#he ages better than wine

[demivampirew]

I think I'm gonna die

The first thing that comes up on my insta when I open it is this

What am I supposed to do with it? Faint in the middle of the office?

Look at his face he knows EXACTLY what he's doing

He does indeed.

I love this look, I'm glad he brought it back.

[lelianasbong]

letting sera beat the fuck out of pel harmond. for enrichment <3

[lacilou]

This is getting out of hand.

CreationCon

[mamahoggs]

twink death

[bumblingbabooshka]

The Pathways Novel is the holy grail of young Tuvok characterization because I can just sense so clearly through the page how insufferable he would be to talk to

[citrine-elephant]

holding myself down as i go rabid the moment i gain consciousness, too fuckin excited about making things and unable to stop my howling to the stars

[halsteadsass]

I have watched every season of big brother and I’m now just realizing that our favorite resident therapist frank on 911 won the first season.

[rebelfell]

made for lovin’ you

older!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

A bad Tinder date gets a whole lot better…

18+ MDNI┃9k

cw: age difference (30s/40s), alcohol, smoking, light choking, softdom!Eddie, face fucking, light hair pulling, fingering, piv sex, finishing inside, and aftercare ‘cos we deserve it ♥️

I’ve been in a Mood and now you all have to suffer.

eddie edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Holy shit, was this guy boring.

Not terribly surprising, unfortunately. Your expectations weren’t all that high to begin with. Most of your recent forays into online dating had been yielding overwhelmingly middling results and this one was no exception.

He had seemed perfectly nice on the app, when he was nothing but a handful of generic pictures and a smattering of inoffensive text bubbles. But any appeal he held had been in steady decline the moment he took his seat next to you at the bar.

He looked more scared of you than anything—fumbling his words and constantly having to push up his glasses as they slid down the bridge of his sweaty nose. You did what you could to help him relax, coaxing him into the conversation, asking all of those tedious first date questions.

And every single one, he answered with nothing but curt, clipped responses. Making no attempt whatsoever to follow up or ask you literally one single thing about yourself.

Then you made the fatal mistake of asking about work, and suddenly longed for the wall of silence. As soon as he got the chance, he launched into a long and droning explanation of his research on the behavior of crickets.

Acheta Domesticus, not that you asked. And he didn’t so much as smirk at your gesundheit joke.

You might have called it quits entirely by now…if it wasn’t for the guy at the end of the bar.

He had arrived not fifteen minutes after your date did, and slid smoothly onto a stool directly in your eyeline. Which was good, considering you would have snapped your neck trying to get a look at him otherwise.

In a word, he was beautiful. 

Slightly older, with long dark hair that was wavy and ruffled. A short and scruffy beard that only further accentuated the hard line of his jaw where it met the thick, muscular column of his neck.

He was quite literally littered with accessories—a silver hoop that glinted in his nose, leather cuff and chains on his wrists, chunky rings on his fingers that rapped rhythmically on the bar.

Then there were the more permanent accessories in the form of black ink tattoos that covered both his arms and scrawled upwards to peek out from underneath the collar of his t-shirt. A mix of all different styles and designs, ranging in quality from the kitchen scratcher bats on his elbow to the larger and more artful pieces clearly woven in later to complete the tapestry.

You’d certainly never seen him here before, and that was sort of a feat for this place.

West End was one of your favorite places for this sort of date. It was close enough to your place to be convenient, yet far enough that there was no chance of a guy trying to invite himself over to “use the bathroom” or “wait for an Uber” or whatever other excuses they dredged up.

It was actually two businesses in one, sharing the same name, running out of opposite sides of the same building. Causing only mild confusion.

To one side was a wine bar with cozy seating nooks furnished with plush loveseats, sofas and overstuffed armchairs, all a mishmash of vintage styles from thrift shops and flea markets.

But the other side was all modern and industrial—a billiards hall with high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and a large, glossy horseshoe bar that surveyed the tables from the center.

You tended to frequent the wine bar with your roommate Robin whenever you found yourselves in need of a moody atmosphere and some low, soft lighting, your evening scored by the crackle of some great vinyl record. But the other side was better for dates because it automatically gave you the out of an activity in case you found the conversation lacking.

And boy was it lacking tonight.

He regarded the pool tables more like they were live alligators and quickly dismissed your offer to play before launching right back into his overly-detailed explanation of the differences in the eating habits of crickets and grasshoppers. You sighed, no longer attempting to disguise your boredom as you propped your elbow on the bar and rested your chin on your hand.

It wasn’t just that his research was boring—though it was. Really, the problem was all of his technical explanations were so dry and devoid of any emotion that it made you wonder if he even enjoyed it. You had more stimulating interactions with the bartender, for crying out loud.

He was new to you too, but he moved behind the bar with such ease it seemed like he’d worked there for years. He’d introduced himself as Steve, a row of pearly white teeth winking at you as he flashed a smile you were sure had won him his fair share of superlatives in high-school. 

His look read more upscale mixologist, sporting a dark gray vest over a crisp white button down. Sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms that flexed with the pour of every drink, and the collar left open to reveal the glint of a gold chain resting on the soft down of his plentiful chest hair.

The hair on his head was shorter and lighter than the other man’s, but it was long enough to curl slightly around his ears and along the nape of his neck. The ends of it were kissed with caramel highlights that shone in the light when he flipped his head back or ran his large hands through the feathered locks whenever a piece fell forward into his bright hazel eyes.

Most importantly, he also seemed to be friends with your current fixation.

They had greeted each other jovially, hands meeting in a tight clasp over the bar before Steve grabbed a bottle of whiskey and started to pour without the other man even having to order. You watched with morbid fascination as those plush lips wrapped around the rim of his glass and his eyes fluttered closed as he took his first sip, the tattoo on his neck bobbing with the swallow. 

Jesus Christ on a cracker…

Suddenly, as though he could sense you watching, his eyes popped open and immediately locked on yours. You started at the sight of the deep brown, almost black, vortexes in the middle of his face, nearly choking on the sip you were taking of your own drink—an excellent Malbec Steve had recommended when you first arrived.

A rush of warmth exploded on your face and you looked away, doing your best to pretend like he hadn’t just caught you blatantly staring at him.

Or that you hadn’t felt that egregious burst of excitement when he did. Did he care that you were looking? Was he looking at you now?

Doesn’t matter, you reminded yourself, trying to return your attention to the man in front of you.

The one you had made an actual plan to come here and meet; the one who was…still talking.

The next bit of your date felt like it took an entire year. You mostly phoned it in, reluctant to admit defeat too quickly. But over and over again, you found your focus drifting either to the stranger at the end of the bar, or to the bartender. And often, those two went hand in hand.

Again, they were either very old friends or both of them were extremely friendly. They talked and joked back and forth in between Steve helping other customers, bouncing from end to end of the bar with ease, charming smile never faltering as he enchanted every person he served.

As for the other man, you’d caught his eye enough times by now that there was no mistaking he was watching you. Though, you suppose that meant he knew you were staring at him as well…

At the end of your first glass of wine, you excused yourself from the bar—needing a break from this guy’s droning voice more than anything.

He nodded, finally taking a sip of his beer he’d barely made any progress on he’d been so entrenched in his recent soliloquy.

The bathrooms at West End were towards the back, down a long hall that obscured them from view of the rest of the bar. It gave the impression of being in an alleyway with black beadboard paneling that came a little over halfway up the wall and an eclectic gallery of pictures.

There were two bathrooms side by side, just single-room stalls adorned with brass apartment numbers rather than gendered signs, and you slipped into the one with no light coming out from underneath the door. And maybe you took a little longer than you probably needed, milking your break for all it was worth. Not stalling, just…taking care of some things.

Things like touching up your lip gloss that needed no touching up since you hadn’t said more than two words in the past half hour. Or like pulling up Tinder on your phone and setting your location to the absolute minimum distance. You know…just on the off-chance someone in the immediate vicinity happened to also have the dating app installed.

No such luck, you found.

A bit more deflated than you had any right to be, you tucked your phone back into your bag and rolled your eyes at yourself as you reached for the doorknob. You didn’t look up until you were almost at the end of the hall and when you did, you found brown eyes looking back at you.

He was headed for the bathroom as you were coming back and he caught you at the start of the long, narrow hallway leading to them. Your eyes met his as you approached and you paused, already anticipating that awkward shuffle of both of you trying to get out of the other’s way.

There was no awkwardness, though. 

Heat pooled low in your belly as he held your gaze, and rather than breezing right by when you came to a stop, he stopped as well and leaned against the wall to let you pass. He was close enough now that you could see his hair was streaked with slivers of silver and more grays tinged the edges of his beard, particularly under his ears behind the hinge of his jaw.

Your shoulder just barely brushed his chest as you passed, eye contact holding until you were looking back at him over your shoulder as you returned to the bar.

He stood there, watching until you’d rounded the corner and were out of sight before he moved. Pulse thrumming, you slid into your seat with his cologne still in your nose, tickling your brain.

By the end of your second glass of wine, you were more than ready to go. Frowning as you took your last sip, you gave Steve a regretful shake of your head when he asked if you wanted another.

And beside you, Dale just requested your checks as he pushed away his beer.

You didn’t bother with feeling annoyed he hadn’t offered to get even one of your drinks. To be fair, you had not been remotely good company as it was, and especially not once the guy at the far end of the bar decided to call it a night.

Your heart sank just a little as you watched him stand and pull on a creased and faded leather jacket. He then headed for the door, his eyes locking with yours one last time as he went.

Beside you, your date cleared his throat loudly to get your attention and your head jerked up as you realized Steve had placed your receipt in front of you to sign. If Dale—wait, was it Dale or Dave?—noticed your fixation, he was too polite (or too chicken) to mention anything about it.

Tabs closed and coats thrown back on, you followed Dale (Drew? Dirk?) outside. The wintry air cut through your tights and you hugged your coat a little tighter around you.

“So, which way are you headed?” you asked, rushing out the words before he could ask the same thing and float the idea of sharing a ride.

“Uptown?” he replied.

“Ahh, I’m the other way.”

A derisive snort made your head whip sideways and your eyes darted to the source, landing first on the glowing orange dot of a cigarette and then on the plush pink lips wrapped around the filter at the other end. The snide comment locked and loaded on your tongue abruptly stalled.

It was him.

He leaned against the brick facade, foot kicked up behind him, watching your whole interaction. It made your cheeks burn with indignation, but the hungry look in his dark eyes made your entire lower half throb. His lips curved like the blade of a knife into a smirk as he stubbed his cigarette out on the wall and dropped it in a planter filled with sand next to him. You stared at him, your mind sort of blank, and his eyes remained fixed on yours as he strode back inside the bar.

“Okay, well…I guess I’m gonna go,” Dale sighed, a little petulantly.

You brought your eyes back to him and plastered on your most professional smile, shaking his hand formally like this was the end of an interview for a job he was never gonna get.

“Sounds good,” you said. “Nice to meet you.”

He frowned as he turned away, but you felt relatively certain you’d navigated that fine.

Surely he hadn’t felt the date warranted any other sort of follow-up or lie about doing it again—you certainly hadn’t been on your A-game. And you shuddered to think that was his.

Once he’d gotten in his Uber, alone, and you had assured him the one you had yet to call was on its way, you tugged your phone out of your coat pocket and checked the time.

Right now, you had two choices. It was still early enough that Robin could probably come pick you up with minimal begging required.

Maybe you two could get fries and milkshakes and watch some garbage reality tv before falling asleep in a little cuddle pile on the couch.

It was the reasonable option.

The logical, safe choice.

But all your dates lately had been so painfully reasonable and logical and safe. There had been no horror stories to regale Robin with at Sunday brunch, nor any explosive sexual exploit the two of you could squeal and giggle over while curled up on your overstuffed sofa.

It was downright boring. And you were growing pretty weary of it.

You glanced down one more time at your phone, still thinking. Your thumb hovered over Robin’s contact info, needing only a single tap to dial, while your index rested on the lock button.

With a subtle flex of your hand, you clicked the screen off and headed back into the bar.

One more drink couldn’t hurt…right?

“Back so soon?”

Steve was already smiling smugly at you as you approached, his eyebrow cocked as you slid back into your original seat and returned his smile with one of your own.

“I decided I couldn’t live without another glass of that Malbec,” you sighed dreamily. 

He nodded, amusement still tugging at his lips as he uncorked the bottle you’d been steadily draining all night and took down a clean glass from one of the wire racks suspended overhead. You pulled your card from your bag and held it out for him to reopen your tab, but Steve waved it off as he placed down the newly filled glass in front of you and slid it smoothly across the bar.

“It’s taken care of, honey,” he said.

“Oh, really?” you chuckled. “By who?”

Steve smirked at your incredulous tone, his muscled forearms flexing as he leaned on them.

You leaned forward as well, crossing your arms under your chest, knowing how nicely it propped up your cleavage. It made the bartender’s eyes flash as he lowered his voice to a leading hum.

“The dirtbag at the end of the bar.”

He nodded his head backwards, making those caramel-kissed locks of his flop across his brow. Your gaze followed Steve’s nod, landing on the wild head of hair and all-consuming brown eyes you’d been distracted by all night. The “dirtbag” in question was staring straight back at you, the corner of his mouth curled as he raised his rocks glass of brown liquor and tipped it to you.

“Is he really a dirtbag?” you asked him, your eyes never dropping the stranger’s gaze.

“Nah,” Steve shook his head. “Just looks like one.”

“Good to know.” 

You hummed to yourself, feeling almost a little cocky as you brought your glass to your lips and took an excruciatingly slow sip. The eyes of the man across the bar watched you intently, a fire burning in them that ignited your very being.

As Steve moved on to another customer, you pulled your eyes from those of the handsome stranger and let them fall briefly to the empty stool beside you. It was about as bold as you were willing to be at the time, but it did the trick. He promptly swiveled in his seat to slide off it and you smirked to yourself as you looked down, pretending to be fascinated by the garnet liquid swirling in your glass as he came around the bar.

“That’s a great Malbec,” he said.

God, his voice.

It made your cheeks (among other things) tingle, smooth and smoky as the whiskey in his glass you could smell as he placed it down beside your wine. The scent of it mixed with his cologne that was dangerously close to becoming your new favorite aroma—something woodsy and heady with a tinge of lightness like a salty sea breeze.

“It is,” you agreed, brow arching as he took the seat beside you. “You’ve had it before?”

“Nah,” he smirked. “You made it look so good, I had Stevie give me a taste. I told him to put your next one on me.”

Both of your brows raised at that. “And how’d you know I was coming back?”

“I didn’t,” he said, taking a cheeky sip of his drink. “I just hoped.”

You felt a smile burgeoning on your lips and pulled your bottom one back with your teeth trying, unsuccessfully, to fight it. He watched it spreading, the tip of his tongue running over the edges of his teeth as he offered you his hand.

You slid your own into his, feeling the exquisite pressure of chunky silver rings pressing on your fingers as he gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” you purred right back, offering him your name after a beat.

He repeated it once, all low and rumbly, taking his time with the sound of it in his mouth like it was a piece of chocolate melting on his tongue. Holding your hand a bit longer than necessary.

“So I’m assuming Desperate Dan out there wasn’t your boyfriend?” Eddie asked, chuckling into his next sip. The sound of it spiraled down your back, electrifying your spine.

“Nope,” you sighed heavily. “Just another drop in the Tinder bucket.”

Eddie’s dark eyes gleamed with something like mischief and he made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Well, if that’s the case, I sincerely apologize, sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smiled at him. “What for?”

His eyes flickered again, this time taking a long moment to do a sweep up and down your body. Landing on your knees in your tights, flitting back up to your face as she shook his head.

“If someone like you has had to resort to dating apps…we’ve clearly failed as a gender.”

You actually shivered at the words, forcing your shoulders still not to show it as you propped your elbow on the bar and swiped the tips of your nails across your chin and along your jaw to play with your earring. Deepening your voice to a sultry murmur he had to lean in close to hear.

“No argument there.”

You rushed into the bathroom, flapping both your hands back and forth to fan your face and then under your arms. Safely hidden behind the door, your air of detachment could fall away and you could finally let out all the patently un-cool reactions you had been fighting the last hour.

With trembling hands, you pulled your phone out of your bag and fired off a text to Robin.

hey, I’m gonna share my location with you the rest of the night.

wait WHAT? Losera Annoyingus is getting a bang pass?

no he left…

…about an hour ago.

A blue bubble with three blinking dots immediately popped up on the thread and you imagined Robin’s thumbs actually smoking she was typing so furiously fast. But she must decide to abandon her message, because within a split second, a picture of you and her with your faces smushed together came up on the screen as she called you instead.

“Hey,” you whispered, praying your voice didn’t echo too much off the tiled walls.

“Explain,” she demanded. “Now.”

The excitement in her voice only increases your own, your cheeks still impossibly hot as you stand over the sink and fan yourself some more before another layer of sweat can form on your face.

“It’s this guy I met at the bar. He was like, making eyes at me while I was on my date and we started talking after and I just—I don’t know for sure, but it feels like he’s gonna take me home.”

“Is he hot?”

“Yes,” you breathed out a heavy, lustful sigh. “He’s so hot I wanna rip his appendix out.”

“Holy shit,” Robin whistled. “What’s he look like?”

“He’s…I don’t know,” you laughed. “He kind of looks like a Harley that came to life.”

“Alright then, you better go ride him.”

Robin’s snorted laugh makes you cover your own face with your palm. It’s searing hot now, your blood pumping furiously beneath the surface of your skin.

“Well, I have to get back out there to make that happen.”

“Go, go, go—have fun, use protection! Wait, hang on, not in that order!”

You laughed at her warning coming through faintly over the receiver as you mashed the button to end your call. With one last steadying breath, you leaned on the sink and nodded decisively.

“Okay,” you exhaled. “Let’s do this.”

Sage and sea salt filled your nose as you yanked the door open and nearly ran straight into the source of the scent. Eddie leaned against the wall across from the bathroom doors, shoulders shifting subtly as he twisted one of the large rings on his fingers. 

You stood face to face now, hands hovering at your sides as you edged into the hallway.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, tucking his chin to his chest as he looked up at you from under long lashes. “Someone’s in the other one.”

You glanced suspiciously at the second bathroom door, seeing no light coming from underneath it. Eddie winced, still smirking adorably as you turned the knob and pushed it open to reveal it was empty on the other side. He chuckled, holding up his hands in a mock surrender.

“Fine,” he sighed. “You caught me.”

“Thought I was making a break for it?” you asked, pulling the door shut. Eddie’s tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek, his eyes roving over you slowly.

“I’d hate to think I scared you off,” he said as he kicked off the wall to stand up straight.

You crossed your arms under your chest, giving him a smile. “I don’t scare so easy.”

He nodded at that, his eyes still taking you in, scanning you like he was reading invisible stats. They lingered a few places you expected, like the curve of your hips and the swell of your chest. But then they landed on other things too, things you weren’t used to people noticing. 

Things like your shoulders, or your calves in your boots, even your fucking ears.

“So…everything alright?” he asked, his voice lowering as he took a step closer.

“Yeah, I was just letting my roommate know I might be gone a while.” You held up your phone and tucked it back inside your bag with another coy smile. He chuckled.

“A while, huh?” Step.

“Yeah, you know...it’s pretty late.” Step. “Might be tough to get an Uber.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie shrugged. “I live close.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were nose to nose now, barely a whisper of space between you, the air thick with the heat radiating off your bodies in the narrow space.

The well worn leather of his jacket sleeve creaked softly as his hand came up to rest on the wall, caging you in with his arm.

“How close?” you asked, breath shuddering as you leaned on the door for support.

“Up the street,” he sighed. “But it’s still too far.”

His warm breath ghosted over your lips as they parted, the smell of the liquor coating his tongue making you feel woozy. Or maybe that was just the effect he was having on you.

He was so close now you could hear the bristly sound his beard made as he scratched at it with blunt fingertips. He’d barely inhaled to ask if he could kiss you when you surged forward to press your lips to his—the roughness of his beard on your chin a welcome abrasion.

Scratching the itch that’s plagued you all night.

It’s a hungry, lawless sort of kiss. Quick and clashing and difficult to tell if it’s actually mean or not—like two dogs play-fighting, both trying to see how much they can get away with before light snarls and soft snaps of their jaws turn to whimpers and whines.

Eddie parried with you for control, his tongue darting in and out of your mouth as he plied you with teasing, playful kisses you fought to deepen, tugging at his shirt. He pushed off the wall and reached down to grab your wrists, pinning them over your head to keep them in place.

The thrill of him trying to restrain you only made you unravel further, straining impatiently against his grasp. Breathless, you stretched out your neck and pushed your face past all his hair to place your lips beside his ear and pant into it.

“Can we go back to—”

“You wanna come back to—”

The both of you chuckled and exhaled with relief as your words and his overlapped, and you felt a sudden rush between your legs from the way Eddie’s eyes blazed with intention.

He released his hold on your wrists and your arms fell limp at your sides. In an instant, he had your hand wrapped tightly in his and was pulling you along as he angled towards the exit.

As you hurried after him out of the hallway and across the bar, you distantly registered music playing, picking out the chugging guitar and bass riffs of some 80s dance song. From behind the bar, Steve caught Eddie’s eye and you saw him offer his friend a two finger salute as the two of you burst through the door, your departure narrated by Paul Stanley’s deep, silky croon.

And tonight, I want to lay at your feet. Cause girl, I was made for you, And girl, you were made for me…

Eddie wasn’t kidding about living close.

Your boots clacked on the sidewalk as he ushered you along under his arm, the quick pace of your walk driven both by the chill in the air and the desire to resume what you started at the bar.

“This is me,” he said, indicating a four-story brick building just a block away from West End.

His place was on the top floor. It was a large studio with high ceilings and many features similar to the bar you’d just left. Half of the space was raised like a platform with a steel wire railing running along the edge. He had his bed up there and what looked like an office, but he’d created a divider of sorts with cube shelves filled with sweats, hoodies and t-shirts.

Promptly, you recalled him telling you he owned a company that designed and distributed merch for independent artists, and how he was constantly receiving samples from suppliers.

The kitchen was simple, sleek cabinetry and stainless steel appliances without a single smudge. A massive butcher’s block with a wooden top and wire racks underneath serving as an island. And a steel rack hanging down from overhead laden with cast iron cookware.

You took a few more careful steps inside, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath from being kissed stupid in the elevator while Eddie flipped some switches that illuminated the space with recessed lighting. Large black-paned windows revealed a view of the city and the night sky outside, some amber light from the street filtering in and casting across the oak floors.

In his living area was a massive brown leather sectional with extra-deep cushions and a chaise at both ends. It faced a plain wall with a screen you assumed went with the projector hanging down from one of the exposed beams overhead.

Every inch of your skin crackled with excitement as he came up behind you and reached around to grip the lapels of your coat and help you out of it, letting his fingertips skim your bare arms as he did. It made you shiver in spite of the warm air you could feel pumping out of the vents.

He hung up your coat next to his on a hook by the front door and you turned to face him as he sauntered back over. His gait was relaxed and casual, like he had all the time in the world. 

Like he wasn’t driving you up the wall with every second you went without his mouth on yours.

“Did you want another drink?”

He gestured in the direction of a liquor cabinet, glass shelves lined with a modest array of wines and spirits, but you shook your head at the offer.

“Not particularly,” you said with a coy grin.

Reaching out and hooking a finger in his belt loop, you whirled yourself into him and slotted your mouth against his, licking into it to taste the smoky remnants of whisky there. He breathed into it deeply, his broad chest expanding with it and chuckling when he felt your hands on his belt.

