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piratekane · 1 year

Text

(rated m for mature)

Ava’s room is the last sacred space in their apartment. A room that belongs to Ava, and Ava only. The living room is shared space, of course. Their breakfast bar holds both of their tea mugs: Ava’s in the shape of a bulldog holding a bone, her own a dark gray and white plaid pattern. The bathroom has a small stand with both of their toothbrushes and two face cloths on small hooks, one on each side of the sink. The face of the kitchen refrigerator is littered with pictures and ticket stubs and small post-it-note drawings they’ve both accumulated over the last few months.

We exist, Beatrice, Ava likes to tell her. If we died and someone came to pack us up, they would know we both existed here.

It’s a morbid thought, but it rotates in her mind for days afterwards. They exist. They exist together, in this shared space. There’s two of everything - a testament to a life shared between two people who found comfort in each other. Who found a home. Their shoes are by the front door, their bills are on the counter, their sweaters tangle into knots on the couch where they dare cross the line Beatrice has drawn between them.

Ava’s room is a line. She doesn’t cross it. She lets their shared existence fill every corner of the apartment except for Ava’s bedroom. She’s never crossed the threshold. Even on the day Ava moved in, she dutifully passed her boxes from the living room, marveling at the idea that one person who existed in a single dorm room for a handful of months could accumulate so many things.

She’s not sure that Ava even noticed. If she did, she didn’t say anything about it. Because she’s kind and takes Beatrice’s actions into consideration with the sort of care no one else in her life has ever shown.

But that’s par for the course. Ava is unlike anyone else in her life.

It’s why Beatrice is so careful. She’s gotten used to having this unusual, perfect thing in her life. She’s gripping it tightly with two hands, firm enough to keep it in one place but soft enough that it doesn’t break. It took her years to learn that grip and only a month with Ava to master it in a whole new way.

She should know by now, after seven months, that being careful around Ava is never careful enough.

“Blue or green?” she hears Ava call from inside her room.

Beatrice sighs, resting her pencil tip against the page she’s taking notes on. “Ava.”

Ava’s head pops around the doorframe. She’s smiling in a way a younger Beatrice would have called dashing or roguish. It’s charming. Infuriatingly so. Ava knows it—has never forgotten it since the time Camila said it out loud one night when Ava convinced them to try roller skating at some wooden rink nearby. That smile is a weapon, a carefully drawn bow whose range Beatrice can never escape from.

“Blue or green?” she repeats.

“I’m afraid I need a bit of context, Ava.”

Beatrice resists the urge to rub tiredly at the space between her eyes. Finals week is upon them. She’s prepared - has been preparing all semester - but then her Early Christian Women’s professor gave her some last minute feedback to restructure her entire research paper. It’s left her molded to the stool at the breakfast bar for the last three days, the entire top of it covered in color-coded index cards and texts she’s expressly forbid Ava from going anywhere near.

Ava pinky promised that she would listen. Beatrice would have accepted a confident “okay,” but Ava had taken it a step further, tightening her grip on Beatrice’s pinky and pulling her whole hand up to her mouth as Ava kissed her own fist, eyes on Beatrice the whole time.

“There. Now it’s really a promise.”

Beatrice thinks maybe she didn’t have enough friends growing up. Or that she didn’t have enough friends like Ava growing up. Because she’d never heard of this particular kind of promise. Shannon had made a face when Beatrice asked her about it. No, I’m not making fun of you, Shannon assured her. I just mean… Bea. Come on.

Beatrice does not come on, but the next time Ava makes her promise she won’t throw all her sources out the window and develop a list of new ones, she quickly presses her lips to the outside of her own hand, eyes darting to Ava’s face. Just as a test. Just to see if she’s doing this right.

She must have. Ava beamed for hours.

“Blue paint or green paint?” Ava expands.

“For what?”

Ava extends her arm past the doorway into Beatrice’s view. A small bucket of paint, hardly larger than a box of baking soda, dangles from her fingers.

She holds back the long-suffering sigh building in her chest. “Ava.”

“I’m painting my room.”

“You’re-” Beatrice turns, notecard on Thecla abandoned. “You’re painting your room?”

Ava frowns at her like she’s the one who just announced that she’s completing a home makeover project. “I told you this.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” Ava’s arm drops to her side, and she leans a little further around the doorway.

Beatrice shakes her head. “You most certainly did not. Because I would have remembered that.”

“You can’t remember everything I say.”

I do. The thought nearly makes its way to Beatrice’s tongue, but she bites it back. She certainly can’t admit that, though she thinks Ava would, if she was in her position. Ava has always been more free in her words, in her certainty.

“I would have remembered this,” she repeats.

Ava shakes her head. “I definitely told you I was doing this. I asked if you wanted to go pick out-”

Her forehead wrinkles into a frown that Beatrice immediately wants to smooth away. She can feel Ava’s skin under her fingertips, warm and soft. She blinks.

