength, she rolled to her side, bringing Harry with her so they lay side by side facing one another. 

 Her eyes started to close on their own accord, between the comfy mattress and Harry’s warmth Ginny thought she might sleep for a year.

 “Ginny, there is so much —” Her eyes opened to see Harry’s wide green ones. He looked so overwhelmed. “I need to tell you — Everything. I need to tell —” 

 She placed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “It can wait.” Her lips replaced her finger. “Just sleep, at least for tonight. Just sleep.” 

[copias-thrall]

Than maybe can I please request the following: since we know Dewdrop is into choking, how is it when he does that with Aether? 🙈

It goes exactly as you might imagine, nonny. 😏 

*rough sex; breathplay*

We all know what a gremlin Dewdrop is—and he’ll manhandle the fuck out of a Sibling of Sin or Rain—but there’s something about Aether’s big paw of a hand wrapped around his throat that gets him going. Sometimes he straight-up demands that Aether choke him; other times he brats his way into it; and rarely (but it does happen) Aether does it unprompted, for his own ends.

Dew fucking loves every instance of it, and Aether is one of the few people he trusts (Copia has been known to get a squeeze in, and Papa II certainly has the practice if Dew can’t find his favored partners)—but anyone else is going to lose some fingers.

While Dewdrop does prefer it hard and rough—teeth and claws—he does enjoy (shh, he’s got a reputation) a nice, slow session with Aether. Again, someone he trusts not to exploit the information that he does have a soft underbelly. (There’s been one rumored incident of Dew disemboweling a Sibling who called him a poser after a soft snuggle—but who’s to say the Gremlin didn’t start that himself as a deterrent.)  

When it’s soft, it’s Dew and Aether on their sides, with Aether as the big spoon. He’s got Dewdrop cuddled to his chest—an arm almost all the way around the slight Ghoul’s waist—as he slowly fucks into him. Dewdrop’s tail has escaped from in between them and is curled around Aether’s forearm. Aether has his hand wrapped around Dew’s throat, gently pressing in at the pulse points as he whispers words of praise and kisses into Dew’s ear.

“Such a good boy, Dewy. Such a good Ghoul. I love how well you’re taking it. I’m so proud of you. You’re my very good boy.”

The whole time Dewdrop is mewling and keening, his senses overloading from Aether’s words, the lack of oxygen, and the drag of Aether’s cock over his prostate. For Dew, this is an excruciating tease: Aether has excellent stamina and can go for hours. Occasionally he’ll use this as a method of punishment—fucking Dew slowly and not touching his cock as Dewdrop cries and pleads for Aether to let him cum—but Aether much prefers it for funsies.

He kisses Dew’s neck before marring the skin with little pinpricks from his fangs. This only causes Dew to cry out in frustrated pleasure—a feral creature, he just wants Aether to fucking bite him already. But while Dewdrop may be a spitting menace on stage, Aether is in charge here. He’s happy to rock into Dewdrop’s body as the smaller Ghouls wheezes around his restricted airway.

Sometimes Aether will take pity on Dew, finally wrapping his other hand around Dew’s cock as he speeds up his thrusts and squeezes his neck harder. Dew will hiss and spit, jerking at the sensations, until he’s in a red haze and spilling hot and sticky over Aether’s fist. Aether will then roll him over, pressing him hard into the mattress, and pound into his body—loving the way Dewdrop squirms and writhes under him—until he’s biting down on his neck and filling Dewdrop with his cum. (Aether—after all—is still a Ghoul, and something instinctual in him wants Dewdrop smelling like him.)

But most of the time Dewdrop gets his way, and the fuck is hard and fast.

He comes in like the unholy terror he is, snarling and spitting at Aether, circling him as if Aether could ever be mistaken as a prey animal. Aether is usually reading a book or something, trying to ignore Dew’s antics even as his hackles are beginning to rise. But Dew wants to fuck, and he wants to fuck now, so he slaps the book out of Aether’s hands. Aether gives him a warning growl as he goes to retrieve his reading material, but Dewdrop just steps on it, hissing.

That’s when the fangs and claws come out. Dew knows he’s going to lose, and Aether knows Dew knows he’s going to lose—but he still rises to the challenging, circling back and snapping his teeth at him. Dewdrop lunges, and that’s when Aether grabs him by the throat and lifts him off his feet.

“Is this it? Is this what you want, you feral beast?” Aether snarls as he shakes him, the tips of his claws biting into Dew’s flesh.

Dewdrop’s legs kick out, and his own claws scrabble at Aether’s fingers as he wheezes. Aether tosses Dewdrop onto the bed and is on him before Dew even has a second to get his bearings. He’s ripping off Dew’s clothes before Dew even has a chance to push him away. Aether’s hand comes up to squeeze his neck.