“Easy there, tiger,” he teased, your lips breaking apart and taking hold of your wrists to still their efforts. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Hopefully the kind that knows how to fuck.”

You smirked, the tip of your tongue flicking out between your teeth as your face veered in again. Your hips pressed with his and you began to sway back and forth, gently grinding them on him, resuming the dance you’d begun. His face came close, his hands settling on your waist.

“C’mon, honey,” he drawled. “Haven’t you heard good things come to those who wait?”

His lips trailed along the column of your neck, sending a riot of shivers down your spine causing you to release a breathy sigh.

“Sorry, what? All I heard was come.”

Eddie chuckled at that and his breath rushed across your neck as he smiled into your jugular.

“You’re funny,” he sighed. “We’ll see how funny you are when I get done with you.”

It was a miracle your knees didn’t buckle on the spot. Your eyes rolled back in your head, almost seeing the inside of your skull as his hand came up and he placed it around your throat.

“You want this?” he asked, his tone cool and precise, his eyes wandering across your face.

“Yes,” you gasped, all desperate and panting now you were so eager for him to start.

His thumb and middle finger pressed the sides of your throat, slowing the flow of blood just enough to make your head go fuzzy and your body to go just barely limp in his arms. 

“Yes, what?” he growled. You drew a shuddering breath, unrestricted by his expert hold.

“Yes, I want this,” you answered. “I want you.”

Eddie took his time undressing you, softly kissing the new expanse of skin he unveiled with the removal of each piece of clothing.

He nipped lightly at your collar bones as he shed your blouse, canines catching briefly on the chain around your neck. He dragged his lips torturously slow over your stomach as he undid your skirt and it fell to the floor with a soft plop. His breath rush across your thigh as he kneeled to drag down the zippers of your boots, kissing your inseam though your tights all the way down to your ankles.

Every second was a kind of exquisite torture. Your heart hammered behind your ribs, the bones almost rattling with the force of it. And as much as you were dying to grab him by the back of the head and take over, you let yourself slip steadily under the spell of his affections.

You believed what he seemed to be whispering with his eyes in between every indelible kiss he dropped to your buzzing skin. He had you. He would take care of you. You could trust him.

And once you were totally bare in front of him, he held out his hand for you to take and he spun you in a slow circle like a ballerina in a music box, his eyes feasting on every inch of you.

If it was anyone else, you might have shied away. You might have felt some level of shame or concern about being stark naked in front of him while he was still fully clothed. You might have worried he would see something he didn’t like, some flaw or defect you preferred hidden. But the look on his face was nothing short of rapturous.

He walked you over to the couch and kissed you deeply as he removed his clothes. Showing not an ounce of the kind of care and consideration for his own as he did for yours, he stripped them off hastily and discarded them, tossing them away like they were garbage.

Your naked bodies came together in a full press, his arms curling around your form and his hands stroking your skin like he was trying to make sure not a single part of it went untouched.

At last, he sank down onto the sofa and his knees spread apart, his hard cock standing stiff and ready for you. He took your hands in his like he was going to pull you forward onto his lap, but you dropped to your knees instead, tucking your feet under your ass.

You looked up at him expectantly, your eyes darting between his face and his cock, the corners of your mouth curling upwards in a smile as your brows raised with a silent question.

“You sure?” he asked, circling his base with his thumb and forefinger to give a gentle squeeze. “I can take care of you, you know? Fuckin’ love to.”

“Don’t worry,” you said cooly, lashes fluttering as you scooted closer. “You will.”

You placed your hands on his knees and pushed them further apart so you could lean forward to kiss up the inside of his leg. Trying to give him a taste of his own slow, teasing medicine, you worked your way all the way up to the crease of his thigh and turned your head inward.

Eddie’s breath stuttered as your lips met his shaft, poking your tongue out to run it up the length. His head tipped to the side, his ear touching his shoulder to get a better view of you licking at him, halting grunts and gasps tumbling past his lips as yours puckered to kiss it more.

When you were satisfied you’d gotten him sufficiently worked up, you reached out and wrapped your hands around him fully, your fists stacked and twisting gently.

You stroked him off slow and even, your hands squeezing tight around his shaft, mixing your spit and the beginning of his spend that leaked from his tip. He watched you reverently, eyes hooded as he enjoyed your show. And looking up at him, a gooey sort of warmth filled your entire body.

You felt yourself slipping further into that sort of headspace you craved—all pliant and willing, your knees digging into his plush area rug as your legs tingled with numbness.

Your heart raced as you imagined giving yourself up to him completely. 

Letting him take whatever he wanted from you.

As though he sensed it, as though he could read the desperation in your eyes, he cradled your jaw in his large hand and dotingly stroked the side of your face as he tilted his head at you.

“What is it, baby?” he cooed encouragingly. “What do you want? You can tell me.”

“Want you to use me,” you pleaded, fingers still sliding around him. “Use my mouth.”

Eddie gazed at you where you kneeled in front of him, your eyes having gone all big and round and glassy, shining with the tears you were dying for him to make spill down your cheeks.

Begging for it.

“Of course, baby, of course,” he sighed, gripping your chin and swooping in to kiss you deeply.

His firm hold gave you permission to go limp and you let your hands fall from his cock to rest on his muscled thighs, palms coasting over his tattoos and sparse leg hair. He pulled back, keeping your chin grasped in his fingers, holding your face still as he instructed you.

“You slap me three times in a row if you want to stop, okay?” he ordered in a husky rasp. “Do it for me now, so I know you can.”

You obeyed instantly, delivering three strikes to his thigh. His lips curled in a devilish grin. 

“That’s it, just like that,” he hummed in approval. “What a smart girl you are, huh?”

The praise rippled down your back, his words making you tingle all over, much like your calves that were starting to go numb from sitting back on them. He reached around the back of your neck, gently guiding you into position so his cock was pointed directly at your lips. 

His large hands nearly covered your entire head, holding it in his firm grasp, his fingertips digging into your scalp and causing even more shivers. Eyes locked with his, you let your mouth hang open and your tongue loll out fully, reaching almost all the way to your chin. 

Eddie moaned loudly, mesmerized by the pool of spit you’d let collect in your mouth and the way it dribbled past your lips, running down your tongue and dripping onto your chest.

“Fuuuuck,” he chuckled low and rough, touching just the tip of his dick to your wet tongue. “You really want me dead, huh?”

Your eyes danced as you nodded, the motion causing your tongue to brush against his sensitive slit and spread his precum across the flat of it. A sharp gasp punched from his chest, not ready for the sensation, and his whole body shuddered with need. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared as he gripped tighter around the back of your head and thrust fully into your mouth.

Lewd sounds filled the room as he pushed his cock past your lips, your mouth flooded with spit that poured out of you and pooled in the wiry thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You felt your body going lax and floppy as you gave yourself over to him, letting him hold your head up as you melted into little more than a puddle.

“That’s it, baby. Just let go, let me take what I need,” he drawled in that smoky voice, beginning a gentle thrust of his hips that pushed him deeper still into your mouth. “You’re doing so well…”

The salty tang of him covered your tongue as your jaw slackened to accommodate more of him, the sounds you were making coming out garbled.

“Christ, you sound so fucking sweet choking on my cock” he groaned. “What a good slut you are, huh? Giving me this mouth, letting me ruin it?”

You gagged loudly as his cock pushed in further until his tip met the back of your throat. He held the back of your head and your nose was nuzzling against the hair at his base, breathing in his thick and heady musk. Far earthier than his cologne, this was a smell that could only be him.

His eyes flitted to your hand clutching at him, your nails digging into the meat of his thigh.

But you made no move to tap out. Another tight spasm of your throat had him throwing his head back, his eyes pinching shut and his lips falling open in a desperate gasp.

“Shit, that feels so good,” he whined softly, his domineering mask slipping ever so slightly—the broken sound only making you go more feral.

Bracing yourself on his thighs, you began to push your head down to meet his thrusts, fucking your own face with his cock so hard that his grip on the back of your head was extraneous.

“Okay, okay—okay,” he grunted, chest heaving as he pulled you off him before he could blow.

His fingers held fast in your hair, squeezing it at the roots. You drew in air in great heaving breaths, panting from the effort, your tongue still hanging out of your mouth and head bobbing as you tried to chase the cock he had to drag you off of.

“You’re a greedy fucking girl, aren’t you, baby?” he chuckled, yanking your head back sharply so you were staring at the ceiling, eyes straining to look at him over the curves of your cheeks.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped back, chest still heaving.

“You want my cum that bad?” he teased lowly, pushing his face against yours and smearing the wetness of your tears across your cheeks.

“Yes, please,” you whined pitifully. “I need it.”

“Oh, you’ll get it,” he assured you, reaching down with his free hand to rub between your legs. “But only if it goes in this needy little pussy.”

Your entire body writhed as his fingers toyed with your swollen clit and dripping folds, scalp stinging where he gripped your hair with his other hand.

A pleasurable wail burst out of you as his thick fingers thrust inside your warm, wet hole and started to scissor relentlessly.

“YES, fuck—come in me. Please, please…”

More tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you begged him, drip, drip, dripping off your chin and onto your heaving chest, rolling down your naked body, leaving wet trails in their wake.

Eddie had to fight the urge to lick your clavicle. 

He hauled you up onto his lap, scooting down so he could plant his feet properly on the floor. Your knees sank into the worn leather of his cushions on either side of his hips and you used all what little strength you had left to reach down and align yourself with him.

“Don’t you hold back—haah—alright?” he said, hissing softly as you sank down on his length. “I want that fucking loser from Tinder to be able to hear you from here. Understand?”

You nodded, hips beginning to slide back and forth, relishing the way his thick cock prodded at your insides and stoked your desire. Eddie let you keep control for a moment, his hands squeezing at the softness of your stomach, molding it with them. He watched you raptly, mesmerized by the undulations of your body, the way you let it writhe and rock and squirm on him until he thought you might come solely from your own movements.

A loud, exhilirated moan burst out of you as he suddenly thrust his hips upwards, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he slammed into your g-spot on the first fucking stroke—as if he could see straight through your flesh to aim for it.

The room filled with sounds even more lewd than before—the wet clap of his thighs with your ass cheeks, his balls slapping your soaking pussy, your mound squishing into his pelvis.

Eddie threw his head back, overwhelmed by the sight of every part of you bouncing so prettily on him. And as he exposed his neck, everything in the room went hazy except that thick, taught, muscled column. Sending you feeling.

You clawed at it desperately and drew hot, red streaks down it with your nails that trailed all the way to the middle of his tattooed chest.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Mark me up. Show everybody who owns me—”

He slid his hands back to grip your ass, spreading the fleshy globes wide and stretching your holes further open as he continued to slam his length inside you. He let one side go and delivered a single stinging slap that reverberated throughout your whole body. 

The burn made you keen, arching your back until your chest was flush with his. He reached up to grip the back of your neck, taking your earlobe between his teeth and raking them over it.

“Now that that mouth is free, I wanna hear how good you feel,” he growled.

And if you thought you were loud before, it was nothing compared to now. The combination of his words and the perfect pace being set by his cock sent you instantly toppling over the edge, with Eddie’s own release following right behind.

In that moment, you vowed to send a fruit basket to every single one of his neighbors—an apology for making them think that a woman was getting murdered in the middle of the night two or three stories above their heads. The orgasm he brings you to makes you scream, practically sobbing as you cry out in immeasurable relief while searing hot pleasure ravages your entire body. 

It’s an ascent you’ve never dreamed of reaching the peak of, the feeling spreading to the tips of every extremity, filling you with fire. It feels so good, it almost makes you sad to know you might never feel like this again. And if your brain hadn’t already turned to mush, you might have cared.

As you dwindled down from your high, you slumped forward limp and spent—your body still rippling with the effects, Eddie’s arms coming up to hold you against him as he peppered your shoulder with soft, sweet kisses.

“That’s it,” he breathed out in your ear. “That’s it, baby, just feel it…such a good girl f’me…”

He ran his fingers slowly up and down the column of your spine, creating waves of shivers waiting for your trembling to subside.

His length grew soft inside of you, but he made no move to slide you from his lap or to rush you in the slightest. He let you cling on to him, your face buried in his sweaty neck, his long hair tickling your face, losing yourself in his touch.

Slowly, your breathing grew deep and even, your racing heart slowing in your chest. Eddie turned his head and spoke to you quietly with his warm breath fanning across your cheek.

“You ready to move?” he asked.

You gave a weak nod.

Wobbling on unsteady legs, you stood and his hands quickly moved to the curve of your waist to keep you steady. He took you to the bathroom which looked more like it belonged in a spa than someone’s house, sitting you on the toilet.

From a hook hanging on the back of the door, he produced two bright white waffle weave robes, offering one to you. And as you wrapped the soft material around your shoulders, he turned on one of the faucets and held his fingers underneath it to test the temperature.

Once he’d deemed it warm enough, he took a fluffy washcloth from a little pyramid of them that were rolled up next to the sink basin. He held it under the stream, saturating the cloth and then giving it a gentle twist. You watched his hands every step of the way, mesmerized by the way his veins bulged under his skin and the muscles in his arms flexed as he wrung out the excess water.

He rubbed the warm cloth gently across your face, wiping off the residue of tears and spit and cum and what little was left of your make-up until your bare face shone in the soft lighting. 

Once he had finished, he dropped the cloth into a hamper and cradled your face in his hands, his thumbs gliding easily over your slippery skin.

“So pretty,” he hummed, the words so soft you wondered if you were even meant to hear them.

From one of the drawers in the vanity, he brought out a pot of moisturizer and offered it to you with a smile. You frowned up at him, jutting out your bottom lip in a comical pout, not ready for him to stop taking care of you. It made him chuckle and a bemused smile spread across his lips as he tapped the tips of his fingers in the gel and started to smooth it over your cheeks.

“Come lay down with me?” he asked when he’d finished, head tilting back in the direction of the short set of stairs leading up to where his bed sat.

You nodded and he held out his hand to lead you out of the bathroom. You curled up on top of his dark duvet, your head sinking into the softness of his down pillow that held the faint scent of what you guessed was his tea tree oil shampoo.

The thick mattress dipped as he climbed onto it with you and draped a beige knit blanket over the both of you before he sidled up against your body.

It was…nice. More than nice. Shit, it was as close to perfect as you had felt in a long time.

The feel of his chest expanding and contracting against your back; his steady breath on the nape of your neck; the soft robe wrapped around your body and the comforting weight of the blanket on top of you. Not to mention Eddie’s arm curled securely around your waist. 

Your eyes felt heavy, like your eyelashes suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, and you drifted fully into sleep, succumbing to the relief that had washed over you not twenty feet away.

When you woke, it was still dark out. 

The street noise had lessened significantly and if you had to hazard a guess, it might have been close to one or two in the morning. Eddie’s place was darkened, lit only by orange street light that filtered through his windows and a half-dimmed reading light in the corner.

It was an arc lamp, suspended over a leather Eames chair where you could see that your coat and all of your previously discarded clothes were arranged in a neat little pile. But laid out at the foot of the bed right next to your feet were a pair of black fleece pants and hoodie, both about your size and emblazoned with the names of bands you didn’t recognize.

You sat up slowly, fingers hovering over the thick material as you debated. Were they for you? They looked a little big for Eddie, but maybe he had laid them out for himself? Was it a sign he was about to go to bed and you needed to get moving?

In the end, you slid out from underneath the blanket still draped over you and redressed in your clothes. After pulling your tights and skirt back on, stepping into your boots and zipping them up your calves, pulling your coat back on, you looked around the loft searching for Eddie.

From up here, you could see the bathroom door was open and the light was off…eliminating the only place he could actually be. And then your eyes fell on one of the windows that was cracked open with a short step-ladder built into the wall that had been pulled down in front of it.

You pulled your coat around you tighter the closer you got to the window and tentatively climbed the steps leading up to it. You pushed the large glass pane the rest of the way open and poked your head outside to find Eddie sitting on his terrace, resting with his back to the brick, head tipped back as he exhaled a cloud of smoke from his lips that drifted up towards the stars.

“Hey,” you said softly. His head turned at the sound and a wide smile spread across his lips.

“There she is,” he said in a gentle cheer.

You climbed through the window and a breeze carried the scent of the joint he was holding. You took a seat across from him, leaning back against the metal railing and letting your legs stretch out alongside his. He dropped his hand to rub your calf and he frowned at the realization you had redressed in your tights and boots. His brow furrowed adorably.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

He shook his head and took another drag of the joint before passing it into your waiting fingers.

“The clothes were for you,” he said. “Y’know, if you wanted something to sleep in.”

You paused, the joint just shy of touching your lips. “Like…if I was staying?”

“Would you stay?” he asked, a ribbon of smoke curling in the air as he exhaled.

Your mouth hung open, clouds of your hot breath escaping. “Oh, um…I mean, only if you—”

He cut you off with his lips, slipping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a long kiss. Tiny embers scattered from the joint, being taken by the wind that blew and made the ends of Eddie’s long hair tickle the sides of your face. You pulled apart and he answered solidly.

“I want you to,” he said.

wasn't expecting this to be so long (that's what she said), but I hoped you liked it if you made it this far 🩷 love you, mean it!

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

[ceilidho]

hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

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Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top. 

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk. 

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar. 

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine. 

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here? 

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates. 

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny. 

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run. 

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in. 

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off. 

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed. 

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile. 

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane. 

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here. 

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt. 

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern. 

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder. 

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes. 

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe. 

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky. 

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries. 

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked. 

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut. 

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop. 

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck. 

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey. 

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.” 

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either. 

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price. 

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference. 

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery. 

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words. 

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes. 

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow? 

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house. 

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together. 

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow. 

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts. 

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels. 

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut. 

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point. 

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants. 

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale. 

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it. 

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop. 

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed. 

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot. 

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.  

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw. 

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick. 

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant. 

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming. 

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers. 

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold. 

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own. 

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied. 

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity. 

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him. 

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms. 

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle. 

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in. 

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that? 

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs. 

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his. 

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth. 

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain. 

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off. 

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves. 

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine. 

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping. 

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle. 

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after. 

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can’t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you. 

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh. 

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under. 

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted? 

You need it like air. 

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face. 

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead. 

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth. 

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him. 

Time blurs. You lose some of it. 

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out. 

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks. 

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.” 

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment. 

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around. 

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection. 

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that. 

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night. 

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before. 

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily. 

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this. 

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by. 

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar. 

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look. 

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch. 

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny. 

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be. 

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust. 

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it. 

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew. 

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

[blossomingmoonlight]

⭑ The ballad of the raven and the dragon ⭑

A/N: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!! PLEASE KIERAN BURTON ONE CHANCE JUST ONE!!!!!!!!

Pairing: Benjicot ("Davos") Blackwood x targ!princess!reader

Summary: Being the only daughter of queen Rhaenrya and the heir to the throne is not easy, after convincing your mother to let you patrol near the riverlands you come across a battle where you meet the infamous Bloody Ben.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, smut, burning brackens, making out, dry humping, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), wine play, vaginal sex.

It was another grey and windy morning at Dragon Stone. The sea waves crashing against the cliffs, dragons roaring in the sky. War was brewing and so was the tension at Dragon Stone. Being heir to the iron throne was heavier than you thought, the meetings with the black council were getting more dreadful and your mother, the queen, more protective of you and your brothers by the day. Ever since Ser Arryks intrusion she had more guards on watch and you were rarely allowed to leave, especially because you are the queen's only daughter and heir. 

However this morning after begging her to let you patrol the lands, she finally gave in, only for a short while. So your handmaiden quickly helped you change and put your hair up for the flight. Practically running towards the cave, you could barely pace yourself to get to your dragon. She was big for her age and almost as fierce as Caraxes. After getting on her, she felt your excitement and quickly flew out. After a while of flying around Dragon Stone you decided to go a bit further, near the riverlands. 

When you were getting closer high in the sky, you spotted some people near cow fields and a mill, so to take a closer look you descended down enough so you could see them better. Just to check if you didn’t come across the greens knights. Now being lower you could hear some yelling, and then their clothes became more apparent. Around four or so in yellow and brown and the other 4 in black and red, which in the riverlands only meant one thing. Brackens and Blackwoods. However they did not seem to notice you, too caught up in the argument. You were debating on landing out of curiosity but quickly made your decision when swords were drawn and a fight broke out. 

Then you noticed that more Brackens turned up, you knew they declared for Aegon and even though your mother told you not to engage, you never turned away from a fight. You quickly descended with your dragon and she let out a shrieking roar. The faces of the men looked up but there was no time for the Brackens to run as you commanded, “Dracarys!”. Your dragon incinerated a good half of the brackens, the other now starting to run. You quickly turned the two of you around to get on their heels and burn the remaining of them. Your body filled with adrenaline and you dragon roaring with triumph and excitement herself you heard the victorious chants of the Blackwood men down below. 

So deciding to officially meet your allies you landed near them, seemingly their commander already heading towards you. As you stood on the ground you met him halfway and could barely hold in your smile at the sight of him. Never had you seen someone as fierce, unique and handsome looking as him. “My princess, thank the gods for you and your dragon. You saved us many men.” He greeted you with a grin. “It was my pleasure, any green I see I’ll turn black.” He laughed at that, took a step closer and gave you a soft bow with his head. 

“However exciting I find to burn my enemies, this was still unnecessary my lord. I don’t remember my mother giving out orders to kill Brackens.” You lectured, your tone a bit more serious now. Even though it was thrilling, your mother would surely hear of this and get upset. “I understand your grace but those cunts deserve death, anyone who stands with the usurper does.” The fearsome lord gritted out. “But I do apologise, I meant no offence to her grace the queen…or the beautiful princess.” He said that last part softer and with a smile. 

You felt like a little girl again, blushing at his words. “I know you didn't, my lord.” He smiled again and you felt your skin heat up beneath your clothes, there was just something about him...a certain mischief. “Raventree Hall is not too far your grace, I would like to offer you some wine and food for your troubles.” He petitioned. “It was no trouble my lord but I’ll take that offer. I assume you’re on horseback?” You smiled. “Yes your grace, you could ride with me if it pleases you.” He offered. “Have you ever flown on a dragon my lord?” The words left your lips before you could even think about them. The lord of house Blackwood made you say and do things you never thought you would for a man. 

“I haven’t your grace, what are you suggesting?” He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and nervousness on his face. “Fly with me, it’s faster and more fun.” Your words surprised him and he seemed to debate on whether he should. But Benjicot Blackwood was a brave man and at this moment he would do anything to please the princess, even risking his life on a dragon's back. His men cheered behind him and one of them even pushed him in your direction. “Even if I didn’t want to, it looks like I have no choice.” He chuckled. 

“Well let’s go then.” You walked over to your dragon who didn’t seem to love the idea but always did as you commanded anyway. When you were seated, you asked your dragon to lower herself a bit for Lord Blackwood “Ivestragī zirȳla va.” and she did, almost with a grunt.  He climbed on behind you in the saddle as you scootched a bit forward to make room for the tall man. “Ready?” You asked him, grabbing the reins, his men moving out of the way before you. “I think so.” He said, holding on to your waist, which totally didn’t make your heart skip a beat. “Sōvēs.” The second the word left your lips, your dragon started to move, taking some steps before rising into the sky, wings flapping. You could hear the men below you gasp and cheer and felt the lord's hands holding on tighter to your waist. 