“Huh. Maybe I mentioned it to Mary, now that I think about it.” Her face brightens without Beatrice’s help. “I guess I’m telling you now.”

“You can’t- You can’t paint your room.”

Ava nods like she understands. “I can’t paint it alone, no. I’ll need help. Oh! A paint party!”

“No, I mean-” Beatrice takes a deep breath. “We would lose our security deposit if you paint the walls. It’s in our rental agreement.”

That doesn’t seem to bother Ava. “We can just paint it back when we move out. Or if we never do, then no one will ever know.”

If we never do. The words are like a lightning bolt in her chest. If we never do implies that Ava has thought about living with her indefinitely. That Ava has considered the possibility of a future where they're still in each other’s lives, where they’re still living in this same apartment doing the same things together. Movie nights and take out and reading while Ava watches something on TV, and talking about the few hours they spent apart and deciding where to take weekend trips and what new household decoration Ava is going to talk her into.

Their life in shared spaces, for everyone who visits to see.

Forever roommates.

The thought is too overwhelming for her to breathe properly.

“So, will you help me pick a color?” Ava continues on as if Beatrice isn’t slowly burning from the inside out. “I’m thinking green. Blue seems more like your color. Hey! We can paint your room next.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Ava, no.”

Ava either doesn’t hear her, or pays her no mind. “I got this cool mint color. It looks like mint chocolate chip ice cream!”

“Mint,” she repeats, voice strangled.

Ava beams. “It looks like our toothpaste.”

Dread washes over her, as cold as ice cream out of the freezer against her tongue. Their toothpaste is a frightfully minty green color that always catches Beatrice off guard no matter how many times a day she’s brushed her teeth, even after the ;five months since Ava started buying it. It’s a sickly green, almost. Certainly not something that should be on a wall, let alone four of them. Ava’s room would glow, practically radioactive.

“No,” she insists. “Not that color.”

“Come see it. Then you’ll understand.”

She moves without meaning to, without giving much thought to it. Ava calls like a siren, and she swims out to meet her. She gets as far as the couch before the water comes up to her chin and she stops again.

“I don’t think you should paint your room.”

Ava waves away her concern. “It’ll be fine. The whole room is just so… white. We need a little color in our lives, Bea. A little bit of… spice.”

“A little bit of spice.”

“You know. Excitement.” Ava is firmly in the doorway now, paint can hanging at her side. “We can’t live with white walls forever.”

Why not? she wants to ask. She grew up with white walls. Pristine ones. Washed down every week by their housekeeper. Sanitized. She pauses. Ava might have a point.

But their landlord would not approve of it. And Beatrice intends to stick by the rules. She opens her mouth to say so, but Ava cuts her off.

“Come here. Just have a look.” She pads forward on bare feet and curls her fingers around Beatrice’s wrist, tugging her forward gently enough that Beatrice could step back, break their connection if she needed to.

She doesn’t. Not yet.

But she gets closer and closer to Ava’s doorway, to the raised threshold that separates her from this last sacred space. Ava is stepping back over it, eyes on Beatrice, and then her toes are bumping against it and she stops. Their arms stretch between them for a moment before Ava catches up and steps forward so they hang loosely again.

Ava waits for her. Always waiting for her. It’s not fair, she thinks. It’s not fair that she’s always waiting for me.

“So, I have something to admit,” Ava says slowly, pulling her out of her head. She’s smiling sheepishly, her head ducked a little as she searches Beatrice’s face. “I might have already painted a few swatches on the wall.”

“Ava.”

“Just a few,” she rushes on. “Small ones. Like, the size of a book. A small one! I’m sorry, I just wanted to see what they looked like.” She strokes her thumb over Beatrice’s wrist. “The mint kind of looks horrible,” she admits.

Beatrice fights that never-ending sigh again. “Of course it does.”

“But the other green looks good! It’s kind of turquoise-y, actually.” Ava’s forehead wrinkles into a frown that lingers for just a second. “Greener than a normal turquoise, though. Almost like the sea. Like - okay, just look.”

Ava’s hand falls away, and she takes a step back into her room. She’s looking at the wall, eyes moving quickly over what Beatrice assumes is the paint swatches she’s done there.

She eases her weight onto the ball of her foot. The floorboard creaks under it. Ava is still looking at the wall, still studying her choices. Beatrice feels a ripple of fear race through her. It’s just a room. Their apartment is made up of rooms. But it’s Ava’s room. Opening this door, crossing this line - she’s not sure she can come back from that.

Ava meets her eyes again and tips her head in that effortlessly endearing way, a soft smile on her face that immediately ebbs the fear away. Ava crooks a finger in her direction, beckoning her forward. It’s like a piece of string loops its way around Beatrice’s wrist and it pulls.