“Settle,” he growls.

Dew’s eyes are full of challenge, but start to unfocus the longer Aether keeps his grip going. Aether’s not concerned—Dewdrop’s dick is hard and leaking. It’s too bad Dew’s in one of his moods, because Aether wouldn’t mind getting his mouth around it … but that’s not what Dew came here for.

When Dewdrop turns sluggish, Aether lets go long enough to roll him onto his stomach. Dewdrop coughs and sucks in some air, and then Aether is smashing his face into the pillow. As Dew thrashes under him, Aether fumbles for the lube in his night table; he only lets up once Dewdrop once again grows sluggish. Dewdrop gets as far as lifting himself up on his arms to get some sweet, sweet oxygen and then Aether is angling his ass up and knocking his legs apart.

Dew’s tail is thrashing about violently, so Aether grabs it and takes the spade into his mouth, tonguing and sucking at it.

“Oh fuck, Aeth!”

Aether removes it from his mouth.

“If at any point you smack in the face with it again, I’m going to bite through it, Dew.”

“I’m telling you that was an accident!”

“Accident or no, if it happens again, you’re getting a new hole in it.”

Aether takes the tip back in his mouth as he spreads Dew’s asscheeks. After some gentle prodding, he’s satisfied Dew’s still open and sloppy from … whatever other activities he’s been involved in. He dribbles some lube down Dewdrop’s crack, then coats his own fat cock liberally.

“Ok, I mean it about your tail.”

“Fine! Get on with it already!” Dewdrop wiggles his ass.

Aether lines up and slides home in one hard thrust, letting out a pleased rumble at the feel of Dew’s tight hole around his cock. Dew gets one, long moan out before Aether’s paw is coming up to squeeze at his throat. His tail jerks, but doesn’t get dangerously close to Aether’s face. Aether rocks into Dewdrop a bit, enjoying the way the slight Ghoul’s body rubs his cock—but Dew is getting impatient, which Aether can tell by the way his body is beginning to tense. Aether will fight to retain dominance, but he doesn’t want to. So he hoists Dew up into his lap and starts bouncing him on his cock. He grips at Dew’s neck even as Dew wheezes and scrabbles at him.

“You’re going to fucking take it,” he snarls, and then he bites into the juncture of Dew’s neck, rumbling in satisfaction at his claim and lapping at the blood. His one hand is still firmly squeezing Dewdrop’s neck, and the other arm is wrapped around his small waist to hold him in place. Dew has stopped fighting and is letting out little keens as much as he can around the pressure on his throat; his cock stands out hard and proud, flushed and sticky. Aether dips his hand down to swipe his thumb through the fluid, which he smears across Dew’s cockhead.

Dew mewls and purrs, his teeth chittering.

“Yeah, that’s right,” growls Aether. “You want a little more?”

He doesn’t wait for Dewdrop to answer before his grip is tightening on his neck. Dew’s body slackens, even as a deep purr rumbles from his chest. Then Aether releases his grip, Dew letting out a whine of frustration.

“Not yet, love,” coos Aether as he scrapes his fans along Dew’s shoulder.

“You-you fucker,” pants Dewdrop.

Even as he bounces Dewdrop on his cock, Aether manages to repeat the pattern several times—gradually adding pressure to Dew’s neck while giving the slightest of touches to his weeping cock. 

At this point Dew is trembling, trying to swallow against the pressure on his throat, and keening as much as he’s able. He’s not even struggling, his arms and tail limp from lack of oxygen.

Aether is not moved. If he wanted to, he could keep going!—but his cock is oh-so hard, and Dew’s involuntary clenching feels oh-so good around him. He wants to cum as much as Dewdrop does … so he squeezes harder, fists Dew’s dick faster.

“Fucking cum, you gremlin. I want to feel you clench around my cock.”

If Dewdrop could moan, he would—but with Aether’s hand gripped tight around his neck, the most he can do is let out a rasp of air. Aether grips tighter, Dew’s limps arms begin to twitch and flail … and then his dick throbs and he’s spurting out ropes of cum.

At this point, Aether eases his chokehold, and Dewdrop is able to suck in some air even as he’s letting out little moaning wheezes and jerking against Aether’s broad chest. Aether presses them both down into the bed so he can slam out his own climax into Dew’s tight little ass, his fangs sinking into Dew’s shoulder.

Afterwards is one of Aether’s favorite parts—Dewdrop is still insensate, riding high off the breathplay and orgasm, so he lets Aether cuddle him and snuffle into his neck. Aether gets as much snuggling and petting in before Dew comes back to himself and starts to wiggle out of Aether’s embrace.