After some time of soaring through the skies, Raventree Hall finally came into view. With a loud thump your dragon landed on the ground and you showed lord Blackwood on how to get off, after he got off as well he grinned and led you to the gates of Raventree Hall, the tall weirwood tree looming not too far away. Following Lord Blackwood through his home you were greeted by the guards and servants roaming the place, all with a polite bow or curtsy and a soft “your grace” or “princess”. When you arrived in the big dining hall, it was empty except for you two and some guards. 

Sitting opposite to each other at the table he had a servant fetch some wine, bread, cheese and fruits. “Do you have a favourite fruit or cheese princess?” He asked while removing his gloves. “I wouldn’t want your servants to go out of their way, really anything is fine.” You smiled, cautiously observing his handsome face and veiny hands. He still had some blood on his face, which somehow made him even more alluring. When the food and wine arrived he sent the few guards and servants away and poured you some wine himself. “Thank you my lord.” You said politely, hands in your lap as you watched his tall figure looming over you behind your seat, putting the goblet in front of you. Pouring himself some too he sat back down.

“My princess you needn't call me ‘my lord’, please call me Ben.” His request surprised you but you gave him a smile and nod nonetheless. “Alright... I will.” He took a sip of his wine and looked at you shamelessly. Normally you hated men looking at you like that, but him doing it- made you hot and flushed. “I know it has been a year already but I still wanted to say how sorry I was to hear of your father. I didn’t know him well but I knew he was fierce on the battlefield.” You spoke softly. “Thank you, I must admit that seeing those Brackens today triggered some grief I still had left.” He looked down as he spoke. “I’m so sorry, I know how it feels to have your father taken by the stranger. It will get better, if there is anything I can do for you.” 

He looked at you with kind eyes. “You are too kind, and quite fierce on the battlefield yourself.” He complimented you, now with his mischievous smile back on his face. “Thank you.” You glanced around the empty room before you spoke again. “Do you- have a wife?” You almost stumbled over your words, the question wasn’t disgraceful... but how it was perceived could be. “No, the war and finding my place as new lord of Raventree Hall have kept me busy. It gives me space to...explore and experience, I guess.” He said looking at you once again- did he just look at your chest? “I see. A man is lucky enough to do that, many even continue to explore and experience well into marriage.” You said with a certain jealousy behind it. You seemed to both understand the meaning behind your words, the impure meaning. 

The winds blowing through the cold Raventree Hall made the room cool your heated conversation down a bit but your want for him couldn’t be blown away. Your eyes met each other and you couldn’t help but notice a certain change in demeanour from him. “Have you had the opportunity to explore or experience much in life yet princess?” The way he said the words, low and almost raspy, made your breath catch in your throat. “No.” You said soft and meek. He paused before he dared speak his next words. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like…” His tone was still low and soft. “Yes-” You answered quickly, you wanted nothing more than his touch. 

Before you could protest he rose from his seat, walked to the hall doors and opened them. You thought you had perhaps scared him off but then you heard him speak to the guards outside the door. “The princess has a delicate matter to discuss with me, so take your leave for the night. Make sure no servants pass here.” You could hear a hushed ‘yes my lord’ and footsteps leaving as he closed the doors again. On instinct you stood up and he walked over to you. Looking at each other's eyes and lips once more he surged forward and crashed his lips against yours. His strong grip on your waist and lips moving against yours made a soft moan escape your lips. He moved you tighter against him and your arms were holding on to his back.

His veiny hands moving down to your ass and gripping it tightly caused your clothed pussy and his hardening cock to grind on each other making him groan against your lips. Pausing the kiss for a moment you begged him to do it again. “I have a better idea.” He mumbled against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss as he moved you towards the table. With your ass now touching the edge of the table his hands moved to knead your breasts before lifting you up on the table and standing between your legs. He held onto you before kissing you again, your own hands moving to his dark hair. 

Bringing you close again he started to grind his hard on right against your clothed cunt, making you moan and whine into his mouth. He left your lips to kiss along your jaw, sucking on your neck next. “Please- harder...feels so good.” You pleaded. “Fuck-” He muttered against your neck, now full on humping you like a dog, panting and cussing underneath his ragged breaths. The table was croaking and scratching the floor from the movements. Your hands held on tighter in your hair as you felt your orgasm wash over you, sudden and unknown but you never felt this amount of pleasure. As the pleasure overtook you you held your breath, his moans now becoming louder as well. “Feels good- doesn’t it pretty princess? Just wait until I fuck you on my cock.” His dirty words made you gasp and whine in response before he sadly stopped his movements. Instead he started removing your clothes, you quickly helped, once left in your undergarments and chemise he started to remove his own clothes as well, leaving him in just his breeches, the thin fabric gave you a full view of the big tent that his hard cock created. 

You couldn’t stop your hand from wanting to touch his cock, his breath hitched as your fingers touched his tip. “Does that feel good?” You asked in a seductive tone, you knew what you were doing and this newfound sinful power made you wonder what else you could do to him. “Ohh yesss.” He shuddered, “Just like that-” Your hand now fully grasped his cock moving the skin over his tip underneath the cloth. “S-stop, fuck, before you make me cum already.” Ben said with a breathy chuckle. Setting you back on the table he removed the remainder of your clothes, at the sight of your breasts he paused and couldn’t help but stare. Throwing the rest of your clothes on the floor he reached behind you and grabbed the goblet of half filled wine. “Shall we make this memorable?” He smiled mischievously. You could only nod and look at him with slight confusion, but it all became clear when he tipped the goblet over by your left breast, wine trickling down your nipple before Ben moved to lick it up and suck on the skin. You inhaled at the sensation. 

Moving to your right nipple he once again let some wine flow down your breast before he licked it up again. He kissed you once more. Then he licked your lips and sank to his knees. Your brows furrowed in confusion but you were excited for what he was about to do next. He started to kiss up your legs, kneading your thighs and hips. Your eyes rolled back at the sight before you. His head now moved between your thighs, moving the cup right above your already wet cunt he tipped it over again letting wine spill over your pussy and again he didn’t fail to lick it up. 

But this time it felt a thousand times better than your breasts. A gasp and moan left your mouth and you grabbed his head for support when he repeated the action, however this time he started to suck, lick and devour you. Putting the wine on the ground he grabbed your hips to hold you still as he went in like you were his dinner. “Gods- please- Ben!” You could never keep quiet with the way his tongue was fucking you now. And due to your sensitivity from your previous orgasm, you came undone in a matter of seconds, coating his face in your arousal. 

“Thats a good fucking girl.” He smiled leaving soft kisses on your mound before rising again. “Please, please take me. Bend me over the table and take me Ben.” You breathlessly begged. With a look of pure lust on his face he did as his princess told. Moving you off the table and turning you around he bended you over, your breasts pressing against the hard table. Hurriedly removing his breeches, he lined up his hard cock with your entrance. Using his tip to spread around your juices. “Seven hells-” He groaned as he let his tip slip inside you. You moaned and gripped the table for support as he now slowly sank into you. 

“You okay? Can I move?” He asked breathlessly. “Yes- please I’m fine- just fuck me already-” He wasted no time and grabbed your ass cheeks as he fucked into you. Gaspes, pants and moans filled the room as he pounded harder into you. He couldn’t help but slap your ass and grip it harder making you roll your eyes back in ecstasy. The table shook underneath you and now you understand why he even sent the guards outside away. 

The noises of sweaty skin slapping against each other, the moans, the cusses, the pleading, panting and creaking of the table spurred Benjicot on even more. Lifting your right leg so your knee was resting on the table as well allowed in to fuck you even deeper. His cock now fully hitting your cervix. He had to remind himself who he was fucking and that he couldn’t fill you with his cum. That became an even more difficult task as he could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him tighter making him moan your name with each pound into you. 

Moving his fingers to your clit while thrusting into you, moaning your name against your shoulder you came with a moan of his name. Benji quickly pulled out and you turned around “On your knees.” He commanded, and you did. You had a feeling of what he wanted and opened your mouth, with a smile Ben put his leaking cock in your mouth as you started sucking. His moans became louder again and he filled your mouth, cussing as he came too, swallowing his cum he caressed your cheek before helping you up. Heavy breaths filled the room and breathy laughs from you both. He pulled you closer and you held each other for a bit.

Until you had to break the silence. “No one can know Ben.” You spoke resting your chin on his chest when you looked at him. “I know.” You shared a solemn smile before you pulled away from him reaching for your chemise on the ground. “Let me keep it.” He stammered. “Why would-” He took it from you. “Because, when you leave I’ll have something of you. And when I am lonely at night...I could relive the memory of my cock deep in your cunt.” He spoke lowly. “Okay.” You smiled, giving him a light kiss before getting dressed. Anxiety filled you as your mother must be worried by now. “I do have to leave now.” You said after Ben got dressed as well. “I know.” You kissed each other one last time before you left with your dragon, soaring through the sky as your heart hurt at the thought of not being with him.

[evilvillain123456789]

you are not a cannibal. you make centaurworld animatics set to lemon demon songs. you watched hannibal during the tender childhood age of 17 and it made you annoying. if you were actually aroused by cannibalism you wouldnt be blogging about it like you do. you wouldnt be saying the things you do. why don't you learn some german and hit up the forums? right, you can't, because the authorities hate us. but not you. where were you? reading fanfiction? beat off in front of me right now. prove yourself. cannibalism is in vogue cause of you freaky deaky "ex catholic" types but i know your ass was mormon or protestant or shit like that & your childhood church was an ugly grey room. i know your ass never got to taste the wine cause you went to liberal church that takes a stance against underage drinking. & your jewish mutuals told you that you were being weird about angels so you started being weird about the eucharist. well i'm here to put a stop to it. lets be real here. you kill someone, or stumble across a body, your ass is not taking a bite. you lack the strength to remove a limb. i bet you wont even stick your dick in. you freeze up. because nobody on this website really gets a boner from the thought of eating a dead body. and if they do they are running a blog that posts pictures of dead mangled real life bodies in stages of decay. Or they know damn well to keep quiet. Theyre not on tumblr beside you. Theyre far away from people like you. and even if they didnt run a gore blog, i'm sure they know better than to bare their true feelings. because they know prosecution. nobody on tumblr for normal people like these things. & he/they who says so in the replies, or reblogs, or tags from which below, is lying. straight up. its just an aesthetic. you say its a fetish but its an aesthetic. you are fucking lying. you are just annoying. go post about stinky feet and getting boypreggers and leave the real shit alone cause once you get out of your cute little circle of tumblr kinnies and come into contact with a guy who actually gets a big big sloppy boner from the thought of writhing in filth inside and out, you are going to call Whang.

[rinhaler]

so my ex just used me to get better and then dated someone else once he was okay, so i’m requesting a toji fucking megumi’s ex gf to teach his son a lesson, or megumi’s gf ends up taking “Break my heart? i’ll be your step mom.” too seriously 🫶

fuck ur ex fuck him i hate him idek know him but i hate him!!!! enjoy the filth <3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap, implied cheating, vaginal sex, revenge sex, clit rubbing, pet names, praise, slight cucking, creampie.

words: .8k

“Oh. God, T-Toji—!” you cry out as his cock buries deeper and deeper inside of you.

The prominent veins stimulate your walls with every thrust while his cockhead pummels against your g-spot with perfect precision. He doesn’t miss a beat, either, he possesses an endless supply of stamina and he’s using it to his advantage.

He silences you with a nasty, drool infused kiss as your tongues tangle effortlessly. It’s hard to feel guilty about letting your ex’s dad rail you when it feels this good. It was a messy breakup, and yet, you didn’t feel the need to cut off Toji. You broke up with Megumi, after all. Not his dad.

Though you didn’t expect to be lifted onto his chest of drawers when you came over and fucked within an inch of your life. You decided to come over and collect the last of your things and ended up staying a little longer than planned when Toji offered you a glass of wine. In hindsight, you’ve realised that he offered and spilled it on you just to get you upstairs.

“Kid’s a fuckin’ idiot,” he snarls, resting his forehead against yours. “Perfect little pussy, baby, so fucking perfect.”

You watch him as he pulls his head away from yours and licks his thumb, lowering it to rub your puffy clit without slowing his thrusts. Your head falls back against the wall behind you, feeling lighter than air and losing all sense of control as he fucks into you slow and deep.

He smiles at you as you place your hands on his shoulders, moving his lips to softly kiss each of them.

“Knew he’d fuck things up eventually,” he announces, confidently, “The minute I saw ya, I knew Megumi wasn’t gonna be able to handle you, darlin’.”

“Fuck, Toji, h-have you been waiting for this?” you ask him, already knowing the answer by the way he smirks.

“You think too much.” he tells you, leaning forwards to make out with you again. He’s right, of course, but the harder he ploughs into you the muddier your thoughts become. All you can think about is him. There’s inklings of regret as Megumi flashes through your mind. He sees it behind your eyes, he must do. Because soon after he grabs your face in one large hand until your cheeks pucker. “Stop thinkin’ about the piece of shit, he’s not thinking about you.”

“Oh my God…” you huff, knowing he’s right. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer again, moaning into his mouth as your walls begin to tighten. “Make me— wanna cum—” you tell him, earning another passion induced kiss and faster thrusts.

“Yeah? Wanna cum, baby?” he asks, and you nod in turn. “Can I cum in this pretty cunt?”

“P-Please, yes please!”

The moaning from both of you is raucous as he chases his own high and forces you into yours. You cream around him beautifully. He still can’t believe what an idiot Megumi was to let you go. But he won’t complain, not when he’s emptying his balls into your gorgeous little pussy.

You pant and move the hair out of his face being stuck down by his sweaty forehead. He laughs, softly, and you can’t help but join him when the reality sinks in. Though he helps you down and picks up your underwear from the floor. He grabs his shirt while you slip into them, feeling particularly vile when you feel his warm seed seep into the gusset of your panties.

He watches you as you pick up your jacket and your phone.

“You’re on your phone already?” he laughs. “Don’t tell me I was just a cheap fuck.” he teases you, and you smile.

“No, sorry.” you smile back as you let the intrusive thoughts whirring through your mind win. You were going to delete his number, though you’re glad you didn’t as you hit dial on Megumi’s number. You’re pleased Toji doesn’t hear the faint ringing sound, and you’re even happier when you see the time going up on your screen, seeing that Megumi actually answered.

“hello?” you hear him say a few times, muffling the sound as you put it in your jacket pocket.

“I can’t believe we had sex, Toji.” you speak, doing all you can to not smirk as you’re sure Megumi’s heart just dropped. “You won’t tell Megumi, will you? I’m so mad at him… I hate him… but I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not telling him.” Toji nods, agreeing. “Can’t lie though, I wouldn’t mind fucking you again.” he chuckles.

“Then…” you approach him again, kissing him. “Fuck me again, Toji. Wan’ your cock again. Want you t’cum in me again. Need you… s’bad.” you moan quietly as his hands begin exploring your body. He lifts you up and throws you down onto the bed, pulling his jeans down again.

“Fuck me, princess, thought you’d never ask.”

You begin kissing again, unsure how much of that Megumi heard. But you make sure to keep your volume sufficiently high as you make out with his dad.

It’s the least he deserves for cheating.

© 2023 rinhaler

[changbunnies]

Crave (18+)

♡ Pairing: Romantic Lust Demon!Hyunjin x Plus Size Human Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: supernatural au, demon au, demon/human relationship, age gap relationship typical in fics of this genre, despite the immoral demonic behavior this is intended to be a lot more soft and romantic than the warnings will make it sound lmao

♡ Word Count: 21.9k

♡ Summary: "The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain." – Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy. In which Hyunjin, a demon from the nine circles of hell, finds himself impossibly infatuated with the very human he once set upon himself to destroy.

♡ Warnings: discussions about religion from the perspective of a demon, themes of sexual purity in the context of religion, a lot of immoral behavior and thoughts + ideas from hyunjin (such as snooping, infiltration, and manipulation), references to death / dying, use of supernatural abilities, themes of possesiveness and jealousy, the seven deadly sins are brought up multiple times, hyun is thousands of years old so take that as you will lol, reader's age is not specified but is implied to be at least mid to late 20s, hell's structure is based off dante alighieri's depiction of it in the divine comedy but knowledge of it isn't necessary to enjoy this fic!

♡ Smut Warnings: multiple smut scenes + references to sex outside of smut scenes, masturbation, noncon voyeurism, porn watching, sex with hyun in both his human and demon form, wine drinking (but neither reader or hyunjin gets drunk), pet names (my love, lovely, baby, gendered language such as "good girl"), dom/sub dynamics with switch implications, pleasure dom hyunjin, kink exploration and establishing limits + safe words, traffic light system - reader uses "yellow" once, lots of kissing (per my standard), some nipple play, oral (m + f receiving), fingering (f receiving), biting / marking, choking, dacryphilia, slight overstim, multiple orgasms, improper use of a tail :) take that as you will :), size kink, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: this is a reupload + edit of an old fic so if you start to read and get deja vu, that's why lol originally, this was a series posted in several parts but for cohesion i'm reuploading it all together in one post! i also fixed up various parts i felt i could've written better, so it should be a better reading experience this time! and if this is ur first time seeing this story, i hope you enjoy it! <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There are many things in this world, the world of humans, that even a monster such as Hyunjin was born to desire. A primal want, weaved into the very fabric of his being, designed to be etched into his soul– if he had one, that is.

That is what initially brought him here; the heart of one of the world's most populated cities, his territory an otherwise unoccupied luxury suite in one of the many skyrises that line the bustling streets.

It was an ideal place to be; there wasn't much in the way of furniture, given that it's a new development with no human occupants, but the amenities it held were sleek and pristine. High windows that overlooked the entirety of the city rife with sin from what was nearly the top floor, marble countertops that screamed sophistication and elegance, and well equipped with security of both the physical and digital kind to keep out those who may want to chase the thrill of wandering where they do not belong.

Hyunjin, who could simply float about wherever he wished, had no need for human things like beds or sofas. The fact that it lied barren and empty was no deterrent– in fact, it was better that way.

In this space, he already had everything he needed– an ideal vantage point, isolation from the world until he himself chose to interact with it, and easy access to the myriad of damned soul that walked the streets beneath him. It was perfect, and it was his– until you showed up.

Hyunjin was no stranger to dealing with potential renters overtaking his territory– it was only natural for those with wealth to be ready to spend a fortune on the newest availble luxury apartment that catches their eye.

While Hyunjin had never once been seen; he was certainly known; rumors abound of an evil presence in suite 13, that left even non-believers fleeing in terror, leaving as quickly as they came. "Evil" felt a bit extreme of a description from Hyunjin's perspective, but what would humans truly understand of him? 

He always felt as if his actions were completely justified; after all, why should a being with immense power such as him bend to the will of a measely human whose life was akin to a grain of sand in the desert of immortality that was his own lifespan?

Regardless of his justifications and thoughts on what is evil and what isn't, he welcomed the fear humans have towards him– it made his life easier if they feared him and stayed far from his domain. 

And yet here you were, seemingly ignorant of the fearful reputation this apartment held (not that he expected that the building's landlord would have informed you of it, of course– their only goal is money, at the end of the day.)

Hyunjin didn't care for the rules of humans– whether or not you'd supplied the necessary money to purchase your way here or were deserving of it made no difference to him. It was his until he decided otherwise, and you were trespassing on his territory by being here.

When he'd first arrived back after a long outing back in his home within the second circle of the nine hells, only to see you filling his space with your things, walking about the apartment as if you owned it, blissfully unaware of his presence– it was infuriating. 

He had half a mind to scare you out right then, forever scar you by showing you his true form, send you running as he'd done to countless before you who tried to be here. But no, that wouldn't be enough. It would be letting you off too easily for his liking; this was different than scaring off someone who might intrude on his home– you already had.

What he wanted was more than his territory back– he wanted to make you suffer the most egregious torment one could ever endure for intruding on it, something far worse and much harsher than whatever a demon below his stature could muster.

You deserved worse than that of mild terror, or to be able to flee from his space without repercussions for your transgression. No, he would only take back what was his after he'd turned your mind into a den of paranoia and hysteria. You needed to know true terror, true loss, true suffering, by his hand.

So he settled for observing you– it would be a longer process, one that could easily take months to reach true fruition, but the reward would be well worth his patience. He watched carefully, intently, his presence always concealed but unmistakably there. You would feel it sometimes, unbeknownst to yourself.

A sudden chill up your spine, the subtle feeling of being watched making you turn your head, only to be met with nothing unusual in your line of sight. Funny, how humans were so attuned to the supernatural while simultaneously being so oblivious to their reality.

Your routines became committed to his memory, your every step and every action becoming increasingly familiar to him. Boring at times, but necessary if he wanted to learn the ins and outs of what makes you you, taking in every detail and memorizing them fully, so that when the day comes for him to turn your life into a miserable tragedy, forming you into a shell of who you once were, you'd have to beg him for forgiveness, for his mercy.

What were your fears? He'd easily make them reality. What did you hate? He'd make sure you suffered it. What broke your heart? He'd subject you to that pain over and over, until your heart was left shattered into a million, microscopic pieces.

And it was only then, when you were mentally destroyed, the lowest you could ever possibly be and unrecognizable in your despair, that he'd appear before you, triumphant as he made you apologize for ever having stepped foot in his domain.

But as he observed you, he came to realize something strange- something he had never once found himself thinking about a human before. You were so... good, the closest to perfection a human could ever possibly be. And not perfect by the bullshit puritan standards set by the "heavenly creator," because you were as touched by sin as any human is, but perfect to him specifically.

Your sins were few and far between, with only one making a substantial impact on your purity; but it was the most important, most delicious sin of them all, the one that made Hyunjin's body seethe with delectable desire.

You weren't envious, nor greedy or gluttonous; you lived in a luxurious penthouse suite, that was true, but greed to have the best of everything isn't what brought you here. The pride you felt for your accomplishments didn't go anywhere near sinful levels– you were proud of yourself, but not in such a way that you looked down on others while you sat atop your high horse.

You weren't slothful, brought to your current position by your own hard work and tireless efforts, and you weren't wrathful either, your emotions toward your fellow man always sweet, compassionate, and gracious. That only left one sin– just one that impacted your soul, that barred you from reaching true, godly purity.

Lust.

It wasn't an unhealthy amount of lust by any means, but any at all is enough to damn an unmarried woman's soul if she gives in to the temptation– an unfair ruling that has cost many their rightful place in paradise. And you certainly did give in to your temptation, and that is what made you perfect to him.

You had none of the avarice of other humans, none of the undesirable qualities that made them foolish and arrogant and insufferable to deal with, instead held closely by one desire, the most important desire.

Was it a coincidence, he wondered? That he, a demon born of lust himself, found one such human that seemed to adhere perfectly to what he enjoys most?

Hyunjin often felt himself above that of the sins his brothers were born to pursue. Violence did not suit him, emotions such as greed, pride, and jealousy often went beyond his comprehension. And not because he was some lowly, ignorant creature who was only capable of thinking with his dick, but because those feelings simply never came to him to begin with.

What was there to be jealous of? If he wanted something, he could have it, he could take it, as simple as that. Was he prideful? Sure, one could say he was, say that he has an ego, but he would argue that there was a clear difference between the arrogance that often comes with pride, and simply having confidence in one's own abilities and joy in their accomplishments.

He knew he could feel other emotions, indulge in other sins, if his brothers' conquests and actions were any tell, but he simply.. didn't. Lust was all he knew, was all that he enjoyed, but at the same time, he wasn't some low level demon who was consumed by lust.

No, he could control it quite easily if he wished, was more than capable of waiting for the most ideal moment to finally savor in the addictive dance two bodies can share. (Or more than two bodies, should one prefer that.)