“You’re going to like the turquoise,” Ava says just quietly enough for Beatrice to hear. Another siren’s call.

She’s a strong swimmer. She can survive this. Her toes brush the raised threshold, and then they’re curled over the other side of it as her shoulders breach the doorway. The air shifts. She feels a little lightheaded. The lights seem dimmed, lowered. She holds her breath and waits for God to strike her down, and when nothing happens, she silently exhales a thin stream of air.

She doesn’t go further than that. Her body doesn’t seem to want to move past the invisible line that goes from the ceiling down directly to the floor. Her eyes immediately go to the wall Ava was looking at.

She was correct. The mint looks horrible.

“I know,” Ava says, reading her mind. “It looked a lot better at the store. Maybe it’s the light?”

It takes Beatrice a minute to reply, almost as if the words were a trade for tipping forward into Ava’s room. “I don’t think different lighting is going to help this.”

Ava studies it for another moment before she nods decisively. “You’re right. But what about this green-turquoise?” She moves and touches her finger to the wall. It comes back with a sticky greenish color. She frowns at it. “Huh. Thought it’d dry.”

“I like it,” Beatrice allows. “But Ava-”

“I promise we’ll paint it back. I just��” Ava stops, running a hand through her hair. She leaves behind a smudge of turquoise on her forehead, disappearing into her hair. “It’ll be easy to paint back. Please, Bea?” She clasps her hand in front of her, holding them to her chest. “Pleeeease?”

They both realize she’s going to give in at the same moment. Beatrice didn’t think she had any tells, has always prided herself on being someone fully in control of their actions, emotions, and facial expressions. Lessons learned from her parents that she actually appreciated. Expressive got you in trouble, gave too much away. She spent years tightening up to prevent anyone from knowing too much.

Ava does not carry the same burden. And Ava, it appears, has learned to recognize when Beatrice is on the cusp of expressing too much, of giving in. Maybe she’s giving it away in the quick pull of the corner of her mouth. Maybe there’s something in her eyes, a flicker of acceptance. Maybe she clenches her hand into a fist, a small flex of her muscles. Maybe she shifts her weight. Maybe she blinks too many times.

Whatever it is, Ava sees it in her. And she grins, the light in the room becoming impossibly brighter.

“I want nothing to do with this,” is what she decides to say.

Ava claps her hands together. “You won’t regret this.”

“I’m sure I will.”

It doesn’t dim Ava’s smile. “When I’m done, you’ll see how much it brings this place to life. And then we talk about your room. And the living room! Oh, and wouldn’t the kitchen look so great if we painted it some kind of blue? I saw a swatch at the store that looked exactly like the water in the Blue Grotto. I want to go there one day. I always thought it would look-”

Beatrice steps back. Something that was fizzling inside of her fades, though she didn’t know it was there until she felt its absence. Ava is still going on – the bathroom would look good in pink. With black and white tiles on the floor – but Beatrice feels a sense of calm come over her, and she takes her first deep breath since she crossed the threshold.

Ava stops. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” she says sheepishly.

“It’s okay.” And it is. Beatrice doesn’t mind getting swept up in Ava’s elaborate plans. “But I’m going to go back to my homework.”

Ava flashes her a thumbs up. Her finger is still stained turquoise. “Okay. But you’re not studying for too long. We can’t have a repeat of this weekend.”

Beatrice feels her face flush. “I swore I went to bed.”

“You did. Standing in front of the refrigerator. I thought you were going to fall over.”

“I’m very disciplined.”

Ava grins. “Well, put a cap on studying tonight. When I’m done with the first coat, we’re going to get something to eat.”

She pretends to be annoyed by this, just because she likes the way Ava narrows her eyes playfully and shakes a finger at her. She’s not disappointed when Ava does exactly that before turning back to the stool she stole from the kitchen where she’s stacked two small paint cans, one open and one closed, and a paint roller.

Crossing the room back towards her homework is easier than going the distance from it to Ava’s room. She feels lighter with each step. She sits back down, her intention to focus on this paper she’s supposed to submit in two days (but feels nowhere near completion). Work, then break. As long as she works for the next hour, at least, then she can offer to buy Ava Indian food and ask her to watch a documentary about a filmmaker befriending an octopus. Cedrick, in her Study of Film elective, had suggested it to her. She doesn’t think it’ll be hard; Ava has said more than once that she thinks octopi are cute.

But as thoughts of Ava and octopi float in her head, some of the words Ava just mentioned start to register in Beatrice’ brain. Ava never mentioned the Blue Grotto before. They’re inching closer to the end of the school year and she doesn’t know Ava’s plans yet. Does she want to go backpacking across Europe? Alone? Will Beatrice have to haunt the corners of the apartment waiting for her to come back? Will Ava be different when she comes back? Will she forget about Beatrice?