It’s all a front, though—of course Dewdrop is going to “give in” and let Aether lavish him with affection. He has to at least say he tried to fight it (no one buys it). And Dew’s more than happy to use Aether as his personal body pillow later as they nap.

[kennyisscrewy]

Playing Hard to Want II Webgott

Thank you to @speirtons aka Lily for organizing this #bobtogether fic writing event, and kicking a healthy dose of inspiration into me! You’re seriously a GIFT to this community 

W/C: 5076

Prompt: There was only one bed

   David was already not looking forward to seeing Joe again once he was finally let out of the hospital. Every day that he spent lying on that bed felt like a new nail added to his coffin, yet another tiny spike in Liebgott’s hatred of him. And truthfully Joe had hated David before he’d even done anything wrong, so now that he had… He shuddered at the thought. The street sign boasting Haganeu blared in his peripheral like a neon warning sign. Bitterly, he mulled over the unfairness that his one motivator as he was healing up (returning back to the 101st) was now something of a cold dread in his stomach. His friendship with Joe, too, had been shot in the dirt before he’d even gotten the chance to try.

  The icy ball continued to roll around in David’s stomach as he called out to George Luz, so very relieved to see a friendly face that wasn’t frowning and somber and pitying, only to have the usually animated man respond tiredly. And it just got worse, and worse, and worse. He couldn’t seem to stop his big, fat mouth from opening; asking where’s Hoobler? How’s about Toye or Wild Bill? Where’d that cheeky little Julien kid get off to now? Nobody said a word, and it spoke miles. Finally Foley and Martin ground out something about how thin 2nd platoon had become, and David was shooed away like a buzzing gnat.

  He swore under his breath as he walked up to the next Jeep and was instantly pinned in place by mean, dark eyes. The second Joe recognized him as more than just “anonymous annoyance”, he was rolling those glittering eyes, and David resented him for looking so pretty while doing it. It felt surreal to finally take in those near-black eyes that shone in the foggy french sunlight like pebbles in person once more, rather than just using his best memory to muse over them in his hospital bed.

   David has had a long time to mull over those eyes that narrowed into repulsed little slits as some unfamiliar face finally yanked David up into the remaining empty space. Four months, according to that red sneering mouth, which was news to him. In the first month, he’d kept count, anxious to get back to his platoon and his friends (and Lieb, of course). But around the second time that the nurses had none-too gently told him that if he left, the infection would kill him before he got another chance to play hero, David had become disheartened enough that he just let the days and weeks roll by sluggishly. Joe’s pissy remark: “Must’ve like that hospital.” almost made him collapse into hysterical laughter.

  That hospital room was never ending purgatory; solitary confinement. He lay there in his soaked through clothes and waited to die a meaningless, empty death. Dozens of times he’d pictured his father's reaction upon receiving the letter. Dull, bloodshot eyes would scan over the words: “died of his wounds”, and “taken off the frontline due to his own lack of awareness” and his father would chuckle meanly. Mutter how he’d been right to tell David he’d never make it out there, and “oh I hate to speak ill of the dead and say I told ya so!” The peeling off-white wallpaper and fleshy toned curtains plagued his nightmares still; Normandy felt like a tropical getaway in comparison. He opened his mouth to tell Joe that, and see that shit eating smirk slide off his pale face with satisfaction, but looking at him gave David pause.

  Beneath those pretty, glinting eyes were heavy bags so purple they could’ve been mistaken for bruises at first glance. His O.D.s and face were dirty-which was nothing new- but seeing Joe’s hair a stringy, careless mess sent something of a shock through David. Kind of like Perconte’s dental fixation, David has always been able to spot Liebgott from a mile away simply because it was clear that, even as his bloody bandages soaked through, the man took a few moments each day to make sure his thick, dark hair was still soft and touchable looking.

...Alright, so maybe David was just projecting there.

  Regardless, he looked like HELL. Which felt oh, so wrong. David has always admired how unaffected he’d seemed by the war, both physically and mentally, and his guts twisted as he watched those long, oddly dainty fingers bring a cigarette to his lips. They were shaking . And it’s not like it was exactly cold out.