Lust was all he ever knew, but unlike the sex-starved beasts he ruled over and observed in his circle within hell, he was very much in control of himself. Make no mistake, it never went away, he always felt the gnawing craving for more and more and more– but it never addled his mind. That was the perk of being a demon with a higher consciousness than that of say.. an imp. He had complete control of his compulsions and desires. 

It was this control over himself that led to Hyunjin savoring the lust that poured from human souls in only the most ideal conditions. There were many different kinds of lust, each with their own "taste" so to speak, and while Hyunjin found them all enjoyable to at least some degree, there was one in particular that was the most intoxicating to him, one that never failed to light a fire within him, the one that was always, always, worth waiting for.

The lust between two lovers, whose care for eachother was true, and good, and special– such as you would see from couples sleeping together for the first time, full to the brim with nervous excitement. Or maybe from long-time lovers reigniting their spark with a romantic night spent together after a warm, candlelit date.

Especially delectable was the sweet consummation after making an eternal promise under God to be together forever, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part. Those are just a few examples of the sort of lust that gave Hyunjin the best, sweetest taste.

The irony of being an immoral entity who gained the most enjoyment out of love and romance wasn't lost on him, but his preferences weren't built on some misconceived notion that he could aspire to feel those things himself. Yes, Hyunjin knew he would never feel the human emotion that was love, but he could understand, at least on a superficial level, why it tasted so sweet, and why humans seemed to fight for that feeling above all else.

Perhaps he existed to be a hypocrite, sowing seeds of chaos and turmoil while valuing true love, contradicting that which humans believed they knew about demons of lust such as himself. After all, was it not the very nature of a demon to confuse, contradict, and twist the human condition?

And was it not utterly against his being to indulge in a feeling that was considered sacred by God? It didn't matter either way; if there was one thing that Hyunjin knew for certain, it was that sweet tastes were the best, and it didn't matter where it originated from or how– he just knew he liked it.

And oh, how his proverbial heart jolted when he sensed it on you the first time he saw you touching yourself. It was a surprise when, after a long day of unpacking and arranging furniture, you let your hand travel sinfully between your legs with a heady sigh– and far be it from Hyunjin to deny himself the opportunity to feed on a human's lust when it's practically being delivered to him on a silver platter.

You hadn't been touching yourself for long, barely got your panties down your legs when he tasted it– subtle, but familiar enough to Hyunjin that he could recognize it anywhere. It was hard to explain the sweet taste in human terms– there were really no words that could come close to describing it, as the "flavor" itself didn't exist within human understanding.

Suffice it to say, it was something entirely unique to his kind, and something any demon would be able to distinguish with ease should they be in close enough proximity. It was unmistakable– you loved someone. That was information that could serve him well, something that he should be delighted to know he could ruin you with. And yet, for the first time in all his thousands of years, the feeling of lustful love left a bitter taste on his tongue.

You were in love.. And you envisioned that person while your fingers were buried between your legs, as you bit your lip and made your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

Who was it? Why did you love them? Were they even deserving of someone as perfect as you? Did they deserve to touch you? To feel you? Hyunjin grit his teeth, fists clenching into tight balls as an unfamiliar feeling began to permeate through the entirety of his being.

Is this.. what envy feels like? A rage beyond comprehension at the thought of someone else having you when it should be him?

He should be the one you desired to have touching you, the one you imagined marking your unmarred skin, the one who made you cry out and tremble with even the simplest of touches. Would they even indulge in the sweet taste you radiate like he would? Would they even understand what perfection it is you offer simply by being? 

His, you should be his, only his, his, his.

The realization hit Hyunjin like cold water over hot skin– he wants you. And not just for one night, not superficially, not with needing to part ways afterwards. He wants you to love him, wants the feeling of love-drenched lust that radiates off you to be because of him, wants you to belong to him and him alone.

You don't know him yet, but you will. And he'll make sure you're left wanting him, and only him, by any means necessary. Because it's what he wants, and he always gets what he wants.

Hyunjin wants to say it's simple curiosity that leads him to carefully steal your phone off your nightstand once you've fallen asleep, or that he's acting with the desire to know how to ruin the target of his ire more succinctly, but that simply isn't true.

No, he is scrounging through your phone not with the intent to learn your greatest fears and hates, nor does he scour your messages to discover your darkest secrets. It's a different purpose that has led him here, an unfamiliar ache that drives him to search your phone for something more.

In hindsight, going through your phone to learn about you is a simple, easy act he could've, should've, done already, but he's a bit of a traditionalist in that regard. (Or maybe he just doesn't want to admit how much he's liked watching you these past few weeks.)

Who is that you love? And why? It would've been easier for him to find out had you truly let yourself go, allowed yourself to be loud and moan their name to your heart's content, but you hadn't. And maybe that was a good thing, as hearing someone else's name leave your lips in such a moment would've definitely sent him into a dangerous hate spiral, but that also meant he was left with nothing to go on as a clue.

He was much too stunned, and then seething with anger and jealousy, to read your thoughts in the moment, and if he tried to do so now, while you were sleeping, all he would do is catch a glimpse of your dreams– not helpful in the slightest, unless you happen to be dreaming of the object of your desire. (Which you weren't. He already looked.)

Unlocking your phone is easy, as he's seen you put in your password several times over at this point. Unfortunately for him however, (and fortunate for the one undeserving of Hyunjin's wrath,) he finds nothing that makes the object of your affection explicitly obvious. Your texts with friends all use the same tone, you talk about mundane things like what movies are coming out or how you wish you could go on a vacation for a while.

Your photo gallery is relatively small, filled mostly by screenshots of things you wish to remember or keep for a laugh, and the occasional selfie. There's nothing that screams "this is the person i'm in love with!" no matter where in your phone he looks, and if it wasn't for how intensely he felt the emotion radiating from you as your fingers sped up and release built, he'd think he must have imagined it.

What interesting this he does find, however, are the differen't porn links littered through your incognito tabs, all that paint a very vivid picture of what you find most appealing– or in more vulgar terms, what gets your pussy really fucking wet.

He skims through your collection of favorites and private bookmarks, and quickly comes to realize they all hold a similar theme– love, romance, and doms who are soft even when being rough with the sub's body, or speaking condescending words.

Various videos and audio files, with titles such as "roommate gets railed after confessing her secret feelings," "pov: boy next door accidentally confesses and then fucks you passionately," and "soft dom makes his good girl cum hard: boyfriend asmr." There's even an entire erotic movie, much to Hyunjin's surprise, with a 2 hour run time and dedicated plot in your recent bookmarks.

He decides to watch it, for research purposes of course– what better way to get to know the object of his desire than by watching the porn she consumes for himself? It's rather generic as far as ideas go– childhood best friends confessing their love before going away to college, with sweet, sensual but desperate fucking and a promise they'll be in love no matter the distance put between them. A cliché plot, by human media standards. 

However, he has to give it due props– it's obviously not an amateur production. It's acted well, has better cinematography than one might expect for a film produced by a porn studio, and the dialogue never crosses into cringe, overtly fake territory.

Despite it all, something about it feels real, as if he'd taken a genuine glimpse into the lives of two young people in love, rather than a manufactured video meant to make the people who watch it unbearably horny.

Hyunjin continued through your collection after that, eager to see what other gems lied in your favorites, waiting to be watched by him. They're all the same fundamentally speaking, your preferences and biases easily shining through with each video watched and audio listened to.

Emotionally charged, romantic confessions, sweet "i love you"s, soft, caring doms who take good care of the submissive one, making them feel desired, beautiful, and secure. The person you're in love with, the one who lingers in your mind when you watch these videos and your hand travels between your legs– this is what you want them to do.

You want them to love you passionately, to make you fall apart in the sweetest of ways, to take care of you so well that your thoughts can linger on nothing but the way they make you feel. You want them to sweetly tell you they love you while they fuck you, to speak filthy words in your ears in a soft, saccharine voice as they make you cum. To fuck you dumb, to ruin you, and then expertly put you back together with a tender touch. 

Carefully, he puts your phone back in its place, looking at you once he's done, still sound asleep in your bed and without a clue in the world that there's a demon standing before you, close enough to touch. You've lived with Hyunjin for weeks now, but you don't know who he is, don't know that he's there, don't know that you have unexpectedly become the reason for a demon's strange and new complex emotions. Isn't it funny? How a demon as powerful as him has become infatuated with you despite you not even knowing he exists.

It's illogical to desire you, truly. Humans are fickle, subject to corruption and irrationality, their lives impossibly short. What one man works his entire life to obtain, Hyunjin can have in mere moments with a fraction of the effort.

To a being that has lived thousands of years, the life of a human happens in a mere blink. You grow old, you get sick, you die, your accomplishments fade to nothing, forgotten as the next wave of humans walk the earth in your stead. You're beneath him, he's better than you, and yet..

Why does he still crave you so? Maybe he's no better than the humans he's looked down upon, considering them lesser for their innate hypocrisies and irrational actions– because Hyunjin is about to do just the same.

His feelings for you are hypocritical, irrational, foolish, but also the most real thing he's ever felt. And if it's romance you want, that will make you fall head over heels for him, then he'll be the most romantic demon the nine hells have ever known.

How do you make a human fall in love? A question that is perhaps simple in theory, but Hyunjin hasn't wooed a human in centuries, and much has changed since he last blended in with society.

In the modern age of technology, sin is at the most rampant it's ever been. The common man can access all manner of sin from the palm of his hand with a single device, and it has made the act of integrating into human society an unnecessary practice for demons. 

There's a plethora of human sin to feed from at any given moment, and obsolete is the need for a demon to blend in with the humans that walk the earth, no longer required to be a snake in the community garden just waiting for their moment to strike and consume.

Though an outdated method to obtain their wants, integration with humans can still be done, if only the demon in question wishes to do so– and as Hyunjin has come to realize, he does if he wants to win over the object of his desire. 

Despite how long it's been since Hyunjin walked among them, he wasn't ignorant of modern human culture; he still had to be well-informed if he wanted to be effective and efficient in sowing the seeds of sin in feeble minds, after all– his work in the second circle required such knowledge, and it was also a benefit when it came to deciding which soul he would drink from to sustain himself. 

He knew perfectly well how to use most modern technology, knew how to dress in a manner that was unique to his own tastes but suited the trends of the era. Whatever "pop culture" knowledge he lacked, as it was called by humans, he could blame it on things such as "preferring to stay off social media," or "not watching much tv or playing much games." Most would take it as a fair, reasonable enough excuse, even if the person asking questions of him could not relate to his answer. 

In the last century especially, most of Hyunjin's public outings were limited to a few hours at most, spending that entire time scoping out who'd satiate his cravings the most. Nightclubs in particular were an easy place for Hyunjin to get a quick fix of the lust he needed, sustaining him well enough when his preferred love-drenched lust was still being built to its peak. 

Despite all his experience in human matters, there was something that posed a problem for him initially. Since moving into your lavish suite, you worked from home– a luxury Hyunjin assumes you have from a high ranking position within whatever company you work for (especially if this is the kind of place you can afford to live in on a single salary.)

But if you only ever left the house long enough to run errands, how was he supposed to meet you organically? And further still, how does he meet you in such a way that makes contact with you consistent, that makes you want to talk with him and be in his presence? 

He could, theoretically, stage a meeting, pretend to be a neighbor entering the building at the same time or "accidentally" bump into you while shopping for something he has absolutely no use for, only to then charm you the moment your eyes lock with his.

The problem with that approach is that charming you defeats the purpose of what he wants; for you to have genuine, real love for him, and only him. And asking you out after meeting you just once, in a situation where you have no reason to connect with him further, could be uncomfortable or off-putting in the eyes of women. What woman likes to be hit on by a stranger while she's grocery shopping? 

Hyunjin's human form is attractive, sure, but looks can only carry him so far when it comes to making a woman fall for him. His appearance is useful for one night stands, but he needs to show you more substance than that if he wants you to desire him beyond the physical– and he was sure based on his observations of your character that you weren't vain or superficial enough to fall for him based on looks alone. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to ponder on these questions for much longer, because only a few short days after you finished all your unpacking and decorated your apartment to your liking, you returned to work.

He could tell easily enough what your destination was when your routine suddenly deviated; for the first time since moving in, you had turned on a repeating alarm for 6 a.m, and your choice of business casual clothing and subtle, office appropriate makeup told him all he needed to know. 

Hyunjin followed you there, naturally; presence hidden, lingering in the shadows with the intent to best establish how to infiltrate your work environment. As he suspected, you held a high ranking position inside a corporate office– head of human resources for one of the many subsidiaries of some conglomerate Hyunjin had never heard of, as typically there is no need or reason for him to be well versed in human's business dealings. 

Becoming someone you work with directly would be the best route, he was sure. Whether on equal ground or as someone answering to you on a team, it was the option that gave him the most opportunity to create a connection with you, and maybe be the start of one of those sappy office romances that humans seem to enjoy in their media. 

It was fine if there were no employment openings– it'd be simple for Hyunjin to create one by exerting his influence over a human's mind. He'd pick out whomever you liked the least, someone who bothered you either overtly or simply by being an inefficient worker, and he'd take their place. He could plant the idea of a career change, a desire to move across the country, or simply sabotage their work and get them fired should the gentler, subtle approach be deemed too time consuming for Hyunjin's taste. 

Of course, Hyunjin knew jack fucking shit about how your job truly works or what would be required of him if he was on your team, but that was fine too– it would be easy for him to fake his performance when necessary, and charm any who questioned his work abilities.

He wouldn't enjoy lying to you directly if there was ever a need for it but, well.. The ends justify the means, don't they? And while he wouldn't charm you for love, certainly it wouldn't hurt to do so to make him appear a better worker than what he would be in reality, right? 

No matter what his hypocritical justifications were, he’d do anything necessary to make you his, even if it meant having to lie at times. It was a foreign feeling, having a guilty conscience– after all, lying is as innate to a demon as breathing is to humans.

He supposed his infatuation for you is what makes lying begin to feel different. Is that why truth was considered a godly virtue? It was the first time in his life that just the thought of lying, before it could even be an act done in the first place, felt.. wrong.

Maybe because on some subconscious level he recognized that love woven from lies isn’t true, no matter how much he’d wish it to be. Even if you fell sincerely in love with him, would it still satisfy him to have gotten there based on tricks and lies?

When he determined that the answer to that question was a firm “no,” he vowed he would do his best to keep lies far from his lips when it came to you, even if that made his goal more difficult to achieve. Strange, how this was easily the most human he’d ever felt. 

In a way, it is almost natural to feel this way, to be met with internal conflict for the first time in ages; most demons are born directly from human sin, after all. What is he, if not the physical manifestation of a human who has fallen from perfection?

More powerful than a mere human though he was, his proverbial soul still held an innate inclination towards sin, still struggled with the temptation and decadence inherent to his very being. Hypocrisy and corruption went hand in hand with sin, hand in hand with the very human condition he would oft wrongfully deny he felt.

And that wasn’t the only human emotion that came to him when he watched you at work for the first time. Most of the morning was spent rather uneventfully, Hyunjin’s time dedicated entirely to scoping out the environment and determining where he’d best fit within your corporate world.

He observed the people on your team, who was designated where and what their duties were, keeping track of what feelings and opinions you had for whom, looking out for who he would be able to effectively replace.

Without warning, he sensed it, felt it, tasted it– love, seeping out of your pores, heart suddenly alight and a smile that should be reserved for him lingering on your lips. Jealousy pricked Hyunjin’s skin before he could even fully process the scene before him, a deep fondness in your eyes as a man that Hyunjin could only assume was from another department approached you with a smile of his own.

Shit. It was expected that he would find out who you loved eventually, but he didn’t anticipate that it would be here, in the very environment he was setting up to be the stage for your romance with him.

The man asked you questions and talked in ways you’d expect to hear between friends and coworkers– “how’d the move go?”, “are you settling in well?”, and “you should invite me over sometime!”

It was the last statement that made Hyunjin’s eye twitch with suppressed anger, not much liking the idea of the person you’re in love with being alone with you in your apartment. Every time you giggled at something he said or blushed when the man held your gaze, it nearly made him sick with envy.

Fuck him, he didn’t deserve you, Hyunjin thought, I'm better than him in every conceivable way, that should be me.

This man didn’t love you the way you loved him; Hyunjin could tell, could feel the platonic affection that radiated from him. And instead of being happy about the implication that Hyunjin would have no rival for your affection when he pursued you in earnest, it almost made him more pissed off.

This guy didn’t even know how fucking perfect you were, didn’t seem to notice the way your eyes sparkled with affection, how your heart raced when he hugged you, or the bashful smile that lingered when he invited you to share your lunch hour with him.

He’s a complete fucking idiot for not being head over hells for you– you, who’s only sin is lust, who is beautiful, intelligent, humble, and positively radiant in presence without even realizing just how much value she truly has.

It’s okay, he has to remind himself, it’s a good thing his one-sided rival doesn’t share your sentiment; because when Hyunjin shows you how beautiful you are, treats you with the reverence you deserve, your heart would surely shift to beat for him instead. He’ll make sure of it.

You let out a sigh as you comb through the next resume that found its way to your desk, exhausted from the amount of interviews you've conducted today. This was probably your least favorite aspect of your job if you were being honest; being the head of human resources put you in charge of all recruiting efforts, scanning through countless applications to determine who was the best fit for the company, but you never enjoyed doing it. 

It always makes you feel guilty to determine someone else's worth based on a flimsy piece of paper and interview first impressions, where nerves are almost always at their peak as the person sitting across from you makes their best conscious effort to impress you. It is also not a job you can delegate to someone else on your team, unfortunately; your place at the top of the HR department made all hiring decisions entirely up to your own discretion.

And apart from the guilt of knowing you couldn't hire everyone that walked through your door, it was so tiring to go over the same questions multiple times a day with a myriad of strangers. 

Hwang Hyunjin was the name of the last person you'd be interviewing today (much to your relief) and you hoped he'd be the person to wow you in the end, as you have lukewarm feelings to who you've met thus far.

Despite the impressive credentials on most resumes you reviewed, none of the people you'd met seemed to be a good long term fit for the company; some of them would likely only be good as temps, needing to be let go unless they showed substantial improvement in the areas they were lacking in. 

It was a terrible thing to judge someone based on whether or not they were able to calm their nerves or had enough charisma, but when working for corporate conglomerates you can't afford to be meek. It was okay to be shy and reserved in your personal life, many people in the office were, but for the sake of professionalism you're required to have the ability to put meek tendencies aside.

If the interviewee couldn't speak with confidence, then you had reason to believe they'd crack under the daily pressures of speaking with representatives of other departments or when handling sensitive negotiations. Unfortunately, you don't typically have the luxury of giving applicants the benefit of the doubt or the ability to give them the opportunity to change your first impression of them.

You take a glance at the clock hanging above the door to your office, opposite of your desk; it's just a few short minutes until you meet your last applicant, and you pray he'll be the person you've been looking for. Despite how desperate you are to fill the hole in your team after Mina's extremely abrupt resignation and move out of the country, you still don't want to desperately hire someone just to fill the gap she left- you want someone capable and confident on your team. 

You take one last passing glance at the man's resume, making sure you're familiar with his education and work history, not wanting to be mistaken on any of the details listed. A short succession of knocks are heard on your door a few moments later, and you look up from the resume you're rereading to see Nayeon opening the door just enough for her head to come into view.

"M-Ma'am, H-Hwang Hyunjin, uh- he's here for his interview," she speaks in a timid voice, face flushed the brightest pink you'd ever seen on her. Your brows furrow ever so slightly in wonder and concern at her out of character demeanor; Nayeon is among the most confident and well spoken employees on your team, and you've never known her to stutter or appear so off kilter.

"..Right, send him in," you say after a moment, wondering if her attitude shift is due to the stranger you'd be meeting shortly; if that is the case, you'll have to talk to her about it once the interview is over– you wouldn't want to hire someone the people on your team are uncomfortable around. 

She nods and opens the door further, the silhouette of the taller man coming into view just slightly behind her. "Right in here," she mutters, stepping to the side and motioning for Hyunjin to enter your office. It becomes immediately apparent what the reason for Nayeon's abnormal behavior is; Hwang Hyunjin is easily one of the most beautiful men you've ever seen in your entire life. 

Black hair that just begins to touch his shoulders tucked neatly behind his ears, a few strands left untouched to frame his face, accompanied by wide circle glasses that seem to further enhance his beauty. He's dressed well, his suit modern and sleek but not overly formal for the setting, his accessories tasteful and understated, as they should be in an office environment– just a simple, long chain necklace and small, almost dainty hoops on his pierced ears. 

The reason why a man this gorgeous would even be applying to work here when he could easily make a fortune being a model is beyond you.

You're quick to correct the initial surprise on your face, hoping that the man you'll be interviewing didn't notice how struck by his beauty you were when he stepped in. And how could you even know that he did notice you had a reaction to him– and not because of any overtly obvious expression of attraction, but because he could hear the beating of your heart with his inhuman ears, its steady rhythm taking a sudden, erratic jump the very moment he first stepped through the door. 

Nayeon is quick to close the door behind Hyunjin once he has stepped fully inside your office, leaving you in privacy for what will likely be the most difficult interview you have ever conducted– and not for the reasons you would've otherwise expected.

"Have a seat," you speak clearly, as if your heart wasn't stuttering just mere moments ago, motioning for Hyunjin to take one of the chairs sitting opposite of your desk. "Pleasure to meet you, Hyunjin," you say after he's taken a seat, politely holding out your hand to shake his.

"Likewise, ma'am. I'm grateful to be considered for this position," he responds with a smile so effortlessly charming that you have to once again remind yourself that this is a professional setting and you shouldn't be thinking about how handsome the potential new addition to your team is.

If you were a worse woman with lesser morals, you'd hire him on appearance alone– his flawless skin, plush, soft, almost inviting lips, and the little mole that sits daintily under his left eye are all positively bewitching to look at. 

You collect yourself after a brief mental scolding, deciding to get straight into the most pertinent questions you have once he's settled in his seat, opting to waste no time in getting straight to the point. While this approach does make the interview more tense for the applicant, you find it best to go about it this way to make sure they're truly ready for the sort of discussions that will be expected of them should they get hired.

You don't expect perfection, but more accurately determination– if they can maintain a confident air about them under pressure, that's typically a good indicator to you they'll be a good fit for your team. Equally, you don't mind if they stumble over their words a few times throughout the course of the interview as long as they show the ability to bounce back from any slip ups.

Error is expected at some point, as we are all human– you just want to assess their ability to come back from a mistake when speaking, and to see if they are able to maintain their composure in situations that may not be the most ideal or comfortable. 

The ease at which Hyunjin answers your questions has you convinced that he's perfect. 

He speaks confidently, coming across as self-assured and charismatic, not at all stuttering or faltering when you ask him to speak candidly with his own words. You appreciate a well rehearsed answer of course, but you like to ascertain whether or not the person you're considering for the job is able to maintain confidence when not using an internal script or reciting their memorized resume. 

Some struggle to do so, losing confidence in themselves the moment they are expected to go off the cuff, while others find it to be a trick question of sorts, as if you're baiting them to say a flaw that would place them out of consideration for the position they're applying for.

What you value most on your team is adaptability– it's okay to falter for a brief moment, as long as they are able to collect themselves quickly and continue where they left off. And Hyunjin's ability to do just that is utterly astounding. 

He has an almost effortless sort of confidence and charisma about him; something unique and special that you don't often see, a state of being that isn't learned, but rather is innate to who he is. Even when he briefly pauses or lets out a small "hmm" as he thinks about his answer to your question, it never feels like he's struggling to find his answer– more accurately, it seems that he already knows what his answer is, and is just pondering on the best way to phrase it before speaking. 