Will she find a new forever-roommate in another city and leave Beatrice on her own?

Her homework is suddenly the furthest thing from her mind. She can’t focus on Eve or Thecla or their impact on the religious narrative. She can only think about the possibility of spending the summer alone - Mary and Shannon are going on a graduation trip across Spain, and Camila secured a summer internship with a tech startup company, and even Lilith found a program that allows her to travel for the few months before the start of the fall semester.

Beatrice’s big plan is to work at the campus library, splitting her time between shelving books, starting her graduation capstone project, and Ava. The practical side of her knows she should try to make that time an even three-way split, but the more she thinks about the coming months, the more adventures she keeps coming up with in her head. Things she wants to do and try with Ava, because she knows it’s on Ava’s list. They could visit the Prado Museum. Take a long weekend and travel to some seaside town where Ava could practice swimming in the waves. They could find new restaurants and new hiking trails. She’d even let Ava convince her to try roller skating. Again.

Beatrice hasn’t told her yet, but she has the whole summer mapped out. And Ava is embedded into every bullet point of that. It just hadn’t occurred to her that Ava might have her own plans. Ones that didn’t include Beatrice.

“Ow!”

Beatrice’s head snaps up. The sudden noise is followed by a heavy thud, thud and a rattle as something hits the floor. She’s up and moving before she has time to second guess herself, crossing the apartment in long strides until she’s reaching Ava’s room.

She crosses the threshold in a breath, suddenly plunged into the smell of paint and the sight of the bright lights Ava has rigged up in the center of the room. It nearly blinds her and she quickly looks at the ground.

Ava is lying on the thick, plush navy rug at the bottom of the bed, body curled in on itself as she clutches her foot. A small unopened can of paint is rolling slowly away from her towards the corner of the room. Ava groans loudly and turns her face into the rug as her whole body expands with a breath.

Beatrice drops to her knees, ignoring the dull ache that rockets up her thighs into her hips. She grabs Ava’s shoulders, turning her onto her back as her eyes scan Ava’s face for any blood or bruises. Her hands follow the same path, tucking Ava’s hair behind her ear and trailing her thumbs across the flat of Ava’s cheeks.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Ava’s eyes flutter closed, and Beatrice immediately becomes concerned about a concussion. Her fingers slide to the base of Ava’s head, and she applies a little pressure to tip it back. Ava’s still blinking up at her but as the light reflects against the honeyed color of her irises her pupils shrink. Beatrice heaves a relieved sigh. No concussion.

“Bea,” Ava groans again. She turns her face into Beatrice’s palm. “I think I broke it.”

Beatrice’s hands fall from Ava’s face and skim down her shoulders to her elbows, cupping them gently. “Let me see,” she says softly.

Ava shakes her head. “Just leave me behind.”

A rush of fondness ripples through her. She presses her fingertips into Ava’s bare arms, the sleeves of her This may be cheesy but I feel grate t-shirt brushing against the backs of Beatrice’s knuckles. “Ava,” she urges.

“No, it’s too horrible.” Ava’s grip tightens on her foot and she immediately winces.

Beatrice slides her hands down to Ava’s slowly. She curls her fingers into the spaces between Ava’s and her foot, pushing them back until she has enough room to free Ava’s foot from its self-imposed prison. There’s a bruise already forming at the base of her toes on the top of her foot, blooming across the first three toes. She ghosts her thumb across it and Ava flinches slightly.

Beatrice’s lips purse into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” Ava rolls completely onto her back, staring up at Beatrice. She’s still blinking rapidly and Beatrice is worried about a delayed concussion now.

“I think you’ve bruised it.” She presses down, gentler this time. Ava draws in a breath but doesn’t flinch away. “I don’t think anything is broken.”

Her hand drifts higher, curling around Ava’s ankle bone. It’s delicate under her fingers, the point rounded. Her other hand, still resting on Ava’s foot, goes to her other shin. There’s nothing but an expanse of smooth and warm skin under her palm.

“Good,” Ava says faintly. Her eyes go to Beatrice’s hand, lingering.

Beatrice’s eyes follow. Oh. She quickly pulls her hands away, cheeks suddenly hot.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to-”

They both pause, staring at each other. The air feels electric, goosebumps running up Beatrice’s arms. Her chest feels tight with unspoken words. She looks away first.

Ava’s hand on her own pulls her eyes back around. She looks at Beatrice for a long moment before she smiles a little. There’s something on her face that Beatrice can’t read, but it settles the rising tide of fear in her chest and she feels it ebb away into nothingness.

It’s not unusual, the sense of calm that comes with a simple look from Ava. It’s a peace that feels second nature now. It’s odd how seven months with Ava has untied almost all the knots her life created. Seven months isn’t very long - a blip on the radar, really. She’s had the same study group for longer than that. But these seven months have felt so monumental that it seems to have lasted years.