  Feeling nauseous, his gaze moved unabidden to Heffron. Unkept, ruddy stubble dotted the usually chipper replacement’s thin face, and the shine appeared to have left his bright eyes. Dirty bandaged fingertips poked out of olive gloves that looked like the kid had torn the fingers off of himself. And he was quiet; so fucking quiet.If there was one thing David knew about Philly boys, it was that you could never get them to stop yapping even if krauts were peppering them in an empty field. He was unsettled by not hearing Babe’s squeaking, weird little giggles or Bill’s cartoonish cackling carrying on the wind. Honest to God, it didn’t even feel much like Easy anymore. No Luz attempting what had to be the worst British accent he’d ever heard or Toye bitching about whatever new thing had popped into his head. None of Muck trying out an hour's worth of garish standup while Penkala and Malarkey giggled like prepubescent hyenas. Just empty uniforms and the stench of stale cigarette smoke remained.

  Tracking down Lipton was a welcome distraction, as were the multiple near-death experiences on his way to the abandoned house he was posted up in. Something downright neurotic in him took comfort in the return of the bone rattling violence. Even as he was forced to dive away from a near-direct hit, which sent stabbing hot pains through his thigh, his heart soared with a sick kind of glee at the taste of dirt in his mouth. This solidified that he was really, truly back in the fight; it was as terrifying as it was liberating.

  Lt. Speirs previously from Dog Company and Lipton signed David’s execution by reconfirming that, yes, he was being reassigned to 2nd platoon. And, as a bonus, he’d acquired a squeaky clean West Pointer to babysit! Oh joy. Well, at least by comparison, David no longer felt so much like a replacement. The moment he’d laid eyes on that fancy graduation ring, he was filled with a perverse sense of relief. Oh, the toccoa boys are sure gonna have a field day with you, Lieutenant Jones. David felt like a little kid who’d desperately joined in on hazing the new kid, all in the vain hopes that the other boys might pick on him a little less.

  Any sort of relief David was feeling vanished as he faced down his former friend’s critical gazes, bitterness radiating off them in thick, rolling waves. Wordlessly, he tossed his bag unto an empty upper bunk, and took a deep breath before turning back to the men.

“This seat taken?”

  For some reason, that had Ramirez chuckling and had Chuck swearing and rolling his eyes. Everyone in the little huddle swung their gazes over to Liebgott, who seemingly always had something to say, especially for Webster. He fidgeted anxiously as Joe took his sweet time sucking on his Lucky Strike like a popsicle, blowing a stream of smoke out of pursed, cherry lips so slowly that David dug his nails into his uninjured thigh.

“They’re all fuckin taken, Web. This look like a fuckin presidential fuckin suite to you? I know you’re so used to yer cushy hospital digs what with big canned nurses shaking their tits in your face-“

  He walked away before he’d even heard the end of Joe’s rant, dripping with acidic hatred that made the blood in David’s ears ring. He knew if he stood around any longer that he’d punch Joe right in his handsome, artfully carved goddamned face. And as badly as Joe wanted it, he wasn’t the enemy right now.

Far fucking from it actually.

****

   David could feel drying blood underneath his fingernails as he stumbled back into the dilapidated house, wondering if it were Kraut blood or Jackson’s. His head leant against the side of his/not his bunk with a dull thud that didn’t even register. Mentally, he was still kneeling by Jackson’s side, framing the sides of the boy’s head with his fingers as he pleaded for the kid to calm down. He’d told Jackson it was gonna be okay, that everything would be fine once Doc showed up. But jokes on them; Doc had shown up and Jackson was dead, dead, dead.

  He repeated it aloud when they were quietly asked about the mission’s “success”. The mission’s fucking SUCCESS; god David had to laugh. Two German prisoners captured sure, but it felt like a monumental fucking loss from where he was standing. 20 fucking years old…

“Yeah we heard.”

  Came Joe’s voice, breaking through the haze of blood and shouting and gunpowder. It was surprisingly gentle, softer than he could ever recall hearing him speak before. And for some reason that is what nearly made David crumple. Not watching a kid begging to live, not listening to McClung tearfully screaming and pointing a shaking sidearm at the German’s heads, just Joe Fucking Liebgott not treating him like a smear on the treads of his government issued boots for once. Quietly, David excuses himself, walked casually to the ransacked bathroom, and violently puked up bile until he couldn’t even feel the muscles in his throat.

   A few hours of shaking and vomiting later, and he shuffled in the pitch black room towards the bunk beds. Blindly, he made sure to step as lightly as possible (which was quite a feat for the heavy-footed man), and reached out with searching fingers for his bed. The moment fingertips made contact with scratchy, piling sheets, David hauled his weary body on to the mattress, only to be met by the sensation of something sharp digging into his side. For one crazed moment, he thought he’d stabbed himself with a bayonet that wasn’t on his person, and his hand trembled as he flickered his lighter on expecting to see crimson staining through his jacket. Honestly, he’d have preferred the sight of him slowly bleeding out to what he did see bathed in the orangey dim light.