It seemed that even his unrehearsed, unfiltered answers were nearly perfect, his ability to speak leaving you almost in awe. Truly, in the year and a half it's been since you were promoted to head of human resources, you'd never conducted an interview where the person you were speaking to seemed this effortlessly natural and comfortable in what is otherwise a tense situation.

Honestly, you'd be a fool not to hire him right on the spot– his ability speaks for itself, and you're confident that any weaknesses he has can be corrected quickly and easily with more experience in the work environment. 

So you congratulate him, smiling as you once again hold out your hand and welcome him as part of your team. And Hyunjin smiles too as he takes your hand in his, knowing that this is just the start of what is his grand plan to make you his.

In the months it’s been since you first hired Hyunjin, he’s come to learn so much more about you than he did just lingering around in your apartment, and with that has come an even deeper appreciation and desire to have you.

Your good nature, which he knew you had from little interactions at shops and cafes, was now able to be fully seen by him– from the way you cared about your team, treated them like equals despite the fact that you were their superior in rank, and how you encouraged and fostered true friendships between everyone on your team. 

You held so much sincere care for everyone around you, and you lead with compassion and kindness at the forefront. If someone was sick, having an off day due to mental health, or simply felt the pressures of life weighing them down, you always met them with compassion. You encouraged them to get better, and never made them feel bad about themselves for any small slip ups that occurred while they were struggling with something. 

Of course, in this line of work it’s vital that they show up always ready to do their utmost best and show others the best versions of themselves, but you weren’t some militant manager that expected people to always be at 100%.

It’s unrealistic, and hypocritical to expect perfection, so instead you always did your best to accommodate them when they were low, and that consideration resulted in your coworkers and employees having a great deal of respect for you; it was easy to see why your team always put in their best effort at work. 

By extension, your care for your team resulted in equal care towards you, and it seemed they greatly missed you when you were absent due to your move. They had fine enough leadership while you were gone, sure, but it wasn’t the same without you– the one who made them feel comfortable, secure, and made them want to perform well at their jobs.

What Hyunjin felt watching you was something akin to pride– and it was strange, as he had never felt pride for someone else before. He hardly ever even felt it for himself.

He just liked seeing you succeed, if he had to guess; he liked knowing the woman he desired was not only beautiful in body but also in soul, just as he suspected her to be when he first came to put aside his anger and truly know her for who she is.

What a happy accident it was, that he happened to be gone when you finalized your move to suite 13; because otherwise how would he ever have known what it was like to care about someone other than himself? To understand what it is that makes a human God’s greatest creation? 

He gets it now, he thinks– why God prioritized humanity, why he loves them despite how flawed and drenched with sin they are. And again, it occurs to Hyunjin how hypocritical he was before, and continues to be even now, how foolish it is for him, the very embodiment of sin, a being who is supposed to uphold depravity and ruin, to be infatuated with you, who is the very image of benevolence.

Hyunjin got to see so many new sides of you, sides that didn’t make themselves known within the 4 walls of your apartment, sides that made him fall for you more and more. A demon can’t experience love the way a human does, but he thinks this is the closest to love a creature like him will ever have.

Obsession, longing, desire.. Isn’t that all a manifestation of love? Perhaps one does not need a true heart and soul to experience what love is; maybe all that one really requires is feeling. 

Most sins are a feeling- lust, pride, envy; all are an emotion you feel strongly within your gut, a natural reaction that cannot be prevented from pricking your skin or making your stomach twist. It’s innate, woven into the DNA of every creature with higher understanding.

With all that in mind, who is to say a demon can’t love? Maybe it won’t be felt in the same way a human feels it, but if love is a feeling, and sins are a feeling, then what truly prevents him from knowing love? 

As equally as he learned about you and himself, he also learned about the man you had developed feelings for– Yunho. According to Nayeon, who was apparently a wealth of information when it came to the subject, you met Yunho in college and have been friends with him since. You grew quite close in your time studying the same major, and as fate would have it, you both ended up working for the same conglomerate after college. 

While you ended up here, promoted to head of the department when the opening became available, Yunho worked for a different subsidiary within the same building; so while you technically worked for different companies, you shared the same CEO, and had ample opportunity to meet and talk during the company lunch hour and maintain the friendship you had in college. 

Well, he imagines you would’ve still been friends with Yunho regardless of where the two of you ended up in life after graduation. But still continuing to see him daily certainly didn’t help you get over the college crush you had on the man.

And you had tried to move on– you’re not stupid, you know Yunho doesn’t feel the same way as you. But your relationships never worked out as you’d hoped, and you’d always be left at relationships end still battling your unrequited love for your best friend. 

Though you are always professional, it was obvious, at least to the other women in the office, that you had deep feelings for Yunho. They could always tell in the way your face changed when he was near, displaying a timid smile that only ever showed up for him, the flush on your face subtle but recognizable to those who knew you well.  

And by extension, it became increasingly obvious to the rest of the office that Hyunjin was down bad for you, and hated seeing you with Yunho. His face too always changed when Yunho arrived, would be positively seething with jealousy, always failing to mask the frown of disapproval when Yunho stepped into your office to talk and invite you out for lunch outside the building. 

And Hyunjin went above and beyond to be a gentleman when it came to you– holding open doors for you when walking somewhere together, carrying stacks upon stacks of heavy paperwork so you wouldn’t have to do it, memorizing the way you liked your coffee so he could get it for you and you could focus instead on your work.

The only time Hyunjin ever wasn’t smiling, it was when you were giving your affection to Yunho. It was painfully obvious how bad he wanted you; if he was trying to keep his feelings a secret, well.. He failed spectacularly to do so at every turn.

Everyone in the office could tell how he felt, and while they would never admit it, most were just waiting for the day he’d ask you out, as it seemed to be more and more inevitable that he would. Some who had been your coworkers since long before you were even promoted, and knew of your unrequited feelings, hoped that Hyunjin could be the person to finally give you the happiness you deserve. 

Even you yourself began to suspect that Hyunjin liked you as more than a friend or coworker, because why else would he go so out of his way for you? Why else would his face change whenever he saw Yunho?

You can still remember the way his smile dropped when Yunho stepped into the room when you were having lunch with your team, how Hyunjin subtly clenched his teeth and tightened his fists, how he’d practically glare at the man before replacing his expression with the most forced smile you’d ever seen him have for the sake of professionalism. 

Were you being delusional? To say Hyunjin is fucking gorgeous is an understatement– he’s practically ethereal. And while you wanted to move on from your stupid school girl crush on Yunho that continued to grip you all these years later, wasn’t it too much to fantasize about Hyunjin being the person to finally make you happy?

He could have anyone, and you couldn’t understand why he’d want you of all people when he could easily bag someone more impressive than you. You did well for yourself, but you didn’t consider yourself particularly desirable..

Maybe years of unrequited love and failed relationships made your confidence tank more than you realized; at least when it came to love and romance.

And while there were other couples in the office, you worried it’d be unprofessional of you to date someone who you are technically the boss of.. Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the power dynamic instead of worrying about whether or not you were desirable enough for Hyunjin to want you? 

God, you really needed to get your priorities straight before you did something stupid; and certainly you were just reading too far into things. But still, while your feelings for Yunho didn’t go away, you still couldn’t deny that your heart would race whenever Hyunjin smiled at you, couldn’t ignore how goosebumps would erupt on your skin when his hand lingered on yours as he handed you a perfectly made cup of coffee, couldn’t help but linger on the the thought of what a perfect lover he must be.

As if sensing you were thinking of him, you hear a knock on your door, breaking you out of your thoughts and met with the sight of Hyunjin cracking open the door. “May I?” he asks, and you smile politely with a nod, motioning for him to enter your office.

“Hey Hyunjin, what’s up? Need something?” you ask and he shakes his head, sitting on the chair in front of you.

“Nothing work related, though I do want to ask you something,” he replies, and immediately your mind wanders to delusional territory again, though you quickly try to shut it down. 

“What is it?” you ask, trying your best not to fill your brain with the thought of Hyunjin making a move on you. Be professional for God’s sake.

“I was wondering,” he starts, looking at you with that charming smile that is so natural to him, and that you always have to stop yourself from folding over at the sight of, “If you don’t have any prior obligations today, would you like to have lunch with me?” 

Oh no. He’s adding fuel to your delusional fire. “Just us?” you ask, trying to mask your hope, or the way your heart is picking up speed. You really want to be chill about the invite, but you really can’t help but hope the invitation means something more. He’s perfect, how could you not? You’re only human, after all. Isn’t it natural to want someone this fucking beautiful to want you? 

“Yes, just us. You don’t have to consider it a date, but.. I would be happy if you did,” he smiles, head tilting to the side in an almost playful display, and your heart jolts.

He’s not just playing with you, right? He wouldn’t, would he? But you have to ask, “You make it sound as if you want me to consider it a date. Are you saying you like me?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, ma’am,” he replies without hesitation, confidence fully on display. It’s as if the possibility of you saying “no” has never crossed his mind. You’d probably be confident too if you looked anything like him; you don’t imagine he’s been rejected often.

And well, you certainly won’t be the person to hit him with his first rejection either; you’ll have to ask a third party to handle the necessary paperwork if things go well between you and Hyunjin, as the head of the department can’t approve and oversee her own consensual relationship agreement, but it’ll be worth it, you think. 

After all, if someone this beautiful and seemingly perfect wants you, why deny yourself the opportunity? Even if it doesn’t work out, maybe he’ll be the person to finally help you get over your stupid crush on your best friend that’s been going nowhere for years.

Apart from his beauty, he’s always been chivalrous and attentive towards you, a true gentleman in every sense of the word. And even if it's only for a brief time, you think he can make you feel happy, desired, truly cared for.

You’re about to tell him you’d love to, when your door unexpectedly clicks open, your eyes moving past Hyunjin to see Yunho standing in the doorway. Hyunjin immediately scowls, having half a mind to rip him apart once the day is over, though he does his best to temper his aggravation.

He can’t let himself lose face in front of the one he loves after all; he’s not sure you’d still be up for a date with him if he displayed his jealous, possessive tendencies this early on (not that he did a very good job of hiding them to begin with.)

“Shit, sorry- am I interrupting a meeting?” Yunho asks, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes, turning his gaze back to you instead.

“No, nothing like that,” you answer, shifting your gaze back to Hyunjin, who for the first time looks concerned that you’ll turn him down. It’s subtle, but his eyes are softer, nearly pleading, though he tries his best to not display the desperation that lies underneath- the desperation for you to affirm that you like him too, that you want to go on a date with him, that you want to give him a chance. 

“Oh, good,” Yunho sighs in relief; he knows that sometimes your work bleeds over into the lunch hour, and he'd have hated to interrupt something important. He glances at Hyunjin next, a slight frown forming on his face.

He’s never spoken to the guy, but Yunho would have to be blind to not notice that Hyunjin hates him for seemingly no reason. “Well, uh– I’ll let you get back to whatever talk you’re having. I’ll see you for lunch when it's over?” Yunho asks, and you can see Hyunjin swallow, hands tensing as he waits for your reply. 

Please don’t reject me, his body practically screams, and you almost can’t believe that the confident Hyunjin you know is looking this nervous over potential rejection because of you. 

“Thanks, but I’m actually having lunch with Hyunjin today. Maybe next time?” you answer, smiling at Hyunjin to reassure him that yes, you are going on a date. No, you won’t be picking Yunho over him, despite the history that lies there.  

Relief instantly spreads through Hyunjin, and he returns your smile, his confidence returning in a blink, as if it’d never left in the first place.

“Oh,” Yunho blinks in surprise; that’s.. unexpected. You’ve never prioritized someone else over him before. Huh. He feels.. strange. Jealous..? No, that can’t be right. Why would he be jealous? Hyunjin stands, offering his hand to you, which you accept before you stand yourself. 

“Are you ready, ma’am? I know this cafe you’ll just love, but we have to hurry if we wan’t to make it back before the hour is over,” Hyunjin smiles, turning away to face the door, and subsequently, an almost bewildered looking Yunho.

You miss the way Hyunjin shoots your best friend a smug, almost triumphant smirk; a smirk that says I’ve won, she’s mine. And even as Yunho watches the pair of you walk towards the elevator, hears you tell Hyunjin he can call you by your name when it’s “just the two of us,” suddenly he feels incredibly stupid. 

Even as he’s left standing there, watching the elevator doors close with just the two of you inside, he can feel his gut twist as Hyunjin shoots him one last smirk, one that affirms something Yunho is just now realizing– there was a reason Hyunjin hated him. All this time, Yunho was a rival for love, and he just lost the race without ever having actually participated. 

He scoffs, laughing at himself in near disbelief. What an idiot he’s been, and what a moment to realize it. He knew you had a crush on him, but what did he expect? That you’ll always be there, just waiting for the day he’d finally miraculously return your feelings after all these years?

Of course you’d move on eventually; and maybe Yunho didn’t want to admit he found your infatuation with him to be a comfortable ego boost, now hit with the epiphany that his newfound jealousy over the loss of your affection is ugly and twisted. 

And truly, Hyunjin had him beat. Somehow, he knew that this was the end of your feelings for him. How ironic it is to lose due to his own complacency, his expectation that you’d always be there no matter what relationships you found yourselves in.

How arrogant and selfish he’d been, assured that no matter whom he slept with or pursued, you’d be there just waiting for the day he’d finally ask you out. But now Hyunjin has you, and he’s certain he’ll never let you go.

Dating Hwang Hyunjin is like a fairytale you thought only existed in the imaginations of young girls that had not yet experienced the disappointment of reality. You imagined he'd be a perfect lover, but you truly hadn't anticipated just how accurate your interpretation of him would end up being. 

He took you on more dates than you could count on your fingers– to museums and exhibits, to restaurants you'd never find on your own with delicious menus. He took you on picnics with the scenic views of the city, of nature, or the setting sun, staying until stars hung in the sky and your only illumination was the vibrant moon shining on just the two of you.

You learned that he was a reader of classic literature, with an impressive knowledge of romantic poetry and novellas, often able to recite the most beautiful lines you'd ever heard straight from his own memory. When he took you to museums, you learned more from Hyunjin himself than the tour guide, and truly it seemed like he was an encyclopedia for all things creative, classic, and romantic in nature.

He was multilingual, which you knew from his resume, but to actually hear him recite something in latin with ease was something else entirely. It was if it came naturally to him, like it wasn't technically a dead language, and you almost couldn't believe it was just an extra class he took in college for fun.

He endlessly impressed you– with his beauty, his intelligence, his attentiveness, his.. everything, really. And he never let you feel inferior to him, always assured you how happy he was that you were his girlfriend beyond just taking you out on dates throughout the city.

He bought you many, many gifts– clothes that always fit you perfectly, that not only suited your tastes but that he thought you'd look beautiful in. Sweet treats, often your favorites but other times just slightly outside your usual comfort zone– just enough to get you to try something new to fall in love with the taste of. 

Stuffed teddy bears or other cute animals meant to remind you of him, jewelry that was sometimes dainty and meant to be office appropriate (in which he'd have the brightest smile seeing you come into work wearing it) and other times lavish, extravagant pieces that somehow were always stunning without being tacky or garish.

If he brought you a necklace or bracelet before a date, he'd help you put it on, smiling when it fit you perfectly and complimented your skin tone, always touching you softly and showering you with compliments.

And while acts of service were clearly a huge love language of his, it wasn't like Hyunjin just showered you with gifts and fun dates and expected that to be enough (which would be valid if it was enough for some people, but you want more than that! You value emotional connection!) He always made time for you outside of the office or promised dates, coming to your apartment anytime you asked just to spend time with you. 

He always listened to you so attentively, genuinely interested in things you liked, and listened to your input when it came to what to do for you next date. He listened to your thoughts and ideas, let you vent if you were having a hard day, hugged you sweetly if you needed reassurance or were feeling stressed.

He'd spend hours on the couch with you watching movies if that's what you wanted to do that day, and he always paid undivided attention to you or what you were doing together, never pulling out his phone or mentally checking out even once. 

Everyday with Hyunjin feels like it's Valentine's Day– and honestly you can't even imagine what he'll do when an actual romantic holiday or your anniversary rolls around when he's already so perfect to you. Even months into your relationship he still holds open doors for you, still carries anything that seems even the slightest bit heavy, still dotes on you as if he still has to prove he's a gentleman (when you clearly already know he is.) 

You honestly can't express enough how perfect Hyunjin is, and how much you appreciate the relationship you now have, but.. well, if you're being honest there is one problem. Nothing major, of course, just.. You think you're going to explode if he doesn't fuck you soon, or at least touch you somewhere less than polite.

The first time he kissed you was at the end of your third date; you were certain things were going well, felt those infamous sparks other people talk about- like every cell in your body was gunpowder and it had just been ignited. You became addicted to kissing him after that, always seeking out his plush, soft and perfect lips, even if it was just for a quick peck to satiate you until later. 

You made out for the first time just under a month ago, and that spark turned into a full on blaze, hot and raging and dangerously close to burning out of control. You wanted him so bad, more than you ever imagined you'd want someone; it was almost sad to say your past relationships and attractions paled in comparison to how Hyunjin ignited your deeply hidden passionate side. 

Still, Hyunjin hadn't touched you intimately yet, and while you suspected it's because he's a gentleman waiting for the right sign or explicit, worded permission, you were going crazy inside. You don't know if you even have it in you to make the first move, truthfully; you feel almost.. intimidated?

Whenever you think about it, your mind always travels to how effortlessly beautiful he is, and despite how much he shows you that he wants you as his girlfriend, you are admittedly still struggling with thoughts of your own desirability.

It almost makes you feel ashamed despite how natural a feeling it is. You know you should be confident, but it's not something that just comes to you just because you know objectively you're worthy; knowing it and feeling it are different things entirely.

You wish you could just pull it together with a snap of your fingers; like c'mon Y/N, you're a beautiful woman who holds an impressive leadership position, who graduated with high honors and has more than enough to show for it! Why wouldn't Hyunjin want you? You're a catch! 

You sigh, setting down the knife you were using to cut the veggies for tonight's dinner with Hyunjin, closing your eyes to collect yourself for a moment. Isn't it a bit pathetic for you to be reduced to insecurity over past rejections and unrequited love when what you have now is such a fairytale?

You wish it'd just go away, so you can tell Hyunjin to fuck you until you're dumb and have no thoughts left in your head but his cock filling you up, but- 

You jump slightly when you feel Hyunjin's arms wrap around you from behind, and he chuckles a bit, apologizing for startling you; you were so wrapped up in your thoughts you didn't even notice him rise from the sofa when he heard you sigh and put down the knife.

"What's bothering you, my love?" he asks, his chest pressing firmly against your back as he kisses the top of your head, "You seem so tense tonight.. Is dinner giving you a hard time?" 

Your heart always picks up when he uses that affectionate term for you; you're not sure if your relationship could already be classified as "love" when you've only been together a few months, but you love the way it sounds falling from his lips all the same. "No, it's not that.." you frown a bit, not melting into his embrace the way you usually do. 

"Feeling stressed out again?" he inquired next, his hands moving up to your shoulders to feel for any tension and massage it away if it exists. You hum in confirmation, finally melting against his body when his hands rub soothing circles in your tender skin, just deep enough to relieve some of the built up tension without leaving you sore and achy.

"Stressed, and.." you pause a moment, biting your lip as you consider if you'll really continue and admit what it is you really need.

"And?" Hyunjin's voice comes out in a soft question, clearly wanting to know what it is you want to say but with no intention to force it out of you.

"S-Stressed, and.. frustrated." you finally acquiesce after a short-lived internal fight with your nerves. You're not even entirely sure he'll get the implication behind you saying it in the way you did, if he'll recognize your need for a physical touch beyond what you've felt with him so far but you hope he does, because you're not sure you're capable of just coming straight out and saying "please fuck me before I lose my mind." 

Hyunjin is the next one to hum, his tone relaying understanding. Goosebumps erupt on your skin when he leans his head down to kiss your shoulder and neck, his hands traveling from your shoulder to rub down your arms.

"Why don't I finish dinner, hmm? Have you relax in the bath while I take care of everything," his voice is soft, almost a whisper, his hands finding your waist and rubbing carefully over the area before moving down to your hips.

"It'll be finished by the time you're done, we'll have a little wine," he continues, his lips now touching the shell of your ear, his voice reaching you directly, "And after that.. I'll take care of you. In any way you want me to."

A kiss pressed to your skin, a shiver running down your spine as you suck in a breath– he definitely got the message. His right hand reaches up to your face, fingers finding their place on your left cheek, guiding you to twist your face to meet his gaze from behind you.

He leans down to kiss you like this, one hand holding your face where he wants it and the other squeezing the meat of your hip. Hyunjin holds the kiss for several seconds, making sure it lingers and tingles on your skin when he pulls away, already expertly planting the seeds of desire and anticipation within your gut.

"How's that sound, lovely?" he asks and you blink for a moment, your brain already feeling like it's going to melt out of your ears from how eager and desperate for more intimacy you are. 

You nod, almost dumbly, and he smiles, planting a quick peck to your forehead before he helps you prepare for a bath. He runs the water hot, wanting warmth to linger for as long as you'll need it to once you're settled and used to the temperature.

While he takes care of the bath, you spend your time picking out what you'll wear afterwards. You swallow as you rummage through your drawers, possibilities seemingly endless. 

You've never been in a situation like this– a situation where you knew with absolute certainty that you'd be getting your pussy wet by the end. Your sexual encounters were never preplanned, not even with your past boyfriends.

It was always spur of the moment, especially since you were too college-then-career focused to spend time on dating apps looking for hookups. Honestly, it was kind of exhilarating; and suddenly you felt like you understood what the appeal of knowing you were going to get laid by the end of the night was. 

And Hyunjin, well.. he promised himself he wouldn't fuck you until he was sure without a shadow of a doubt that you were head over heels in love with him and only him, because it was that kind of first time with you he was seeking.

But that didn't mean he couldn't have fun with you in the meantime, did it? And how could he say no when he could literally fucking taste the desperation on you? He'd be a good boyfriend to you, and give you whatever he could within his limits, because you're his perfect girl, and he'll always spoil you in any way he can. 

After the tub is full, Hyunjin leaves the bathroom, smiling at you when he sees you standing in the hallway patiently, towel and a change of clothes in hand.

"Take your time, lovely," he pecks your head again as he passes by, ready to tackle finishing dinner while you soak in the tub. You texted him instructions just in case before you left your bedroom with your clothes and towel, so you're confident that it'll turn out well without your guidance– and besides, Hyunjin cooks well anyways; you're sure it'd turn out delicious even if he didn't follow your instructions. 

Your soak in the tub is spent entirely on thoughts of Hyunjin's hands and lips on your body, wondering what he'll do and how. You wonder how much of the heat on your body is from the water, and how much is from your own mental images of him between your legs.

Thankfully, the water actually does manage to loosen up your tense muscles (despite your anticipation doing you no favors), and you do just as Hyunjin instructed; you take your time. Dinner won't be done any faster just because you hurry, after all, so why not soak and destress and indulge in your little fantasies?

You dry off thoroughly when you step out of the tub, pulling on your prettiest pair of white panties and a silky slip nightgown- a cream color with lace accents on the hems. You brought a cardigan too, just for warmth while you eat dinner, though you don't bother to button it up at all the way, leaving the upper most buttons undone so Hyunjin can have a clear view of your chest while you share dinner.

It's a bit bold of you to purposely display your cleavage, but what's the harm in enticing him further? You know he wants you as his partner, but seeming him want you physically too would be everything.

The nightgown is tight enough to hug your curves, which means it also clearly displays your stomach, but.. Well, Hyunjin isn't blind, you're certain he knows that the woman he's dating has a chubbier physique than other women in the office.