But Ava is monumental, so really, it does make sense.

Still. Her hands got ahead of her head. She touched before she thought, and now she’s kneeling on Ava’s floor with her hands hovering between their bodies, and Ava’s eyes are even more honey-colored than usual. The lights reflecting off the white walls makes her feel like she’s under a spotlight on a stage where everyone can see her, here in Ava’s room.

In Ava’s room, across the threshold. Completely across it.

A line she hasn’t crossed, a step she hasn’t taken. The room rushes in on her suddenly. She’s hyper aware of the faint chemical smell of paint, the too-bright lights, the rough fibers of the rug against her bare ankles, the way Ava’s laundry seems to be crawling out of the basket in the corner.

“I’m-”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Bea.”

“I’ll just-”

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice blinks. Ava’s hand has turned over in hers, her palm up. “Yes?”

“Help me up?”

Beatrice blinks again. “Oh. Yes.” She shifts back onto her heels and grabs Ava’s wrist, fingers spread to distribute her grasp so she doesn’t pull Ava’s wrist off her arm, and gently leads her forward. She wobbles as she rises, leaning into Beatrice for support, and Beatrice quickly winds an arm around her waist to steady her as she stands. They’re so close that Beatrice can feel the way Ava is breathing, the push of her ribs against Beatrice’s hand. She helps her to the bed carefully, cautious of the paint around them, and sits her down gently.

There’s more turquoise paint along her forehead, and dried paint on her fingers, and Beatrice wants to find a clean washcloth, wet it, and gently wash it away. She does the next best thing.

She picks up a rag next to the small container of water Ava must be using to clean the brushes and dips the corner into it, wetting it. She hands it to Ava and waits as she rubs furiously at her finger, washing the paint away.

“What happened?”

Ava sighs, eyes narrowing as she looks at the unopened paint can on the ground. It’s rolled across her room away from them. Luckily, the open can remains in place on the stool, the paintbrush hanging precariously on the edge of it.

“I went to reach for the paintbrush and knocked it off. Freaking thing landed on my foot. Obviously.”

Beatrice’s free hand goes to Ava’s foot. Her thumb sweeps across the bruise. Ava’s fingers flex against the back of Beatrice’s forearms. “You are lucky it didn’t break anything.”

Ava shudders. “Manuel, one of the guys on my floor when I lived in the dorms, he broke his foot the first month in. He had to wear a big walking boot for weeks. It was so ugly.”

“It would hardly go with your outfits,” Beatrice agrees.

“How would I even get my jeans on?” Ava frowns thoughtfully. “I’d have to walk around in my underwear all day.”

Beatrice nearly chokes on a cough, but she swallows it back down, uncomfortable in her throat. “I think… I think you could remove it to put your clothes on,” she says, her voice too light to be her own.

Ava’s face flushes unusually. “Oh, right. Of course.” She starts to smile wickedly. “Don’t want me walking around in my underwear, of course.”

Beatrice doesn’t quite hide her blush like she hid her cough. Because she has envisioned Ava walking around in her underwear before, just with one of Beatrice’s big sweaters dusting her thighs and coming down over her hands. She quickly blinks, turning the image to black in her mind. It was a passing thought, just once. She never had it again. It was unfair to Ava to even begin to form that picture in her mind. It flashes in her head like a bang now and she tightens her grip on Ava’s wrist, suddenly aware she’s still holding on.

She goes for a strangled joke. “It would prevent Lilith from coming over.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Ava latches onto it. Her eyes light up. “Consider it done.”

Beatrice immediately concerns herself with something else. Ava’s foot.

“Let me get you some ice,” she says. Her voice doesn’t waver this time. Shannon, if she knew about this, would be proud. She’d praise Beatrice’s restraint, call it admirable.

Shannon would also probably tell her that she should do something that would completely change the trajectory of her friendship with Ava. So maybe the Shannon in her mind should be a little quieter.

“I don’t think I need ice.”

Beatrice looks down at the bruise, darker now, and then gives Ava a pointed look. It has the desired effect. Ava’s cheeks pinken and she smiles sheepishly. Beatrice nods, assured in her success, and carefully extracts her hands from Ava’s foot, standing.

“I’ll be right back,” she promises. “Don’t forget the paint on your forehead”

Ava carefully taps her foot, higher than the bruise. “Not going anywhere.”

Beatrice could argue that Ava could go somewhere. It’s not broken. It’s uncomfortable, of course. She once flexed her foot at the wrong moment and kicked a pine board toes-first. The bruise remained for weeks and the slight limp from accommodating the pain had lasted a little longer than that.

But Ava wipes her forehead carelessly and falls back onto her bed, hands hanging over each side of the bed in a T-shape as her legs dangle off the end. Her shirt rides up her flat stomach revealing a sliver of skin Beatrice wants to run her fingernail over. Ava’s eyes are closed, head tipped back just enough for her chin to lift up, exposing the long unbroken line of her neck.