  Half moon eyelashes so dark and thick they looked like ink blots curved against moonbeam cheekbones. Thin, dark eyebrows not scrunched down in irritation for once, and a smooth forehead oddly absent of worry lines. And of course, chapped but also sinfully flushed-looking lips, thin but shapely, barely parted and emitting sweet sighs. Liebgott, with his ridiculously bony elbows jabbing into his ribs he was so close, looking like a goddamned Rembrandt. Too stunned to speak (or even breathe), he gently grasped Joe’s elbow (“ Christ, so fragile; felt like it might snap if he wasn’t careful”) with the intention of putting some space between them. Cherubic, slumbering Lieb had other ideas, apparently, because the second David started to apply pressure, skinny little fingers were suddenly clutching his bicep and hauling David closer. Mary, Mother of Jesus , it took everything in him not to scream as the unconscious bane of his existence wrapped himself around David with all four of his sinewy limbs.

  He whipped his head to the side fearfully as sleeping Joe wedged his thigh between David’s with such a kittenish little sigh it made David’s face flush neon. Small mercies, all of the other men were slumbering, albeit restlessly. Upon second glance, actually, David was relieved to see he wasn’t the only one sharing a bunk. Heffron lay curled up small and sad on Chuck’s big, barrel chest, but there was something distinctly platonic about the pair somehow. Unlike the little wriggling motions that Joe was using to systematically ensure David’s early grave.

  He double, then triple checked that the slighter man was actually asleep and not fucking with David’s head in the most goddamned insane fashion imaginable as bony, calloused fingers knot themselves into his dog tags with a white-knuckled grip. This had to be a joke, or a hallucination. Maybe he’d been hit by some wayward shrapnel and he was actually bleeding out on the bank like that kraut.

  David couldn’t have imagined this even in his four-month stockpile of wet dreams, which Joe had increasingly intruded upon (read: starred in). In those, it was never this based in reality. Usually it was just snapshots: a long, arcing throat with rather specific scarring; the sharpest and deepest Cupid’s bow lips he’d ever seen wrapping themselves around an insult (amongst other things). Dark, bottomless eyes half lidded and digging all the way to David’s core. A scratchy, hissing drawl: “And whattaya gonna do about it, Web?”

  Actually feeling the faint press of those lips through the fabric of his t-shirt and those gorgeous, dark waves tickling the side of his throat made his head spin in a feverish haze. Not to mention the thin, surprisingly-muscular thigh that was occasionally flexing right up against David’s crotch. For the first time, he was thankful for the sharp stinging of his still-tender wound, as he was sure it was the only thing keeping his body from betraying him. Though, again, the downright coquettish way Liebgott was sighing in his ear was trying awful hard to overcome that hurdle. Blue eyes stared their own makeshift skylights into the slatted roof above their heads as David tried to freeze every muscle in his body completely. After the disaster of a patrol, he’d been pretty certain he wouldn’t be sleeping that night. But this little unconscious stunt of Joe’s had absolutely guaranteed that.

  David woke up the next morning half expecting rust coating the back of his throat as Joe shoved his bayonet down it, or perhaps to the sight of the tendons in those skinny arms flexing as he strung David up from the nearest tree. Instead, David woke up shivering in an empty bed feeling oddly lonely. For 24 years, he had woken up in a bed by himself, but this is the first time it had felt wrong.

  Carefully, he shifted himself into a sitting position and tried to shake the feeling of phantom knuckles brushing against his chest, and warm, moist air wetting his throat from lips that were no longer there. Christ, what was happening to him? Still feeling half asleep, he turned his head and was pinned in place by a bewildering sight:

"C'est bon, mon garçon, ça va. C'était un accident ... juste un accident."

  Had he not had such a distinctive, thick accent, David would’ve found it hard to believe that was Doc pressed so close to Heffron. Sleep-hazy eyes watched, transfixed, as cracked, pale lips pressed sweet french notions into the crown of Babe’s trembling, red-brown hair. Babe’s gangly, long-limbed body was curled up impressively small, with what appeared like all of his weight pressing down on Gene’s chest. The medic, for all of his scrawny stature, hardly seemed to mind having his back flattened to the mattress by his fellow paratrooper. Dark blue eyes shone with so much love, it rattled David to his core. Did the two of them not know David was still in here with them? Weren’t they terrified of being court marshalled, or worse? His skin tingled, feeling starved for the ghost of Liebgott’s skin on his, as his gaze tracked Roe’s fingers carding through Babe’s thin locks. The two men were so tightly pressed together from chest to toes that they melded into one being. And just when David felt like his reality couldn’t resemble more of a fever dream, something impossible happened.