But he wanted you out of all of them, and he's spent so much time calling you beautiful and giving you the world, that you imagine he either likes bigger girls, or at the very least doesn't let weight dictate someone's appeal. So, you're not self conscious in the slightest– at least, not about that.

You still have nerves, but you think that's natural when you're dating, and plan to have sex with, someone attractive enough to have people falling at his feet for a chance to be with him. 

When you step out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, Hyunjin is just finishing plating the food and is pouring the wine into two glasses he pulled out from your cabinets, already familiar with where you typically keep them.

"Feeling better?" he asks with a soft smile when he notices your presence, and you don't miss the way his eyes drop to your chest, a glint of something flashing in his eyes before he looks back to your face– desire for your body, you hope.

You sit across from each other at your dinner table, having the quietest dinner the two of you have ever shared– though the tension being built is far from uncomfortable. His eyes linger right where you wanted them to, tempting him, teasing him, and you're buzzing with anticipation, almost giddy whenever his eyes meet your again as he sips from his wine. 

Your face is dusted pink all the way to your ears, but you'd blame it on the wine if he asked (though you suspect he'd know better than to believe that.) Hyunjin downs the last of his wine in one gulp when he's finished eating, and you do the same, wiping your mouth carefully with a napkin before you look at him again. He's standing now, gathering the dishes from the table and bringing them to the kitchen. 

You follow, intending to help him wash and put them away, but he tuts at you. "Baby, you're supposed to be relaxing and letting me do the work! Go get comfortable and wait for me, hmm?" He instructs and you can't help but smile, doing as he instructs after you thank him, quickly making the trip to your bedroom. 

However, the nerves hit you again once you're in your room, and you sit on the edge of your bed, fiddling with your hands as you think about what you should do next. Just lay down and get comfortable as you would if you were going to bed? Should you present yourself to him? Get into some enticing position he won't be able to resist? Stay right where you are now and let him lead you wherever he wants you?

You've never experienced so much build up before– you almost feel like the inexperienced girl you were in college again. God, you don't know what to do with yourself and you're definitely overthinking it– but you can't help it! Hyunjin is just so.. well, he's Hyunjin. And that alone is enough to send your nerves into overdrive as your mind races with the possibilities of what's to come. 

You hear him chuckle softly when he's in the doorway, looking at you who is very clearly shy, twiddling your thumbs as you wait for him. It took everything in Hyunjin to not say "fuck this" over dinner and just take you on the table, the lust pouring off you enough to make him lose control if he was a lesser demon.

And now, he can hear the thumping of your heart louder than ever, can smell the arousal pooling in your underwear even more clearly than he could over your meal. 

"Silly girl," he says with a near grin as he steps fully inside your room, meeting you right where you are at the edge of the bed, "Why didn't you get comfortable? Sweet thing, you're nervous, aren't you?"

He carefully nudges your legs so he can stand between them, and you swallow as you nod and look up at him, not sure how much more of the anticipation you can handle before you snap and just drag him to you in a fervor. 

One of his hands comes to your cheek again, rubbing gentle, soothing circles with his thumb as he leans down to kiss you. He does it slowly, the combination of his soft lips and the taste of wine that still lingers on them making your stomach flip. It doesn't take long for him to introduce his tongue, in the same manner he always does– rubbing over your lips before pushing past them.

You're always left panting, lips stained red by the time he pulls away, and tonight his kisses leave you especially dizzy with need. "Take care of those buttons," he instructs in a near plea as his fingers ghost over your neck in their downward descent, "or I might just pop them off when I pull this off you." Your breath hitches, though you're not sure if it's more from the words or the feeling of his fingers lingering on your neck. 

Hyunjin seems to notice that you like his fingers there, the way he notices everything when it comes to you, and he has to stop himself from smirking as he asks you about it. "My love- do you like being choked?"

You almost groan in embarrassment, not expecting him to have already noticed and asked about it. How are you so fucking transparent to him already? "I-I mean.. I'm curious. I've never done it, because.."

Well, it's probably best you don't get into an ex-boyfriend talk right when you finally have the possibility of Hyunjin fucking you into next week right in the palm of your hands.

"Uhm– it just never happened. But it looks nice. Really nice. I, uh– I think I'd like it," you say; certainly true, but without going into detail about how you always seemed to struggled to trust your boyfriends enough to release control and let them do it.

It's natural that giving control to someone else is hard for you; you've always been very independent, and your career puts you in a position where you are leading others, always in control of everything. But you like the idea of giving control to someone else in the bedroom, letting them take the lead and decide on how you'll receive the pleasure you crave– the real problem lied with finding someone you trust enough to truly let go with.

You think you can trust Hyunjin– he's been so, so perfect since the day you met him. You firmly believe he sees you for who you are beyond your physical attributes, that he values you beyond the superficial, and that he'd never hurt you (unless you asked him to, of course.)

Hyunjin naturally feels all this, can read every emotion that pours off of you– and the fact that you have trust that he'll treat you right positively elates him, knowing he’s one step closer to the love he craves so badly. 

"We can try, see if you like it," he says, soft and careful, "and it doesn't have to be now. We can always wait until later." His fingers now rub over your neck purposefully, never wrapping around but simply familiarizing your skin with the feeling of them there.

"Either way, we won't start with that. We need to build up to it first, don't you agree?" he asks and you hum with a nod- building up to it certainly sounds better than jumping straight into unfamiliar territory.

Carefully, and slowly, he lowers himself to his knees, still between your legs, now making it so he's the one looking up at you. "Even if we try it and you decide you don't like it, I'm so happy you trust me," he says before he kisses you once more, all his passion and affection behind the soft touch of his lips. "Do you already know what to do if you don't like it?"

You nod again, having become well familiarized with different safe words and systems you can put in place in your research on the topic when you first found out you might be into the rougher side of intimacy. Hyunjin tuts his time, displeased by the fact that you nodded instead of verbally answering him. "I need you to tell me what you know."

He already knows how much you know of course; his look through your phone painted him a vivid picture of your sexual intrests– but you need to say it to him regardless. And despite the tone he used, his eyes are still soft, and you can tell he genuinely cares about your safety and comfort, aiding more in the trust you feel.

"Sorry, I– I know what to do. Uh, traffic lights..?" you suggest, preferring that over coming up with a random safeword that you may not even remember if the time comes to use it. Hyunjin smiles again, whispering a soft "that's good" to you before he kisses you again, making sure all your nerves melt away now that the key elements are established. This is supposed to be fun and enjoyable above all else– nothing else matters but that. 

"Now, be a good girl and take care of those buttons like I asked you to, lovely," Hyunjin instructs in a gentle tone after he pulls away from your lips. With another shiver, you quickly do as you're told, fumbling with the buttons just slightly in your rush to get them all undone. You probably should've been more graceful about it- purposeful, maybe even sexy, but honestly you were acting before even fully considering how you'd appear. 

With the buttons undone, Hyunjin pulls the cardigan down your shoulders, and you pull your arms out of the sleeves. You pay no attention to where it gets discarded, Hyunjin's lips back on your much too distracting to care about something so trivial.

"Gonna take care of you now," he whispers against your lips, his fingers coming to bottom of your nightgown, where the hem squeezes against your parted thighs, "use your words if I do something you don't like."

You tell him you will, and he smiles again, rewarding you with one last sweet kiss to your lips before his lips trail your neck instead, his hands pushing your nightgown up your thighs until your panties are completely exposed.

One thing Hyunjin is confident of from his time looking over your porn history, it's that you love biting– and while he's unsure if it's just a fantasy you have that has remained unfilled in reality, similar to choking, he's decided it's the first step he's going to take in gently finding your limit and what boundaries you want to set between fantasy and reality.

Carefully, after his kisses to your skin have become familiar, he presses his teeth to the sensitive skin, and you gasp before he even has the chance to actually bite down. To Hyunjin's absolute delight, you tilt your head to the side to expose more of your neck to him, giving him all the permission he needs to sink his teeth into your soft, unmarred skin. You let out an involuntary squeak at first, the unfamiliar sensation sending a pool of heat to your gut– the act always seemed so hot, and now you knew for sure you loved it. 

It wasn't just the physical feeling of it you loved though– you loved the idea of your lover's marks remaining on your skin for days, leaving behind evidence that someone touched your body and brought you bliss. And while you'd certainly cover the marks with makeup for work, the knowledge that you and Hyunjin would share, that they are there just below the surface your concealer has created, would be exhilarating.

His hands leave your thighs, finding the straps of your nightgown and pulling them down, until your breasts are exposed for him to see. Pulling away from your neck, he admires you– the way your skin blooms with fresh bruises and impressions of his teeth, your nipples hard and begging to be played with, and your pretty white panties stained with arousal. You can see the lust in his eyes as he looks you over, and it makes you bite your lip in anticipation for what he'll do next. 

"I've told you so many times you're beautiful, haven't I?" he asks as he takes your heavy breasts into his hands, though you can tell it's rhetorical– he's not expecting a real response from you. Instead, he continues to speak as his hands squeeze and thumbs rub over your nipples. "But I haven't told you how fucking sexy you are yet, isn't that right? You're so alluring, it drives me crazy sometimes. Did you know that?" 

You can't help but let out a soft whine as you shake your head, completely clueless to the fact that you ever made him as crazy with need as he made you. You hoped you did plenty of times, but you really didn't know until now just how much he was holding back from having his hands all over you. His hands move to your hips next, fingers slipping into the band of your panties. 

You lift your hips from the bed, letting Hyunjin pull the soaked fabric down your thighs and then your legs, tossing them quickly aside. You hold the bed for additional support as he spreads your thighs further apart, sucking in a nervous breath when he looks directly at your dripping heat.

The fact that he's on his knees for you is already enough to have your heart feeling like it's going to beat out of your chest, but when he starts planting sensual, open-mouthed kisses to your thighs, mixed with carefully placed bites, you're done for.

Your thighs twitch with each kiss, jolt with each bite, your nails digging into your bed sheets before he's even at where you want him most. And God, when he finally kisses your pussy, you feel so worked up that you could cum just from that simple stimulation alone. When his tongue meets you it feels like heaven, your head falling back and an almost embarrassingly loud moan tumbling from your lips. 

Hyunjin starts licking you up slowly, almost teasingly, and you can't even complain; because even though you still want more, it's already so good. It's when he's done with his teasing and really gets going that you're left truly breathless– he pulls you closer to his face, to the point your ass is practically hanging off the bed, but he throws your legs over his shoulders, using his hands to hold you in place, right where he wants you against his mouth. 

Your whole body is trembling from the pleasure, and this position makes it so that your hips can't move unless he lets them. Even as you unconsciously twist and jolt from the pleasure, you're always firmly in place, unable to escape his tongue even if you wanted to. You cum almost embarrassingly fast like this, barely able to warn Hyunjin you're close before you're crying out in absolute bliss, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

You expect Hyunjin to set you down as you catch your breath, but that's the exact opposite of what happens; against all your expectations, he keeps going, his tongue sliding over and around your sensitive clit, drawing out your orgasm until the pleasure mixes with tingles of painful overstimulation. You stutter out a curse, loud whines and begs leaving you in a nearly unintelligible jumble– though you're not entirely sure if you're begging for him to stop or keep going.

His hands carefully move from your hips to squeeze the meat of your ass as he continues holding you where he wants you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the unrelenting onslaught of pleasure. You're certain you're going to receive a noise complaint from your neighbors, unable to control your volume as another, more intense orgasm rocks your body. The tears lingering in the corners of your eyes fall as you cum once again, and you can hear and feel Hyunjin groaning against you, evidently taking just as much pleasure in this as you are. 

He's careful as he moves your trembling legs off his shoulders, helping you to fully rest your weight back on the bed. When he stands, he helps you get your head to the pillows before he's laying next to you, your sensitive body jolting once again when this time his fingers rub between your slick folds.

"How're you feeling, my love?" he asks, wanting to make sure he's not overwhelming you too much. You're definitely overwhelmed, but in the best way possible, and you stutter out a shaky "green," to which Hyunjin smiles.

"What a good, perfect girl you are," he praises you, pressing lingering kisses to tear-streaked cheeks, "My sweet thing, you're all for me, aren't you? A good girl just for me?"

You nod quickly, brain fuzzy with the desire to be anything he wants you to be. "'m a good girl, all for you Hyun, only you."

You have no idea how much those words affect him– and you're sure if your brain wasn't so foggy from the pleasure, you'd have noticed how he had to clench his teeth and take a breath to stop himself from pulling his cock out and fucking you into the mattress right that moment.

Patience, restraint, it's not the right time, he has to desperately remind himself.

Even as his fingers slide inside your heat and hug him tightly, he has to make a conscious effort not to lose himself in the thought of what you'd feel like hugging his cock instead. In all his years of lust, he's never been this close to losing control of himself; but fuck, he's never wanted someone as bad as he wants you, and you're so slick and warm and tight, it takes all he has to ignore the desperate throbbing of his cock. 

Hyunjin finds your spot within seconds, and your eyes are rolling back, fists once again straining and tugging against the sheets. He adds a third finger when you seem ready for it, pumping at a steady pace before he's curling his fingers into your spot again. He's at your neck again now, his teeth making contact with your skin just as they had before while his fingers continue their motion between your legs. 

When he bites this time, it feels different– rather than the dull pain and ache his teeth brought before, this feels more.. sharp? You let out a loud gasp as the sudden sharp feeling buries further into your neck, as if Hyunjin is a vampire digging his fangs into your skin.

Did he actually have fangs this whole time and you didn't notice..? No, that seems impossible- and honestly you feel too fucking good right now to even put much more thought into it. You're sure it just feels that way because now that he knows you're comfortable with the sting, he doesn't need to show anymore restraint when biting. He's simply putting more force into his bite now- that's all that makes sense.

He speeds up his fingers as his teeth sink further into your skin, his thumb firm on your clit, and it's enough to send you over the edge for a third time, your back arching off the bed as you let out a string of expletives and moans. 

Fuck. When Hyunjin pulls away, he knows he fucked up, quickly retracting his fangs before you can notice them; two holes now distinctly left in your skin. Unlike the hickies, that's not something you can simply hide with makeup, and when you look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow you'll definitely have questions about how the fuck he managed to do that with dull, human teeth. 

But when you look at him, absolutely blissed out and eyes hazy with pleasure, he decides that it's a problem for future Hyunjin; you're both already in the moment, and why ruin it now? He's still not quite done with you, after all; he's supposed to be relieving your stress like a good boyfriend. And what better way to relieve all your stress and tension than to make you cum again and again, until your body is as weak as jelly?

"Can you handle one more, lovely?" he asks, rubbing your cheek with his unoccupied hand. You lean into his touch, a soft smile on your face as you eagerly nod, ready to take all he wants to give you.

He returns the smile, planting a lingering kiss on your swollen, self-bitten lips, praising you once more. His hand trails down to your neck, fingers lingering on the surface while his other hand resumes its motion between your legs.

"Tell me how you feel, baby," Hyunjin instructs softly, and you look at him with glassy eyes, stuttering out your answer.

"Y-Yellow. Feels g-good, but 'm nervous," you say honestly and he coos and comforts you, assuring you he won't squeeze unless you want him too; for now, he'll just hold his hand in place, let you familiarize yourself with the pressure before you decide if you want anymore than that. 

Soon enough your eyes are rolling back once more, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he drives you close to orgasm just as expertly as he did each time before, letting yourself go completely as you become familiar and comfortable with his hand on your neck. You're babbling almost incoherently about how good it feels, but there's one thing in your string of words that he hears loud and clear, and that's "more."

"Want me to squeeze, lovely?" he asks, wanting to make 100% sure that he's not mistaken, and you nod quickly, repeating the word "squeeze" with a soft, pleading voice, followed by a string of "please, please, please."

You don't have to beg for a single thing when it comes to Hyunjin, but fuck, does he love hearing it more than he's ever loved anything. And so he does as you ask, gently of course, since it's your first time experiencing it.

Your body immediately reacts, gushing and clenching hard around his fingers as your mouth hangs open in a silent wail of pleasure, your last orgasm of the night hitting you like a semi-truck. Hyunjin slides his fingers out of you, planting soft kisses to your heated, sweat laden skin as you come down from the high.

He steps away just for a moment to bring you some water, helping you sit up enough to drink it before you fall back against the bed, body limp, utterly spent and exhausted.

"Hyun.. what about you..?" you ask in a sleepy voice, and Hyunjin chuckles softly, patting the top of your head after he wipes the sweat from your brows. "I'm good, baby, this was all for you. Feeling better now?"

You hum with a soft smile, curling into him and closing your heavy eyes. Hyunjin does his best to fix your nightgown and clean you up, once again chuckling when you start to softly snore after he manages to get you under the blankets.

As a demon, he doesn't need to sleep, but he lies next to you anyways, wrapping his arms around you and smiling as you snore into his chest. 

There's an anxiety that lingers in the back of his mind, the reality that come tomorrow you're going to see an abnormal mark on your neck and how he'll have to face what that means for your budding relationship.

Does he tell the truth? Would you even accept him if you knew? Humans hate and fear demons, and demons in turn aren't fond of humans, often the cause of a great multitude of their suffering.

Loving you was against everything he understood about himself, and in turn, loving him would be against what you understood about yourself. Hyunjin closes his eyes, and for the first time in centuries, he forces himself to take the sleep he doesn't need- because if this is where his relationship with you goes up in flames, then he wants the last good moment with you to be spent as human as he can possibly make it.

Unsurprisingly, Hyunjin is first to awake despite having fallen asleep after you. Even without the exhausting pleasure gauntlet he subjected your body to, he would’ve woken first regardless; as a being who doesn’t require sleep, he doesn’t stay in that state for nearly as long as a human does.

And even then it’s not a “true” sleep; it’s more like a meditative state, that surely did help give his mind and body rest, but was wholly unnecessary when it came to his ability to function. 

Given that he’s already forced the state once tonight, it’d be almost impossible to do so again as it’s simply not in his biology to do so. And despite himself, he still wants to linger; so he closes his eyes again, and though sleep does not return to him, he stays that way– holding you close, listening to your deep, slow breaths, his fingers lazily and softly tracing over your skin. 

The meditative state he’d been in for the last few, entirely too short hours did thankfully offer some much needed clarity to his racing mind. Hyunjin, grappling with the fact that he lost control of himself, carelessly (or maybe instinctively, unconsciously), bared his fangs to sink into your skin and mark you like a werewolf would his mate left him both ashamed and frightened for what would come next. 

It’s far from Hyunjin’s proudest moment, and never before has he had to grapple with the possibility of losing something important to him. There’s part of him that still doesn’t even fully understand why you’re important to him.

He’s a demon for fuck’s sake– demons don’t fall in love with humans, they manipulate humans to fall in love with them. They destroy human’s lives for fun, they take and ruin and feed until their prey is left with nothing, and then they move on to the next person. 

And Hyunjin knew he was different from a standard demon, not just in physiology and intelligence but also in the way he approached life, but it still baffled him to realize just how different he truly was.

He did the exact opposite of what other demons in the same position as him would have done; he could have charmed you for an easy fuck where you think you’re in love with despite the fact that he would've been a stranger, and it would’ve, ideally, been enough to satiate his need to have you. 

He could’ve avoided spendings months getting to know you, he could’ve manipulated you to suit his whims from the moment he formally met you instead of spending all his time to foster a real connection. He could’ve lied through his teeth at every moment, and while he certainly did lie, it was only ever necessary lies; he never, not even once, lied about something he felt or thought.

Every glimpse into his personality, ideals, likes and dislikes were all genuine. He could’ve just given you thoughtless answers that he thought you’d want to hear, never injecting his real self into the dynamic, but he didn't.

For reasons he couldn’t understand, he wanted you to love him– he thought at first it was simply because of his preferences whilst feeding, but now he knows it's more than that.

For reasons he can't understand, he wants you to love him, and not for some idealized man he crafted to meet your every need and preference. He wants you to love him for who he actually is as a person.

But.. he isn’t really a person; not in the way you are. Still, he followed that notion, and at every moment he was genuine; every look, every touch, every date and every gift– they were sincere admissions of a love he truly felt and wanted you to share, his proverbial heart being worn on his sleeve. 

It reached a point where lying to you ate away at him, but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. In what reality did it make sense for him to confess that he’s a demon and for you to be okay with it?

And his mistake has forced him to confront that difficult truth much sooner than he had hoped to, has given root to the fear of rejection, loss, and unrequited love– human emotions he never expected to feel, that he thought he was incapable of feeling in the first place.

All he can do is pray that when he tells you the truth about who he is, you don’t turn away and rebuke him. And how ironic it is for him to pray for something– to want something so badly that all he can do is plead to the higher power he’s supposed to be against to grant him this selfish wish he doesn’t want to let go of.

Hyunjin has come to understand in his time with you that the relationship between humans and demons is more complex and codependent on his end than he would’ve initially given credence to. Maybe all it took to spark that epiphany was meeting the right person. 

And how foolish he is, to devote so much time and love to a being whose existence will only equate to a mere fraction of his own, who is fragile and weak and without lasting power.

Maybe if he’s lucky, when you are met with mortality your soul will find him in his domain in the second circle, where your sins will go unjudged and unpunished for as long as Hyunjin remains at the top, where your eternity of “atonement” can be spent with him, where he’ll regard you as a queen of equal standing. 

Dark fades to light with the rising of the sun, and still he keeps his eyes closed, as if preventing them from opening would also prevent the reality that is fast approaching from coming to pass.

Eventually, when the sun is high in the sky and brightly illuminating your room through your open blinds, he feels you stir, cautiously opening his eyes to the sight of you trying to blink away the sleepy fatigue that still maintains a grip on your senses. 

You offer him a soft, lazy smile as you wake further, clinging closer to him with a tight squeeze of your arms around his torso. How naturally you smile at him and hug him is both a soothing balm and cruel crutch that he knows will break the heart he isn’t even supposed to have when it is gone.

Thankfully, in your sleep-addled state you don’t recognize the looming dread that hangs over him, and he’s able to quickly shove it down to return your smile and plant a soft kiss to your face, reminding himself to enjoy his time with you while he still has it.

Pushing your hair out of your face as you wake up more, Hyunjin catches a glimpse at your neck, the speckled bruises and fading indents of his teeth becoming entirely visible. Well, all marks of his teeth were fading except for one– the two holes left behind from his fangs, the shameful evidence that he lost control of himself in a way he never had before.

Broken skin doesn’t mend in just a single night’s sleep, and he knew the moment you touched your neck or looked in the mirror you would know they were there and you would look at the mark, at him, with either fear, confusion, or disgust as you try to comprehend how his bite would cause such a thing.

“How’d you sleep, lovely?” Hyunjin decides to ask so his mind doesn’t dwell and linger on your neck.

“Good,” is all you say with a small, bashful smile, pink crawling over your features as you recall all Hyunjin did to and for you. Honestly, you can’t remember the last time you slept so deeply, and you don’t think you’ll ever forget that feeling of ultimate bliss as your eyes grew heavy and mind drifted off comfortably. 

“You make me so happy,” you follow up, tilting your head up to capture his lips in a soft, good morning kiss. “Want to make you happy too,” you whisper against his lips before kissing them again, and his heart squeezes almost painfully in his chest because he feels it– lust, passion, desire, love.

What starts as a small prick to his senses builds to an all encompassing tsunami the more you kiss him and entangle your limbs with his. Love, love, I love you, your soul radiates.