Beatrice looks away before another thought rushes unbidden into her mind. Her cheeks burn.

“I’ll be right back,” she repeats, unnecessarily. Ava hums on the bed.

She doesn’t linger, striding out of the room and across the apartment. She opens the freezer, welcoming the blast of cold air against her face. She takes a moment, almost forgetting why she’s standing there. But Ava calls her name from the bedroom, and Beatrice remembers quickly. The ice maker hasn’t worked in a few weeks - she makes a mental note to have Mary look at it before she calls her landlord - but Ava only found that as an excuse to buy increasingly ridiculous ice cube trays.

It takes her a minute to decide between ice cube shapes. Ava went a little crazy online, buying shark fin-shaped ones, brain-shaped ones, ones shaped like ice monsters and another set shaped like centipedes. Beatrice decides on ones shaped like rubber ducks, twisting the silicone tray so they pop out. She wraps them in a cloth quickly so her hands don’t get too cold.

Crossing the room feels like a walk she’s made a hundred times before. She knows in her mind that it’s only been twice but now that she’s opened the flood gate, her feet move her without thought. Past the books and notes she’s abandoned, the armchair, the couch. She pauses just before Ava’s bedroom, toes against the threshold.

She crosses it as easily as she exhales.

Ava is still laying on her back, an approximation of a cross as she rests with her eyes closed. Beatrice watches her chest rise and fall as she breathes in and out evenly. There’s a beauty in simplicity, she’s always thought so. Ava only strengthens that.

“Ice,” she says quietly, unsure of why she doesn’t want to say anything at all. She doesn’t want to break this moment, startle Ava and ruin the weightlessness of it.

Ava cracks one eye open, a half-smile on her face. “You’re back.”

Beatrice holds out the ice. Ava crooks a finger at her, beckoning her closer. She hesitates. Ava pushes up, resting on her elbows now.

“I think we’ve established that I don’t bite.” That smile turns wicked again. “Unless you ask nicely.”

Her fingers clench around the ice, and she feels the cold bite at her skin. But she stays still, not giving anything else away.

Ava sits up, foot dangling over the end of the bed. She rests her palms flat against the comforter before she pushes up and stands. She puts her weight down on her foot and her leg buckles almost instantly.

Beatrice doesn’t think, arms looping tightly around Ava’s waist and pulling up her. Her fingers slide into the dips of Ava’s back, the ice trapped between one of her palms and Ava’s skin. Her feet tangle with Ava’s. Their hips are nearly pressed together, almost no space between them. Ava exhales in a noisy rush, lips twisted in a grimace. Beatrice feels the hot air against her collarbone.

“Are you okay?”

Ava tilts her head back slightly. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Beatrice’s mouth flickers in a smile. “No.”

“Then we’ll just assume the answer.” Ava’s hands are wrapped tightly around her elbows and her fingers flex against the back of Beatrice’s arms. “Wow. Do you work out?”

“You know that I do.” She keeps her voice light.

Ava’s fingers dance further up her arms, under the hem of her sleeve. She squeezes again, gently. “Yeah, well knowing you do, seeing you do it, and feeling its effects are three very different things.”

Her fingers are maddening, burning hot against Beatrice’s skin. Ava rubs her thumb in a small circle over her bicep.

“Really, Bea. You could probably crush an egg with these things.”

She frowns. “Why would I want to crush an egg?”

“Well, it’d be a way to spice up breakfast.” She presses gently, dimpling the skin. “And a killer party trick.”

Beatrice fights a shiver despite the way her skin feels like it’s burning. “I don’t go to parties.”

But that’s a lie. She does when Ava invites her. She thinks of the party they went to, the spinning disco lights and the way Ava’s body pressed against hers in the hot swell of sweaty, drunken students. She thinks of Ava slumped over on their couch later, saying she’d wait for Beatrice.

That voice that sounds just like Shannon’s whispers that it means exactly what Beatrice hopes it means. She’s never been good at telling Shannon to stop, but this is easy enough to sweep under the mental rug so it remains unknown and unseen.

Truth unknown and unseen is still truth, Shannon has said before. I read that on Pintrest.

Beatrice shakes the memory from her mind and focuses on the facts in front of her: Ava. Ava, close enough to breathe in. Close enough that Beatrice could eliminate the mere inches between them and-

“I bet you’d go to more parties if you had a party trick,” Ava interrupts.

“I doubt it.” But Ava is grinning and Beatrice can’t help but smile back. “But I’m sure you could convince Mary to give it a try.”

“I mean, Mary has decent biceps, but I don’t think she could crack an egg.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “Why an egg? Why not, I don’t know. A walnut.”

“A walnut. These are good goals.” Ava squeezes Beatrice’s bicep once more to emphasize her words. “Let’s start with an egg and work our way to something more advanced.”