“Regarde-moi, ange.” Doc rumbled in a low, sleep-scratchy voice before slowly moving one palm up to cup Babe’s chin. And then, as though it were nothing, suddenly they were kissing. And the way the duo kissed, searching and deep….that didn’t look like the first time they’d done that before. His cheeks flushed when a soft, sweet little moan slid out of those pressing lips-he wasn’t sure which. Okay, so now David was almost positive Doc hadn’t spotted his sleeping form across from Babe’s bunk. He decided to take pity on the guys; this was obviously a very private moment that David had no business seeing. Shifting his weight and clearing his throat, he sat up very gingerly so as not to startle the men too badly. In spite of his best efforts, he felt like a real bastard as he watched all the muscles in Babe’s back stiffen, the redhead ducking his face fearfully into the side of Gene’s neck. “For a grown man, Heffron was weirdly adorable.” David thought to himself absently, unable to connect the small, fragile boy with the sharpshooting killer on the battlefield.

  Gene slowly turned to regard David with a calm, unaffected aire that confused and frightened the groggy young man. The stony faced medic shushed Babe’s faint fretting while those strong, capable hands rubbed paths through fluffy, auburn hair and down the other man’s back. Those dark-washed denim eyes continued to pierce David’s gaze all the while, as though threatening David to open his big, stupid mouth. Of course, David intended to do no such thing (his nighttime activities from last night really gave him no grounds to) and he tried his best to silently convey that in his face. His mother had always told him “his face said everything for him”, so hopefully he’d be able to recall that skillset. Something must’ve clicked, because he watched the icy stare thaw and soften ever so slightly. And then, then: the smug bastard had the gall to wink at him. Well, that certainly went to show David just how threatening Doc Roe found him!

  Once he’d scrambled out of the house with still-wrinkled ODs and a truly wild look in his blue eyes, David had been kind of counting on Joe not being anywhere near him. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the slighter man brooding in some distant alleyway all by his lonesome, smoking like a coal train with that patented scowl on his face. ‘ Probably brainstorming how best to kill me slowly and painfully…’ He thought stormily, feeling his stomach twisting yet again. He wasn’t sure why the thought bothered him so much; it’s not like that would be out-of-character or even unlikely that Joe had not been doing that from the minute they’d met. But somehow...after what they’d shared last night… the thought stung something fierce. This was what was swirling through David’s head as he clomped through Haganeu, startled out of his thoughts by bumping roughly into Martin.

“Webster, you gotta be pullin’ my leg. After that shit you pulled the other day?” The shorter man looked-okay, well, he always looked pissed, but this was a special brand of vinegar that made him itch to immediately cry uncle.

“Aw, Christ, sir. I’m terribly sorry, honestly, sir. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going…”

“Clearly,” Johnny scoffed, but to David’s surprise, his tone softened as he mumbled, “Well, I’m guessing you probably didn’t get much sleep last night. I...I didn’t sleep a wink.”

  He blinked dumbly at Martin’s abrupt change of heart. Sympathetic words from virtually anybody (but especially Srg. Martin) were so unfamiliar to him that they almost didn’t register to him. Tears threatened to prickle ludicrously at what might’ve been the only show of kindness David had yet to receive since he’d been cleared to go back, and he shook them off so he could offer Martin a respectful nod.

“I mean, if I said yes, that’d mean I was disobeying Major Winter’s direct orders.” He smiled cheekily, also feeling a bit of a rush addressing Dick by his new title. Inside, he wriggled and preened like a puppy when Martin replied with a faint grin of his own. With a faux-exasperated huff, Johnny reached up and rustled David’s mop of wavy, bed-messy hair before moving past him with a shake of his head.

  The brief interaction made David feel a bit lighter, no longer feeling so weighed down by what he knew was coming: a complete and utter shitstorm. Just then, a nasally, california drawl spiked his eardrums; as if his thoughts had summoned the bastard!

“No, no, see, Bobby COULD get with any chick ‘e wanted to, but he’s a lil bitch!”

Oh goodie; Joe appeared to be in yet another scintillating conversation. David couldn’t quite make out Chuck’s reply, but he most definitely heard Joe’s:

“You daydrinkin’ or somethin’, Chuckie?! Iceman’s like, the most badass one! Cyclops is just posturing! He’s a goddamned nerd!”