It’s all he’s ever wanted, all this time it’s what he’s been working towards and hoping for, and it shoots almost painful electricity throughout his every nerve ending. Overwhelming, consuming, too radiant and bright and pure to belong to a man such as him, who isn’t really a “man” at all, but an entity entirely undeserving of your grace. Selfish, desperate, shameful– he holds you as if he is none of those things, as if he doesn’t taint you just by loving you. 

You push Hyunjin so he’s flat on his back, rolling yourself on top of him, your hair tickling his skin as it falls over his face when you kiss him. His grip on your hips is tight, almost painfully so, but you welcome it.

He’s so fucking hungry for you, he craves you so, so bad, and you meet that hunger enthusiastically, your hands ghosting over his chest and down his stomach, making quick work of the shirt he slept in. 

You suppose taking the lead comes naturally to you once shyness and subtle insecurity is dealt with, but you’d easily concede control to Hyunjin again should he have the desire to once again make you pliant beneath him.

Your hips roll down onto his hardening cock, and the groan that escapes him makes your stomach flutter with countless butterflies. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth, sometimes tugging before soothing the bites with soft licks of his tongue.

The rest of your clothes come off in a blur– your nightgown practically ripped off of you by Hyunjin while you fumble with the tied knot of his sweatpants, both of you panting into each other’s mouths, every noise being muffled and swallowed.

Wrong, this is wrong, selfish, you’re wicked, deplorable, the back of Hyunjin’s mind screams at him in stark contrast to the way he desperately paws at you, lust and hunger casting a fog over his rationality. 

But when he opens his eyes as you pull back for a breath, his eyes instinctively travel back to your neck, the mark he left on your skin expounding upon his building guilt. He has to tell you now- before the guilt eats away at him entirely, before he loses control of himself again, before he does something else he’ll regret.

An almost guttural pained noise leaves his throat when you roll yourself down on him again, fingers digging into the swell of your hips, his now bare cock becoming slick with your essence. 

“Shit, fuck– wait, baby wait–” Hyunjin breathes out, the most ragged and strained you’ve ever heard his voice. He can feel your passion and desire become background to concern and doubt, can feel your anxiety spiking as you cease your movements.

Fuck, he feels so bad– but you have to know he’s not what you think he is, he won’t forgive himself if he doesn’t tell you now. “Listen, I–” Hyunjin starts, then swallows, and your eyes swim with care as you see him struggle, “I– your neck, its..” 

“Hyun, I wanted you to do it, don’t worry about that,” you tell him sweetly and softly, one of your hands grabbing his and rubbing soothing circles on it with your thumb.

His heart squeezes painfully once again, and he shakes his head, “That’s not it, I– ..just feel it, or look at it, or..” You furrow your brows in confusion but do as he asks of you, trailing your fingers carefully over all the spots you knew he bit and sucked your skin.

You don’t feel much, at first– just a tender skin where you assume bruises have formed, some extremely faint indents of teeth, but as you get closer to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, you feel it and your entire body freezes.

What.. is that..? You scramble to grab your phone from the nightstand, turning on the camera and flipping its view to see yourself, blinking as you try to process what you’re seeing reflected in the viewfinder. 

What the fuck? Slowly, in disbelief as your mind lags and struggles to compute with the reality of what you’ve seen, you lower your arm and let your phone fall from your hand. Are you dreaming?

You feel like you’ve been transported to one of those YA vampire romances you read in college for fun– but that’s impossible, isn’t it? Things like that aren’t real, are they? There’s no way you’ve been dating a supernatural being for months.

Your next thought is that this is an ill-timed prank, though you can rationally tell it isn’t. And Hyunjin’s hand that is still in yours.. You can feel it tremble with uncertainty and apprehension, his eyes relaying a deep seated fear of rejection and.. Guilt? Guilt for what? Do you even want to know the answer to that question? You assume it’s related to whatever this is, whatever he is, but.. what is that, exactly? 

Hesitantly, you ask him, wondering if this is really your teen fantasy Twilight moment– stark naked, sitting on the dick of a man who might not actually be “a man” at all. “You may not believe me if I tell you, but I can show you,” he says quietly whilst cautiously squeezing your hand.

“O-Okay.. sure,” you breathe out nervously, squeezing his hand back in support. Maybe this is a mistake, but seeing the utter anxiety he’s struggling with, you can’t help but empathize. 

If the roles were reversed, and you were an otherworldly being in a relationship with a human, would you be able to tell them? Wouldn’t you be scared of losing them if they knew the truth? And maybe you shouldn’t forgive him easily, regardless of what the truth ends up being, but you think you can understand what would drive him to keep such a deep secret.

You’re still fucking scared of whatever it is, if you’re being honest, but you don’t want to believe that the Hyunjin you know is anything but the sweet, perfect, gentle boyfriend you’ve known him as thus far. 

All you do is blink and instantly the Hyunjin before you is different, as if a veil that was covering your eyes has been lifted to reveal his truest self. His facial features and hair are the same, recognizably Hyunjin through and through, but his skin has changed from a natural, honeyed tone to a deep, scarlet red hue. His eyes, in turn, are no longer a dark, boba-like brown, but instead an unnatural crimson.

Long, pointed ears like an elf you’d see in a fantasy game or movie, horns the same color as his skin protruding from the top of his head, curving gently until they point straight up. You can just barely see the points of his fangs between his parted lips, can see bat-like wings struggling to fit beneath him on the bed, as well a long, slender tail with an upside down heart as its tip.

And his body, which was already warm, now feels almost impossibly hot, as if he has a dangerous fever coursing through him, with his nails now more like claws in their length and pointed edge.  

He’s.. still so beautiful..? You weren’t sure what kind of change you were expecting, and you still don’t entirely understand what he is, but he’s undeniably just as gorgeous now as when he was presenting himself as human. His form is reminiscent of the beauty found in the work of Gustave Doré, whose art Hyunjin had once praised and talked at length about; ethereal, otherworldly, mesmerizing–

Wait. Something clicks– the rumors of your apartment being haunted by a demonic entity before you moved in that you disregarded and didn’t believe in. The times you’d wake up from sleep and notice something had been moved, always slightly off from how you’d left it. 

The presence you’d sometimes feel despite being alone, the sensation of being watched that sometimes lingered, but always seemed to go away when Hyunjin was at your apartment. His extensive knowledge of art and history that felt as if he lived through the era rather than just having read about it, his fluency in latin that goes beyond mere college study..

You’re in love with a demon. And you suspect that he’s known you for longer than you’ve known him.

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to lie to you,” Hyunjin breathes nervously after he sees understanding flash in your eyes as you put the pieces of his identity together. “I just, I.. became so utterly, impossibly infatuated by you. But I couldn’t just.. show myself, even if I wanted to. And I– I wanted you to know me, because I love you more than I ever thought was possible for someone like me.”

It’s hard to say whether or not you’ve been manipulated and misled to trust him, but you do, even if you shouldn’t. You’ll have to hope that God will forgive you for the sacrilege you’re about to commit.

Squeezing his hand in a display of acceptance, leaning down to kiss him once more in a promise of love regardless of the truth you’ve been shown, dedication to an act entirely unholy.

But if Hyunjin is what will be waiting for you in hell when you die, maybe damning your soul there isn’t so bad.

You feel him positively melt with relief, soft apologies from him and acceptances from you rolling off the tongue. “Promise me this is the only lie, promise this is the only secret, and I’ll forgive you,” you breathe and he affirms without hesitation, enduring promises of true love and honesty pouring from his lips.

“We can even make it a pact if you want,” he says after a string of promises, and you shake your head with a slight smile. 

If what you’re led to believe from media is true, if Hyunjin made a pact with you in which his end of the deal is to never lie to you, he’d suffer grave consequences for breaking it. “I’m choosing to trust you without that, so don’t break it, okay?”

Hyunjin nods with a smile before you’re kissing once more, his arms wrapping around you and hugging you tight to his impossibly hot skin. 

When your tongue enters his mouth, you curiously explore the point and feel of his fangs, and when he nips at your lips, the sharp point very nearly draws blood with each bite, the subtle pain utterly intoxicating. It’s not long before your lips end up swollen and bitten red, your tongues continuing to swirl and move together, your hands fervent in their exploration and demand to feel. 

Soon enough, he’s flipping your positions, your back now against the mattress with Hyunjin pushing himself between your legs, his mouth trailing gently over the marks he left the previous night. He sucks over the skin once more, deepening the bruises he’s already left behind, brightening them in color. It aches, and yet you tilt your head to the side to make his task easier, feeling him smile against your skin as his fangs poke at your sensitive skin.

He doesn’t bite down, not like he did last night– he doesn’t want to hurt you too much. Instead, his teeth scrape and taunt, the feeling of them enough to have you whining even without the bite. When he pulls away to look at you, your eyes are already pleasantly glazing over in a lustful haze, and seeing his fangs when he smiles confidently down at you makes you dizzy. He’s so fucking beautiful, sexy- it’s going to drive you crazy one of these days.

You jump slightly in surprise when you feel his tail slinking up your leg, wrapping around and hugging your thigh. And it’s when you look down to see how his tail looks wrapped around you that you finally catch a glimpse of his impossibly hard and leaking cock, so unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

It’s big– much bigger than you imagine a human could ever compare, and just as deep and supernaturally red as the rest of him. You’re practically drooling at the sight, at the thought of having it in your mouth– would he taste the same as a human, or would his essence be entirely unique?

Hyunjin has to hesitate from smirking when he sees you blatantly staring and curiously, hungrily licking your lips, the increased lust from seeing his cock spilling from you in droves. “You want a taste, lovely?” he asks with a charismatic, almost mischievous tilt of the head, his grin growing when you nod eagerly.

“C’mon then, love, ‘s all yours,” he says while uncurling his tail from around your thigh, standing up and letting you come meet him at the edge of the bed. You tentatively reach out to touch his cock, and fuck, it’s so heavy in your hands.

Your hands look so small wrapped around him, your fingers unable to wrap entirely around his girth, and while usually both your hands are enough to cover the entire length of a cock up to its tip, Hyunjin still has much more than just the tip poking through. 

Long, thick, big, you’re not sure how it’ll fit in your mouth, much less your pussy– but you’re not a quitter. You start with kisses that turn into kitten licks as you rub up and down his length with both hands, looking up at Hyunjin through your lashes, eager for a reaction, for praise.

He brings a hand to the back of your head, waiting for you to open your mouth for him. He carefully guides and urges you to take more and more of him in, until the tip is touching the back of your throat. It takes everything in you not to gag and choke, your eyes brimming with tears as you breathe through your nose.

“That’s it, what a good girl, taking so much of me,” Hyunjin pets your head as he praises you, and he can see you pressing your thighs together, squirming and desperate to hear more. You want to take all of him in your mouth, but you recognize that’s an impossibility- so you settle for pumping what you can’t fit in your mouth with your hands, doing your best to match the pace of your hands with the bobbing of your head. 

Hyunjin’s soft, breathy moans fuel you, his fingers tangling in your hair as he begins to take control of the rhythm. You let out a squeak of surprise when you feel his tail snake between your legs, gasping when you feel the tip of his tail teasing your clit.

“‘s good? You like that?” Hyunjin asks when you moan around his cock, another smirk gracing his beautiful, perfect face when you quickly nod. 

The combination of his cock down your throat and his tail rubbing your clit makes you dizzy, the pace of your hands faltering as your thighs twitch and tremble. Eventually, your hands drop to your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you let him play with your clit and use your mouth, tears falling as he holds your head while rolling his hips and making you take as much as you can handle. 

Determined now to make you cum while his cock is deep in your throat, he moves one of his hands to your chest, tweaking and pulling at one of your nipples, earning a muffled whine as your eyes squeeze shut.

Your hands, no longer curled into desperate fists, now cling to his thighs, your nails digging into his skin as you cry and whimper. Hyunjin is relentless on all fronts– from the pace he fucks your mouth, to the flicking of his tail against your clit, to the way he pinches and tugs on your nipples. 

“Gonna cum just like this, aren’t you, lovely? Go ahead baby, let go and show me how good you feel.” With Hyunjin’s permission, and a few more quick flicks of his tail against your clit, you’re cumming with a loud, but muffled cry, your nails failing to break the skin of his thighs despite how harsh you claw at him.

You suck in a deep breath when he pulls out of your mouth, your chest heaving as you come down from your high and air returns to your lungs. Hyunjin showers you in more praise as he wipes the tears away from your eyes with his thumbs, subsequently leaving a lingering trail of kisses to your cheeks where they streaked your skin. 

He guides you to lay back down on the bed, planting sweet kisses to your lips once you’ve finished catching your breath. You can feel his cock, wet and still impossibly heavy, between your legs, and you want it in you now.

“Hyun,” you start, a pout gracing your lips as you prepare yourself to shamelessly beg, “want you so bad, please, please, fuck me, I need it.”

You can feel his cock unceremoniously twitch at your pleas, a groan leaving his throat at your desperate tone. “You don’t have to beg, my love, I’ll give you anything you want,” Hyunjin says as he rubs his fingers between your folds, feeling how slick you’ve gotten for him.

Truthfully, he should prep you more first, but you’re both so fucking needy for each other, and he’ll just have to hope that fingering you last night and making you cum again since then will be good enough. 

He kisses you and lets you squeeze his hand as he pushes inside, the stretch so much more intense than anything you’ve ever felt, so full that your eyes are rolling back before he’s even thrusting his hips.

It aches, it stings, but it’s also the most addictive pleasure you’ve ever experienced. You want all he has to give you, more and more, until you can feel and think of nothing but him. 

Hyunjin holds one of your legs, his tail once again wrapping around the thigh of the other, this time using it to keep you spread and open for him, allowing him to sink as deep as he possibly can. “Fuck, baby–” Hyunjin groans once he’s sheathed fully inside, your walls so wet and hot and squeezing him impossibly tight, “needed this, needed you so fucking bad, you have no idea.” 

“You too, needed you too Hyun, so bad,” you mirror his sentiment between gaspy moans and shaky whines when he finally starts pulling out, pushing back in one swift and fluid motion, building a quick, desperate pace. Despite the desperation however, his pace is far from sloppy– every thrust is precise, leaving you arching your back as your cries grow in volume, your nails digging harshly into his forearms. 

When he knows you can handle it, he fucks into your faster, capturing your mouth in messy, open kisses, your saliva mixing and pooling until it drips from the corners of your mouth. His grip on your thigh tightens, his fingers sure to leave bruises behind in their wake.

Sweat drips from his brow, sometimes falling to your cheeks, and God, the sight is utterly mesmerizing– even as sweat drips down his face and sticks his hair to his forehead, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

And again he feels it, the utter love and trust pouring forth from your soul, radiant and perhaps undeserving to be felt by him, but it exists all for him nonetheless. His head drops to your shoulder, every emotion that he feels spilling from you driving him further and further into bliss, his pleasured moans dancing in your ears.

“Tell me, please, fuck, please tell me–” Hyunjin practically whines, his nails now digging into the meat of your thighs as he fucks you harder. Tell him? Tell him what? Somehow, you think you know what he wants to hear, because it’s the very same thing that you want to hear too.

“Love you, I love you, lov– fuck, love you so much,” you breathlessly spill the words between moans, and you hear Hyunjin keen, pleasure erupting from every nerve ending, the wave of love that you exude enough to drown him completely.

“Lovely, my love, I love you, I’m gonna– fuck, ‘m gonna cum, tell me again,” Hyunjin pleads, desperate and urgent, his cock throbbing and twitching as he approaches his own high. 

You do just as he asks, stuttering out endless “I love you”s until you’re both cumming hard, a blissful intensity that steals your breaths away and leaves your bodies shaking. His cum shoots inside you in long spurts, filling you to the brim, so much so that it spills out of you even with his cock still firmly pressed inside you.

“Mine,” Hyunjin mutters as he kisses you, passionate and deep, no longer sloppy and desperate as it was in the throes of his orgasm, “my love, just mine, aren’t you?” 

“Just yours, all yours,” you say, and he knows you’re telling the truth, can feel it with every fiber of his being that you mean it sincerely. It was surreal, realizing the truth about your boyfriend and loving him regardless of who he is and how he truly appears, but you don’t regret it.

He cleans you up diligently, he helps you get dressed and makes you breakfast, he showers you in kisses and endless praise just as he always does throughout the rest of your day.

Because even though he may appear different to you now, he’s still the same Hyunjin you met; the one who dotes on you endlessly, who takes care of you sweetly, who spends hours talking and cuddling and listening to every thought you have.

Though you can’t explicitly read emotion the way he can, you always know what he’s thinking and feeling– because with you he’s transparent, with nothing to hide, and only love and tenderness to give. 

Maybe it’s wrong for a human and demon to be in love, but you like to think this is the happiness you were meant to have, that this is where you’re supposed to be– right by Hyunjin’s side, until your final breath and then in eternity, a love that transcends your human mortality.

If there is one thing you are certain of, it is that spending forever with Hyunjin will bring you a love you’ll feel eternally– warm, gentle, and true.

[gutsby]

Mouthful

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller thinks he’s strong enough to quit it, but something in the way you suck him says he isn’t.

Warnings: 18+. A man with a big, bad oral fixation + lots of love for a sneaky succ. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. Blowing Joel under the table at dad’s birthday dinner.

Snippet of Hating Game

He knows better than to let a moan slip at a time like this. Not when he’s sitting at the dinner table; not when he’s surrounded by the people he knows and loves the most. Not when he’s celebrating his best friend’s 51st birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter is perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye but his.

Joel lifts the tablecloth. He almost unloads on the spot.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel can’t help but ache for a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgets all sense of decorum and simply goes to town on that pretty little face. But, as it is, the rest of the party is totally oblivious to your absence, and he doesn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That’ll come later.

No, now he’ll let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’ll let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you get to set—and he won’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure.

That doesn’t mean he can’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wants something done a certain way. The room is dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel will gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He doesn’t have to speak a word of it for you to know what he means. What he needs. You loosen your jaw and stretch your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazes your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel says aloud.

You freeze.

Then, without missing a beat, you hear him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continue to suck him anyway.

One hand braces tight against Joel’s leg and the other flits shamelessly between your own, and you try not to moan, but the sound escapes anyway. No one hears it, but Joel feels it reverberate down his shaft, and he grips his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shoots him a curious look from across the table but says nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grins beside him.

“What?” Joel falters. Sets his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you drag your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunts.

“The wine,” Tommy says, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel lets out another strangled breath that he tries to pass off as a chuckle and nods.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admits.

And that’s the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you kneel down to blow him, it’s still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you know it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man is enrapt. It’s just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that makes Joel loath to admit it. At any rate, he has your tongue licking stripes up his cock and feels a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knows he won’t last much longer. Neither will you.

Joel can’t see it now, but you’ve practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’ve been rubbing your clit—and how turned on you are from just sucking his dick, keeping your mouth wide open for a fucking whenever he wants it. While Joel reaches for another draught of wine, you bring one hand to his balls and keep the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needs you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guide him down to the furthest place in your throat, then push him even deeper. You gag, just slightly, and feel a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb starts to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nod that you do. Can’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you can feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rut your hips and hope no one drops a fork nearby. Buck desperately into your hand and feel the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you’re whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returns a quick smile from your father and cracks a joke about the Super Bowl. Raises his hips just the slightest bit and wipes one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you can do is cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he’s giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body make it almost impossible to bear, but you obey your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sense a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You want to taste him as he blows his load in your mouth, floods your tongue with his spend, and paints every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You need him whole

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reaches his peak—Joel raises the tablecloth when Tommy isn’t looking. His gaze locks on yours and his tongue darts quick between his lips. He cocks a brow. Brushes his thumb up again.

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You give one soft, wide-eyed nod, and that’s all he needs.

No sooner do you give him the green light than his cum goes pulsing out in ropes, coating your whole throat and eventually your mouth as you hold still and take it all.

There’s so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that’s been waiting to giving your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’s started he just can’t stop. Above the table, your dad shoots a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it takes every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’s filled so much of your mouth it’s spilling out now.

You try to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just know there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fuck up now. Your breath catches in your chest, and you feel too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel starts, and your head almost cracks on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinch back,

“—to the realization. That you are so…fuckin’ old, man.”

Your father’s laugh is the first thing you hear, followed by Tommy, your friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you feel, to your complete and utter shock, is Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slides his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth has made in awe and starts to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but desperate to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who can’t risk a glimpse at you now, but wants more than anything to see the mouth he’s just filled.

Your father’s words haven’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsides and Tommy scoots back in his chair, taking leave of your table, you feel a spark ignite. Whether it’s yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane, you can’t be sure, but you can make out a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slips his dick out of your mouth and grins. Takes a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers are practically coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It’s the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

Your Joel.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Tastes like strawberries

Dbf!Joel miller x f!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,367 (ma bad)

Summary: after accidentally sending your dads best friend a provocative photo meant for someone else you go to "apologize" in person.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (make it your own), handcuffs, scissors, power imbalance, alcohol consumption, f&m oral receiving, joel wrecks your clothes, unprotected p in v, reader has hair and wears a dress, just two consenting adults

Notes: this wasn't meant to be so long. But here we are. Thank you for reading hope you like it <3 Thank you @syd-djarin @joelslegalwhre and @mountainsandmayhem for beta'ing sending you all smooches! and @saradika-graphics for the divider <3 <3 <3

The soft glow of your phone screen illuminates your face in the dimly lit room. Your heart races with a mix of excitement and nerves as you craft the perfect message to the guy you've been chatting with on Tinder. His name is Joel, and he seems different from the others—charming, mature, and undeniably intriguing.

With a deep breath, you attach the sexy photo you'd taken earlier, one that you hope he'll find irresistible. You type out a flirty caption, double-check the name at the top of the chat, and hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

The next morning, you wake up to a message notification. Your heart leaps, thinking it's Tinder Joel, but as you reach for your phone, a sense of dread washes over you. The message is from your father's best friend, Joel Miller, a man you've known since childhood and who has seen you grow up. The preview of the message from last night is enough to make your blood run cold.

11:58PM: I think you might have sent this to the wrong person, sweetheart.

Panic sets in as you read the full message and your face flames with embarrassment. You type out a flurry of apologies, each one more frantic than the last. Joel's response is swift and unexpected.

8:05AM: It's all good, baby girl. You don't need those Tinder boys when I'm right here for ya.

The message is accompanied by a winking emoji, and despite your mortification, you can't help but feel a thrill at the familiarity and warmth in his words. 

—

Determined to apologize in person and clear the air, you find yourself outside the sleek glass building that houses Joel's wine company Vita Vino: where every sip is a celebration of life. You certainly don't feel very celebratory at this moment as the receptionist leads you up to the top floor, where Joel's office overlooks the city with floor-to-ceiling windows.

You step into the office, where you see the cityscape sprawling behind Joel. He rises from his desk, a smile playing on his lips, his presence commanding the room. "Come in, sweetheart, was hopin’ to see ya," he says and winks.

You manage to find your voice, despite the fluttering in your chest. "Mr. Miller, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I was mortified when I realized - I don't know what I was thinking, it was meant for someone—"

He cuts you off with a gentle raise of his hand to still your frantic words. "Please call me Joel, you know better than callin me that. It's okay darlin. Really. These things happen."

You look up at him, searching his face for any sign of judgement, but find only a calm, reassuring smile. "I just—I never meant for you to see that. I feel so stupid.”

Joel's smile broadens, and he takes a step closer. "You have nothing to feel stupid about. You're a beautiful, confident woman. Ain't no shame in that. Listen, what you sent—it was for my eyes only from the moment it reached my phone. I want you to know that you can trust me. I would never disrespect you by sharing that with anyone.”