The flex of Ava’s fingers against her skin pulls her from her next thought. It’s not that she didn’t notice the lack of space between them, it’s just that it’s rushing in on her now. It’s dizzying, the way Ava is standing so close. Beatrice tries to breathe in, but her chest pushes out until it nearly brushes Ava’s and she’s sucking all the air back into her lungs just as quickly.

Ava notices, eyes dropping down past Beatrice’s chin and neck before they dart up again, crinkling at the corners. She takes a step back, dropping to the bed again, the ice in her hand. She pulls one leg up under her, chin resting on her knee as she puts the ice against her bruising foot.

Beatrice blinks, oddly cool air rushing in where Ava’s body had been despite the humid air of their apartment as the spring pushes towards the hot summer. “You’ll need to ice that for a bit.”

Ava nods, adjusting the ice for a moment before she looks up and says, “So, first time?”

Beatrice frowns. “Administering first aid?”

“First time being in here. Properly, I mean.” Ava looks around, throwing one arm wide. “What do you think?”

Beatrice takes stock of her situation. It’s technically her third time being in here, but Ava is right. She’s in here properly now. Not just over the threshold or charging through barriers because Ava’s been injured. She crossed the line intentionally this time. And she remains, the walls of Ava’s room coming at her from each side without boxing her in.

Ava’s laundry flows from the hamper. Her bed isn’t quite made, but isn’t quite a mess. There are books stacked on the desk in a way that tells Beatrice Ava hasn’t opened them in some time. Hobbes sits next to them. A series of pictures is on the wall opposite her desk, ones of her and Ava and the rest of their friends. Beatrice’s eyes catalog each inch, committing it to memory in a place where she knows she’s going to see it for a very long time.

“You’re missing the best part,” Ava says. Her voice is quiet, like she’s afraid to startle Beatrice. She waits until Beatrice looks before she points upward.

Beatrice’s eyes follow the imaginary thread from Ava’s fingertip to the ceiling. She nearly gasps.

White-green stars dot the ceiling, filling all the space. Spider web-thin lines connect some of them, forming constellations she recognizes from the pictures Ava has shown her and the ones Ava has pointed out on rare nights when she can convince Beatrice to go out to the quad and lay on the grass to watch the night pass by. Some of them she doesn’t and she focuses on those ones, studying their shapes and trying to decide what they look like.

“Apus.” Ava’s finger moves, tracing the lines she’s drawn between the glow-in-the-dark stars. “We call it the Bird of Paradise. Derived from the Greek word apous, which means ‘footless’. There’s a story that birds of paradise were once believed to have been footless.”

“I don’t believe I know what a bird of paradise looks like,” she admits.

“My mom loved them. She’d never seen one in person, but she liked looking at pictures of them. They have these large plumes. They look so soft.” Ava sighs wistfully. “There was a nun, in the orphanage when I was first there, that called me a bird of paradise.” She pauses, eyes darting to Beatrice. “Because I was footless, you know? She reminded me of my mom. She didn’t stay long, but she was nice.”

Beatrice’s heart clenches as it always does when Ava talks about her past. But this is a softer ache, a longing to thank this woman who showed Ava a sliver of mercy.

“And that’s Grus, the crane,” Ava continues. “Originally, it was part of another constellation, Piscis Austrinus. But a Dutch astronomer defined it as its own separate constellation. Its brightest star is Al Na’ir. It’s Arabic for ‘bright one’ which feels a little on the nose.”

Beatrice studies its shape, noting the bigger star that Ava must have defined as Al Na’ir. “Why do you like this one?”

Ava thinks for a moment. “Did you know that cranes have the ability to fly over the Himalayas? They can. They can go as high as 8,000 meters. Imagine being that high up, feeling the wind in your hair.” She blinks, looking off towards the wall littered with paint swatches. “I spent so long tied to one place that the idea of being able to fly over a mountain, to graze the tip of it with a set of wings, sounded like a fairytale.”

Beatrice slides her hand over Ava’s, fingertips resting in the dips between her knuckles. “I think we could hike the Himalayas one day, if you wanted to.”

Ava looks down at their hands and blinks before her eyes meet Beatrice’s. “You think so?”

“I think you could do anything you want to do.”

Ava doesn’t blink this time, doesn’t even look away. “If I can do anything I want to do, I want to…” She pauses, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.

Beatrice waits, but the rest of Ava’s sentence doesn’t come. She clears her throat. “What do you-”

“Did you see that one?” Ava asks, interrupting her and pointing up at the ceiling.

Beatrice blinks, startled at the intensity of Ava’s voice. She searches Ava’s face but it’s unreadable, a mix of something Beatrice can’t quite put a name to. So she looks up helplessly, searching for what Ava is pointing at.

“That’s Drago.”