  Okay, so maybe David was struck slightly that Liebgott even knew what the word ‘posturing’ meant. And that surprise must’ve registered in his face as he did his best to inch past the cluster of 2nd platoon boys, because Ramirez suddenly called out:

“Somethin’ wrong, Webster?” with a mean, little smirk that had Grant rolling his eyes. David had always appreciated how little Srg. Grant tolerated the rest of his platoon’s relentless pestering of David. Not enough to speak up on his behalf, of course. After all, David was pretty sure that Joe was his best friend aside from maybe Talbert.

Liebgott’s eyes slowly swung over to acknowledge his presence, and David flinched in preparation for the barrage of insults he was sure were heading his way. Both parties had stopped walking, everyone apart from David and Joe shifting in slight discomfort as the staredown continued.

“You look like shit, Harvard.” Joe offered finally before bodily knocking his shoulder with David’s. And this one was purposeful.

  The group marched on, gravel crunching beneath their feet in the silence while David stood frozen in the same spot. W-what? That was it? Joe wasn’t even going to-to acknowledge what they’d done?? No, fuck that, what JOE had done to HIM! It wasn’t exactly like David had crawled into Joe’s bunk and-and….

Oh.

 Well, it was kind of like that. But, still! He’d been more than willing to leave and sleep on the frigid basement flooring, but then Joe had started rubbing and sighing and had latched onto David’s arm! Yeah...held him captive...with his slumber-sweet breath and surprisingly petal-soft skin. Jesus Christ, what was he kidding himself? Truth was, they were both at fault here, but only one of them had done so consciously. Did Liebgott think he was some sort of perverted creep now? God, he really wished that Joe had at least made some mention as to his feelings on the situation. Perhaps if he could manage to get the stubborn guy alone.

  David saw his chances and took it after Dick had informed them that they wouldn’t have to do a second patrol that night, snagging Joe by that sharp, little elbow on his way out the door. He ignored the look of unfiltered disgust on Joe’s face for the time being, swallowing his nerve before he had a fucking heart attack.

“Joe, can we talk? Please?

  He pleaded softly, ignoring how Babe was openly staring at them both as he brushed past them. The tips of his ears and high planes of his cheeks flushed at the sudden reminder that Babe knew . What made it worse was Joe’s gaze tracking the color as it spread across David’s face; he seemed unaware that he was even doing it.

“Why should I listen to anything you have to say, Web?” The question came out choked up, and obviously not as vicious as intended.

  Rather than replying, he simply tugged on Joe’s arm and ushered him away from where Nixon and Winters were still idly watching the interaction. The pair shuffled into a nearby alleyway, and David bit his lip, struggling not to comment on how easily he was able to move Joe around. That undoubtedly would set him off, and cause Joe to storm off before they’d even had a chance to talk.

   Instead, he let go of Joe’s arm hastily, and shifted so that his weight was pressing along the brick wall opposite him. Something on Joe’s face shuttered for a half-second, but his expression smoothed over into what he probably thought looked like apathy. Again, David fought off a smile; Joe’s face was always like an open book, and the older man never seemed to not be smouldering over some little thing. Maybe he was going insane, but David had always found it weirdly cute. If he wanted to really ensure his death, he might’ve even gone ahead and referred to it as a pout. That’s what it was really; Liebgott was never not pouting .

“The fuck ‘r you smilin’ for?”

  Oops, guess he’d failed. He wiped the grin off bodily with his palm and tried affecting an air of seriousness. Clearing his throat, his sky blue eyes rolled heavenwards as he searched for the right phrasing:

“I wanted to...apologize, for my actions the other night. It was inappropriate of me-”

Joe prickled instantly: “Jesus- don’t you talk to me like I’m some skirt, Webster! I-you, it’s not like you took my innocence or-”

   He seemed to register the words he was saying and his mouth shut with an audible clack. And David watched in fascination as Joe Liebgott blushed like an embarrassed little boy, shuffling his feet and looking away from him. He’d always thought a healthy flush looked particularly fetching on pale skin, the rosy color bloomed oh so beautifully, in his opinion at least. He continued to watch in baffled silence as Joe began to babble to fill the quiet:

“Not that- I’m not- and you, you didn’t… we didn’t- Look, nothing happened! Okay?”

  His ears got much redder than the rest of his face, and David let himself think it freely now. Cute . It was fucking endearing, the way Joe continued to huff and puff, brown eyes fluttering around the dirty alley. He felt a surge of warmth in his chest, feeling perhaps a little gluttonous as he soaked in the way dark brown locks shone in the dimming sunlight. With Joe refusing to acknowledge David’s existence, he was free to admire the man to his heart's content, appreciative that he was here  in the flesh.