His words resonate with you, and you feel the weight of your embarrassment start to lift. "I appreciate that, Joel. I really do."

He takes a step toward you, closing the distance between you two. His hand lifts, and you feel the warmth of his fingers as they gently tilt your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. "You've got nothing to thank me for darlin. I'm just being honest with you."

The intensity of his stare sends a jolt of electricity through you. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the scent of his cologne fills your senses, making your head spin. But before you can respond, he releases your chin and moves to the side, gesturing toward a large, framed map of the world's wine regions that hangs on the wall. As you both turn to look at it, your bodies are almost touching, and you can feel the subtle brush of his arm against yours.

"I want to show you something," he says, pointing to a very tiny out of the way region highlighted in gold. "It's where we get the grapes for our signature blend. You know, just like those grapes, sometimes the best things in life are unexpected surprises." 

As he explains the intricacies of the wine-making process, his hand drifts to the small of your back, a possessive gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. His touch is light, but the message is clear—he's staking a claim. 

As Joel's hand lingers on the small of your back, his thumb traces small, intimate circles that make it hard to focus on his words about wine. The room seems to shrink, the city outside the windows fading into insignificance as your awareness narrows to the man beside you.

 You swallow hard, your breath hitching as Joel's thumb continues its maddeningly delightful exploration. The heat from his hand seems to seep through the fabric of your clothes, branding your skin with his touch. "Joel," you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur. His name feels foreign and familiar on your lips.

He turns to look at you. "Yes, darlin'?" he replies, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself against the intoxicating effect he has on you. "I -I should go," you say, though the words feel hollow even as they leave your mouth. The last thing you want is to leave this room and the spell Joel has cast over you.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and he shakes his head slightly. "Do you really want to leave?" he asks, his hand pressing ever so slightly into your back, urging you closer.

The question hangs in the air between you, charged with anticipation and the promise of something deliciously forbidden. You know that saying yes will irrevocably change things between you and Joel Miller—the man who is friends with your father—but in this moment, none of that seems to matter. 

The air between you crackles with tension, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. You're acutely aware of the way your heart is pounding in your chest, the way your breath has become shallow and rapid. Joel's eyes are locked onto yours, a silent challenge that dares you to take a leap into the unknown.

"No," you admit, the word tasting like a confession. "I don't want to leave."

The smile that lights up Joel's face is predatory, triumphant. "Good girl," he murmurs, the approval in his voice sends a thrill through you. He steps back, giving you both a moment to breathe, to let the gravity of your decision settle in the space between you. "I've got something special I've been saving for an occasion like this," Joel says. He moves toward a polished wooden cabinet on the far side of the room. The cabinet is locked, but he produces a key from his pocket with a flourish that makes you smile despite the tension coiling in your belly.

Inside the cabinet is an array of exquisite bottles, each one surely holding a story as rich and complex as its contents. Joel's hand lingers over them before finally selecting one with a label that looks older than you are. "This," he says, holding it up to the light so you can see the liquid within, "is a 1947 Cheval Blanc. One of the finest vintages ever produced."

Your eyes widen at the sight of it. "Joel, I can't... that must be worth a fortune," you protest weakly, even as part of you yearns to experience such rare luxury.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he retrieves two crystal glasses from the cabinet. "Money isn't everything, darlin'." His gaze meets yours again, filled with an intensity that takes your breath away. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather share this with than you."

You watch in silence as he expertly uncorks the bottle and pours a small amount into each glass, the wine swirling like liquid rubies. He hands one to you and then raises his own in a toast. "To unexpected surprises," he says with a knowing smile.

The wine is velvet on your tongue, rich and complex with layers of flavor that seem to unfold endlessly as you sip it. You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the experience—and when you open them again Joel is watching you with an intensity that makes your knees weak. The atmosphere in the room has shifted, becoming charged with a desire that's as intoxicating as the wine you're sharing.

"You look so beautiful when you enjoy something.” 

As the last drops of the exquisite wine coat your throat, you lower your glass, your senses heightened by the rich flavors and the man standing before you. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes dark with desire that mirrors the pulsing need growing within you. He takes a step closer, the heat of his body enveloping you as he reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

"I want to show you more than just wine," he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. "There's a whole world of pleasures I can introduce you to.”

“Joel, I dont know what to say.” 

“Nothin’, you dont have to say anything pretty girl.” 

As the last drops of the Cheval Blanc dance on your tongue, Joel takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. He reaches out to take your glass, setting it aside on a nearby table. His fingers graze yours in the process, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his body, the way his shirt stretches across his broad chest, the subtle hint of stubble along his jawline.

Joel turns back to the wine cabinet to return the precious bottle to its place of honor. As he opens the cabinet door, there's a soft clinking sound, and something metallic tumbles out from one of the shelves, landing with a thud on the plush carpet at your feet.

You both glance down simultaneously. There, gleaming under the soft glow of the office lights, is a pair of handcuffs. They're not just any handcuffs—they're high-quality, with a polished finish that suggests they've been well cared for. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you can feel a heat creeping up your cheeks as you look back at Joel.

"Well, that's not something I expected to show you today," he says with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of awkwardness.

You stare at the handcuffs and then back at Joel, your heart pounding in your chest. "Are those...?" You trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he nods. "Yes, they are.”

You're not sure what to think, you can only imagine how many women he's used those on, right here in his office. The thought sends a thrill through you, a mix of jealousy and excitement at the idea of being one of those women, of sharing in this secret, kinky side of Joel that he's kept hidden from the world. "I didn't peg you for the type," you say.

Joel's eyes lock onto yours, the playful glint in them replaced by a serious intensity. "There's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'," he admits. "And there's a lot I'd like to show you, if you're willing.”

You know that picking up those handcuffs would be crossing a line, stepping into a world of pleasure and exploration that you've never experienced before. But the thought of surrendering control to Joel, of letting him guide you through uncharted territory, is exhilarating.

Slowly, you reach down and pick up the handcuffs, the cold metal warming in your grasp. You hold them out to Joel, your heart racing as you give him a silent nod of consent. A slow, approving smile spreads across his face as he takes the handcuffs from you. 

His fingers brush against your wrists, sending sparks of electricity through your veins. You hear the soft click of the handcuffs as they close around your wrists. The sensation of being bound, of being at Joel's mercy, is both thrilling and terrifying.

"There," he says, his breath hot against your ear as he steps in front of you, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Now you're mine."

The words send a jolt of desire through you, pooling low in your belly. You're aware of the way your body responds to his words, to the dominance radiating off him in waves. "What are you going to do with me?" you ask.

Joel's smile is wicked as he reaches out to trace the line of your jaw with his finger. "Whatever I want," he says, the promise in his voice making your knees weak. "But don't worry, darlin'. I'm going to make sure you enjoy every single second of it.”

He guides you toward the large, mahogany desk that dominates his office. The surface is clear, save for a sleek laptop and a few neatly stacked papers. With a gentle hand on your shoulder, he urges you to sit on the edge of the desk, the cool wood against your skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch.

Joel steps back, his gaze raking over you as he begins to undress and it's as if time slows down, allowing you to take in every inch of his mature, ruggedly handsome form. Joel's suit is tailored to perfection, emphasizing his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Each movement he makes stretches the fabric across his toned body. With practiced ease, he removes it and then unbuttons his crisp, white dress shirt. His chest is a canvas of sun-kissed skin pulled taut over defined pectoral muscles. A smattering of gray hair dusts his chest, trailing down his toned abdomen and disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. Joel's hands move to his belt, and with a flick of his wrist, he unbuckles it, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet room. He slides the leather out of the loops with a slow, deliberate motion. His trousers follow, pooling at his feet to reveal a pair of black boxer briefs that hug his powerful thighs and leave little to the imagination.

His arousal is evident, straining against the soft fabric, and you can't help but feel a thrill at the sight. As he pushes his boxer briefs down, his cock springs free, thick and heavy with desire. His cock is a thing of beauty, perfectly proportioned to his large frame, with a defined shaft and a bulbous head that glistens with a drop of arousal. It's clear that Joel is a man confident in his sexuality and the effect he has on you.

"Eyes up here, darlin'," he teases, but the heat in his gaze tells you he enjoys your appraisal. Joel's eyes twinkle with mischief as he reaches into the top drawer of his desk, the sound of metal against wood sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. He produces a pair of scissors. The sight of them in his large, capable hands is intimidating. "These," he says, holding up the scissors for you to see, "are going to help me unwrap my present." His voice is filled with a promise that sends a thrill straight to your core.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as he steps toward you. "Joel, wait—" you start to protest, but the words die on your lips as he places a finger gently against them.

"Shh... trust me," he murmurs, and there's something in his eyes that makes it impossible for you to do anything but nod in silent acquiescence. With a tenderness that belies his strength, Joel takes hold of one of the straps of your dress. The cold steel of the scissors brushes against your skin as he carefully slides the blades beneath the fabric. You feel a momentary resistance and then—snip—the strap gives way, falling limply to your side as Joel cuts through it with practiced ease. The front of your dress sags slightly, revealing more of your cleavage than intended. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as Joel's gaze darkens with desire. "You are exquisite," he says reverently, his fingers tracing the newly exposed skin along the neckline of your dress.

Before you can respond, he's moving again, this time cutting away the other strip of fabric that hold up the rest of your dress. The material falls away from your body like petals from a blooming flower, pooling at your waist and leaving you feeling deliciously exposed under his hungry gaze. 

"Joel!" you gasp, both startled and exhilarated by his boldness. "My dress—" 

He silences you with a kiss—a deep, searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt about how much he wants you right now. "Don't worry about it," he says when he finally pulls away, “I'll buy you ten more just like it.”

With your heart pounding in your chest, you watch as Joel's attention shifts to your bra. The scissors glint in the soft light of his office, and you can't help but hold your breath as he positions the blades against the delicate fabric of your bra strap.

"I've been wanting to see these since the moment ya walked in baby," he confesses, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. With a swift, precise movement, he snips through the strap on one side, then the other. The bra loosens around you, but it's still held in place by the underwire and your modesty is preserved—for now.

Joel sets the scissors aside and hooks his fingers under the remaining fabric of your dress and bra. He tugs gently, peeling away the layers of clothing that separate you from his touch. You lift your hips to assist him, and with a final tug, he frees you from both garments. You're sitting before him now in nothing but your underwear, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than ever before.

Joel's eyes roam over every inch of exposed skin with an intensity that makes it clear just how much he appreciates what he sees laid out before him on his desk like some kind of erotic feast prepared just for him. "You are absolutely breathtaking," he murmurs appreciatively as his hands follow where his eyes have just been caressing every curve along its way. Joel's hands continue their exploration, his fingers skimming over the soft fabric of your underwear. You can feel the heat of his touch through the thin material, and you can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more.

"Eager, aren't we?" he teases, his fingers tracing the edge of your underwear before dipping beneath the fabric. His fingertips graze your sensitive flesh, and a gasp escapes your lips as pleasure courses through you. "I like that," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

Your body responds to his touch with an eagerness that surprises you. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. "Lift up for me, darlin'," he instructs. You do as he says, lifting your hips so he can slide the underwear down your legs. Once they're off, he tosses them aside carelessly, as if they're nothing more than a bothersome impediment to what he truly wants—you. Now you're completely exposed to him, sitting on the edge of his desk with your hands cuffed and your legs spread slightly. You feel vulnerable like this, but there's also a sense of empowerment in knowing that you've driven him to such lengths of desire.

Joel steps back to appreciate the view, his eyes darkening with lust as they roam over your naked body. "You are a masterpiece," he says reverently, his gaze lingering on the apex of your thighs before traveling up to meet your eyes. "And I am going to worship every inch of you."

Before you can respond, he drops to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping your thighs as he buries his face between your legs. His tongue swipes across your sensitive flesh, and a moan escapes your lips as pleasure shoots through you.  Joel's tongue delves deeper, lapping at your folds and teasing your clit with gentle flicks. You gasp, arching into his touch as he explores you with a skill that leaves you panting for more. His hands squeeze your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you. You feel the world around you melt away as his attention focuses solely on bringing you pleasure.

As he works his magic between your legs, Joel's other hand travels up to cup one of your breasts, tweaking a nipple gently before rolling it between his fingers. The sensation sends shockwaves of desire coursing through you, heightening the pleasure he's already coaxing from below. Your hips buck against him in response to the exquisite torment and ecstasy that overwhelms you.

You can feel yourself growing wetter by the moment under his ministrations, and when Joel finally takes your clit into his mouth with a soft suckling sound that echoes in the quiet room, it's almost too much to bear. He sucks gently at first before increasing the pressure until your whole body tenses and shudders with release.  As the waves of pleasure crash over you, Joel's mouth never leaves your sensitive flesh. He laps at you with long, languid strokes, drawing out your orgasm until you're left trembling and gasping for air. Your body is still pulsing with the aftershocks when he finally pulls back, his lips glistening with your arousal.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "You taste as sweet as I imagined," he growls, his voice rough with desire. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan of satisfaction. The sight of him tasting you is incredibly erotic, and you feel a fresh surge of arousal at the thought of him enjoying your pleasure so thoroughly. "Come on now, be a good girl and follow me,”  he says, rising to his feet. He reaches for the chain between the handcuffs, using it to guide you off the desk and toward the plush leather couch that sits against the far wall of his office. 

You stumble slightly, still dizzy from your orgasm, but Joel's strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you steady. He positions you on the couch, your back against the soft leather and your hands still cuffed, placing them above your head. He kneels beside you, his body looming over yours as he captures your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you dizzy. "Spread those pretty legs for me, darlin'," he murmurs against your lips, and you comply without hesitation, eager for whatever he has planned next. He reaches down to stroke your inner thighs. "You're so wet for me, so ready," he says, his voice filled with approval.

He positions himself between your legs, the tip of his cock nudging against your slick entrance. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his in a silent plea for more. He responds with a slow, deliberate thrust that fills you completely. The sensation of him inside you is overwhelming, and you can't help but cry out in pleasure.

"That's it, such a goodgirl, aren’tcha?" he groans, beginning to move inside you with a rhythm that quickly has you panting and writhing beneath him. "I know baby, s'big but you can take it darlin. C’mon take me inside that pretty pussy.”

His thrusts grow more urgent, more demanding, and you meet each one with a desperation that matches his own. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his low, guttural moans.

Joel's hand snakes between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The added stimulation is almost too much to bear, and you feel another orgasm building within you, stronger and more intense than the first. "Come for me, darlin'," he commands. "Wanna feel you make a sweet mess on my cock."

His words push you over the edge, and you explode around him, your body convulsing with the force of your release. He continues to thrust through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're left limp and boneless beneath him. 

Just as the waves of your orgasm subsides, Joel slowly withdraws from you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed. He stands before you, his cock glistening with your arousal, and there's a predatory glint in his eyes that sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

"On your knees, darlin'," he commands, his voice a low growl that brooks no argument. You scramble to obey, the handcuffs clinking together as you shift your position on the couch. He steps closer, his cock at eye level, and you can't help but lick your lips in anticipation.

Joel's cock is a sight to behold—a testament to his virility and raw masculinity. It's thick and long, with a prominent vein running along the underside that pulses. The shaft is smooth and warm to the touch, the skin soft yet taut over the steel-hard erection beneath. His girth is substantial. The head of his cock is a deep shade of pink, almost purple with engorgement, and it glistens with a bead of precum that entices you like the sweet promise of a popsicle on a sweltering summer day. You can't help but lean forward, extending your tongue to taste him. The salty-sweet flavor of his essence dances on your taste buds as you lap at him, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure from Joel that vibrates through his body and into yours.

"Open wide," he instructs, his hand fisting his shaft as he guides himself toward your waiting mouth. You part your lips obediently, and he slides inside, filling your mouth with his impressive girth. He tastes musky and salty, a heady combination that makes your head spin.

"That's it, baby girl," he groans, his fingers threading through your hair as he begins to thrust gently into your mouth. "Take it nice and deep."

You relax your throat, trying to accommodate his size as he sets a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. You can feel the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and you fight the urge to gag, wanting to please him, to show him that you can handle everything he gives you.

"Such a good girl," he praises, his words spurring you on. "You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth."

His praise washes over you, filling you with a sense of pride and arousal. You moan around him, the vibrations making him hiss with pleasure. His grip on your hair tightens, and he pulls you closer, pushing deeper into your throat.

"Fuck, yes," he groans, his hips jerking as he hits the perfect spot. "Just like that. Don't stop."

You can feel the tension building in his body, the way his thighs tremble slightly with each thrust. You know he's close, and the knowledge that you're the one bringing him to the edge fills you with a sense of power.

Suddenly, he pulls out, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop. "Not yet," he says, his voice strained. "Wanna come inside ya baby, make a mess in that tasty cunt."

He helps you to your feet and guides you back to the desk, bending you over it so that your ass is in the air and gives you a light smack to one cheek. He reaches between your legs, his fingers easily sliding into your soaked pussy. "Goddamn baby, you're still so wet," he marvels, his fingers pumping in and out of you with a rhythm that quickly has you panting for more.

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock, slamming into you with a force that makes you cry out in surprise and pleasure. He sets a brutal pace, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust.

"You feel that, darlin'?" he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "That's me claiming what's mine."

His words send a jolt of desire through you, and you push back against him, meeting each thrust with one of your own. You can feel another orgasm building, the pressure coiling low in your belly.

"Come for me one more time," he commands, his hand reaching around to strum your clit with quick, expert strokes. "Wanna feel you milk my cock."

His words push you over the edge, and you come around him, your entire core pulsing around his girth and with a final, powerful thrust, Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he finds his own release. You can feel him filling you up, the warmth of his seed spreading through you as he groans out his pleasure.

Spent, he collapses on top of you, his body heavy and sated. After a moment, he pulls out and helps you to stand, his hands gentle as he uncuffs you and massages your wrists.

"You are somethin’ else that's for sure babygirl," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

You smile up at him, "I'm glad I could make you feel good," you reply with a soft voice.

Joel chuckles and gives you a quick, playful swat on the ass. "Make me feel good? Baby girl, you blew my mind."

He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a sleek, black whip. "Next time," he says, holding it up for you to see, "we can play with this. But for now, I think we've both had enough excitement for one day."

You stand there for a moment, still reeling from the intensity of your encounter, and then you remember—your dress is in tatters on the floor. You gather the remnants of your clothing, holding them up in front of you like a shield. "What do I do about this?" you ask.

Joel looks at you with a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "What size are you, darlin'?" he asks, reaching for his phone on the desk.

You tell him your size, still feeling a bit flustered as he dials a number and speaks into the receiver. "Hey, Lexi? Yeah, I need you to pick up a dress for our guest here.” He looks at you questioningly, and you repeat your size for his benefit. "Got it. And make it something nice—surprise me.” There's a brief pause as he listens to his assistant's response before hanging up the phone with a satisfied nod. "Lexi will take care of everything," he assures you with a wink that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach once again despite yourself.

True to his word, less than twenty minutes later, there's a knock on the office door. Lexi, Joel's assistant, enters the room with a professional smile and several shopping bags from high-end boutiques. "Here you go, Mr. Miller," she says, setting them down next to where you're standing, like this is completely normal. "I hope these will suffice."

"Thank you, Lexi," Joel responds with a nod of appreciation. "I'm sure they'll be perfect." Lexi exits the room as quickly as she came in, leaving you once again alone with Joel. He gestures toward the bags with a playful smile. "Go on, darlin'. Pick your favorite."

You rummage through the bags and find an elegant black dress that looks like it would fit you perfectly. It's sophisticated yet sexy—just like the man who bought it for you. With a shy smile, you hold it up for Joel to see.

"Perfect choice," he says approvingly. "Why don't you try it on?"

You slip into the dress, feeling its soft fabric hug your curves in all the right places. When you turn around to show Joel, his eyes light up with appreciation. "You look stunning," he murmurs sincerely while walking over towards where you were standing before wrapping an arm around your waist then pulling you closer so he could whisper into your ear "But then again I knew you would." His words send shivers down your spine causing goosebumps to form all over your skin despite how warm it was inside his office at this moment.

 As Joel takes a moment to drink in the sight of you in the new dress, you can't help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. The way his eyes darken with desire, even after everything you've shared, is intoxicating. It's clear that his interest in you isn't just a fleeting attraction—it's something much deeper and more intense.

You smile at him, your heart fluttering in your chest. "Thank you, Joel," you reply softly. "For everything."

He chuckles and shakes his head slightly. "Don't thank me yet, darlin'. The day's still young. Now what do you say I get ya home safe."

With that tantalizing promise hanging in the air between you, Joel helps you into your coat—a thoughtful gesture that makes you feel cared for. He escorts you out of his office and down to the parking garage where his sleek black sports car is waiting. The ride back to your place is filled with easy conversation and shared laughter, the chemistry between you two undeniable and electric.

When he pulls up in front of your building, he turns off the engine and turns to face you. "I had a great time with you today," he says sincerely, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I hope this isn't the last time I get to see that beautiful smile of yours."

You look up at him through your lashes, feeling bold despite the vulnerability coursing through you. "I don't think that will be a problem," you say with a playful smirk. 

Joel grins back at, “that's my good girl.” 

As you step out of the car, the cool  air wraps around you. You turn to say goodbye, but he's already getting out of the driver's seat, coming around to your side of the car.

"Let me walk you to your door," he says, offering his arm with a gentlemanly charm that belies the fiery passion you've shared. You accept with a nod, and together, you walk toward the entrance of your building.

The silence between you is comfortable, filled with the unspoken knowledge of what transpired between you two. As you reach your door, you turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Thank you again, Joel, for today," you say softly, "for everything."

Joel smiles at you. "The pleasure was all mine," he replies with a wink and leans in close enough that his breath ghosts over your lips when he speaks again. "But I have a feeling we're just getting started."

With those words hanging in the air between you like a promise of more incredible days to come, Joel takes a step back and heads back toward his car parked by curbside leaving only echoes behind him.

As the door to your building clicks shut behind you, you lean against it. The memory of his touch, his kiss, his words—they all send shivers of delight coursing through your veins. You can't help but smile to yourself as you replay the events of the day in your mind, each moment more thrilling than the last.

You're startled out of your reverie by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. Fishing it out, you see a notification on the screen - a new message from Joel. Your heart skips a beat as you open it, curiosity and excitement mingling within you.

1:07PM: Can't wait to unwrap that pretty little package again." 

The words alone are enough to send a jolt of desire through you, but then you notice an attachment—a picture. With trembling hands, you open it and find exactly what you were hoping for - a photo of Joel's large burly hand wrapping around his even thicker, larger cock, hard and ready for you once more. You realize he must have taken that in his car.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight of Joel's arousal, so potent and vivid on your screen. The knowledge that he's thinking about you, that he's hard and ready again so soon after your encounter, sends a thrill of power through you. You type out a quick response, your fingers flying over the keys with a boldness that matches the newfound confidence he's awakened in you.

1:10PM I hope you're not driving and texting that picture. Keep your eyes on the road, Mr. Miller.  you tease, adding a winking emoji for good measure.

His response is almost immediate, a testament to his eagerness. 

1:10PM Don't worry, darlin'. I'm parked outside your building. Couldn't resist sending you a little something to dream about tonight.

You can't help but smile at his words, your body already aching for his touch once more. But before you can respond, another message comes through with an address.

1:11PM Tomorrow, 8 PM. My place. Wear something comfortable and easy to take off.

1:12PM Yes sir.

1:13PM Oh baby you're walking Into whole new territory calling me sir. I'm going to put that pretty mouth to good use tomorrow.

Just as you're about to put your phone down a last message comes through 

1:13PM And leave the underwear at home.