    A sharp, defined collarbone peeked out of Joe’s jacket where the hem had gone askew, and long, pretty fingers toyed with his dog tags subconsciously. His memory recalled how those fingers felt: not rough, like he’d expect of a man so used to heavy artillery, but soft as silk. David recognized, obviously, that Joe was plenty manly. He acted with far too much aggression and seemed to compulsively throw his weight around (not that he had much to speak of). But physically, there seemed to be a disconnect. Joseph Liebgott had been sculpted into a thin, delicate form that clashed harshly with his mean attitude and meaner words. Call a spade a spade, but Joe was pretty . Handsome, sure, but pretty was more accurate. Pretty evoked images of sculptures and artwork to David; something finely crafted and meant to be….

To be appreciated.

“Do you have any memory…? Of anything you did last night?” Anger quickly bled into concern across Liebgott’s delicate features, much to David’s confusion:

“Do? Shit, David, I...I didn’t do somethin’ stupid, did I? ‘S that what’s got you all upset?”

  Wait, what? Now Joe thought he’d-ugh- taken David’s innocence?!? Any fondness he had for the shorter faded into irritation. God, he could be thick sometimes! He fought the urge to shake Joe, less inclined to fall through with this now that he knew how easily he could push Joe around. Hypothetically, of course. Although…

“Wha- I’m not upset, Joe!”

“The fuck you’re not!”

“But, really, I’m not-”

“You’re shoutin’ in my face, Webster! Clearly, something’s got yer panties in a bunch!”

He could feel his face heating up as his anger built, ticking upwards the more they shouted at one another:

“My p- You know what? Fine, yes, I am upset! Because you refuse to talk to me about what happened!”

“NOTHIN’-”

“WE SHARED A FUCKING BED, JOE!”

  Joe surged forward anxiously and covered David’s mouth with his palm, and oh, touching was so much worse. In his haste, Joe’s body was pressing into his own from chest to thigh, and David tasted the acrid nicotine tang and salt of his fingers. As Joe hissed in a tense, barely-audible voice, their noses nearly brushed.

“Are you trying to get us both shot?? Shut the fuck up with that shit!”

He waited patiently until Joe finally removed his hand before saying: “So, you do acknowledge that something happened.”

  He practically felt Joe holding himself back from smacking him, but David didn’t back down. Once more leaning his head back against the bricks, he stuck out his chin pointedly and kept his lips pressed together. Quick, clever eyes took in the picture of defiance he made, and something shifted in Joe. They landed on his lips heavily, blatantly, and David felt the backs of his knees starting to sweat. A sly, wide smirk stretched across Joe’s full mouth that made David feel small somehow, but he couldn’t tell if he hated that as much as he ought to. They were already so close, but Joe shifted his weight so that both sides were pressing him back into the rough, dirty wall rather than just the one. He could only follow along helplessly as he watched Joe’s hand come up to cage him in on the sides of his head, and what the holy hell was going on??

“So, what if we did? Hm, David? Would that upset you, if I did remember?”

He scoffed but it sounded weak even to his own ears, “Yeah right, Lieb. You were asleep.”

Joe hummed, pressing impossibly closer, until he could feel just the barest scrape of chapped lips up against his own, near-black eyes boring holes into David that shone with a delicious mischievousness that had him shivering:

“Guess you’ll never know!” He said brightly, pulling away like he hadn’t pasted himself to David’s whole body with ease, and with a wink, he was gone.    

[maedcny]

that was it. that had to be it. one or possibly both squads had found our hiding place. we waited here too long. that's right and why did you wait, Cassiopeia "Defiance" Sullivan? oh yeah, because some dead guy promised he'd find you. so you closed your eyes and jumped off the cliff into the emptiness, and now you're shocked there's no big fat mattress at the bottom? your fault. whatever happens now. you're responsible. the elevator was not large, but in the pitch dark it seemed the size of a football stadium. i was standing in a vast underground pit, no light, no sound, a lifeless, lightless void, frozen to the spot, paralyzed by fear and doubt. knowing-- without understanding how i knew-- that Ben's signal wasn't coming. understanding-- without knowing how i understood-- that Evan wasn't coming either. you never know when the truth will come home. you can't choose the time. the time chooses you. i'd had days to face the truth that now faced me in that cold, black space, and i'd refused. i wouldn't go there. so the truth decided to come to me. when he touched me on our last night together, there was no space between us, no spot where he ended and I begun, and now there was no space between me and the darkness of the pit. he promised he would find me. 'don't i always find you?' and i believed him. after distrusting everything he said from the moment i met him, for the first time, in the last words he spoke, i believed him.

an excerpt from THE INFINITE SEA (II. The Ripping.13 The 5th Wave Trilogy Series-Book2) by: Rick Yancey