“The dragon,” Beatrice translates. “What’s his story?”

Ava shrugs. “He’s just fucking cool.”

A sharp laugh slips out from between her lips and Ava grins widely back at her.

“So, you like it, then.” Ava looks around her room and nods to herself. “It’s a pretty great room, isn’t it?”

“It’s very… Ava,” Beatrice allows. She’s smiling though, hoping that her words don’t sting.

“Isn’t that all I can hope for?” Ava sighs and turns her hand over so her palm presses against Beatrice’s. “But can I ask another question?”

When she breathes out, “anything”, she means it.

Ava hesitates still. “You never come in here,” she says slowly. “Why not?”

Something tightens in her chest. Words rise in her throat and she swallows them back down, a reflex more than anything else. Ava must notice something pass over her face or feel the way that Beatrice’s hand jumps in hers, because strong and warm fingers stroke up her wrist as they lock around the bone, keeping her anchored to the moment.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Ava rushes on. “I’m just… curious, I guess.” She smiles crookedly. “Does it smell in here?”

Yes. Like something deep and woodsy and so uniquely Ava.

Ava’s nose wrinkles. “Does it? Because if it does, I-”

“It doesn’t.” Beatrice’s voice is too loud. “It doesn’t,” she says, softer now.

Ava’s frown doesn’t smooth out. “Then… why?”

It’s not you, it’s me, her mind supplies. She doesn’t say that. She thinks about how to put it into words, how to unpack all the things she tidied away and put in a cedar chest, locking it tight. Nothing comes from it, just an empty explanation that won’t make sense if she says it out loud.

But Ava is her best friend. And if it doesn’t make sense, if the words don’t come out right, she’ll wait patiently for Beatrice to try again. She’ll sit here, one leg tucked up as ice melts through a washcloth and she’ll wait for Beatrice to find the right words.

I’d wait for you forever, Ava had said, lips loose with party punch. And Beatrice believed her.

Ava makes her brave. Brave enough not to make an offhand joke and turn the conversation back on the open can of paint and the paintbrush quickly drying out.

Instead, she clears her throat and straightens up, the first thing she does when an image of her parents enters her mind. And Ava doesn’t let go of her wrist, moving with her instead, ebbing and flowing with her seamlessly. Beatrice turns to face Ava, watching Ava mirror her, and she exhales out the tension building in her muscles.

“Bea, if you don’t want to-”

“I do.”

She does. Holding onto these things makes her feel heavy. And almost more than anything - but not more than wanting Ava - she wants to be lighter.

Ava shakes her head. “I’m serious.”

Beatrice grips Ava’s other hand, their arms tangled around each other. “I… I have to.”

“Okay,” Ava says softly. Her smile is the same. “Whatever you want to tell me, I want to hear.”

Ava isn’t always sledgehammer, she realizes. She thinks of her as a hammer, crashing into everything and leaving a wake of needed destruction in her wake. But Ava is also a set of picks, quietly and discreetly slipping into the lock around her. For all the stomping around she does, all the things she knocks over in her haste to get from one moment to the next, she’s also deft, hands built with finesse.

Beatrice tries to find the start. Was it Penelope Marshall? Was it the start of boarding school? Was it her parents finding her journal when she was thirteen? Was it all the time she spent with the diplomat’s daughter? Was it her fifth birthday when she cried because her parents bought her the dress with the pink frills instead of the bicycle she wanted?

“My parents…”

“I hate them.”

She doesn’t chide Ava for saying so. A deep, angry part of her hates her parents too. She smiles humorlessly. “They sent me to boarding school, as you know. When I was thirteen. Right at Christmas time. I remember it because it was my present that year. An ‘opportunity to further my education in an environment that would foster appropriate and lifelong lessons’,” she quotes. She can remember the brochure she’d been given unceremoniously, a smiling girl on the front. Even in print, Beatrice could see the hollow light in her eyes.

“Appropriate,” Ava scoffs. “Like anything they did was appropriate.”

Beatrice feels Ava’s pulse thunder under her fingers. “They said it would give me a framework for my life. Lucille Thomason had graduated from there a year before and she was going to Oxford, on her way to inheriting her mother’s social calendar. My mother always fawned over her at dinners. ‘Lucille is following the plans her mother set out for her. Lucille has accomplished so much at such a young age.’”

“Lucille sounds like a loser.”

“Lucille sounded exactly like the daughter my mother wanted.”

Ava frowns softly. “You know that you’re leagues above whoever Lucille is.”

“I didn’t think so,” she admits. “Lucille was someone to admire. Her achievements were something to strive for. She had something I so desperately wanted when I was younger: my mother’s approval. And so, when they presented the option-” She stops herself. “It wasn’t an option. But when they presented their plan, I reconciled myself with it by reminding myself that Lucille was leading a very successful life.”

“There’s more to life than success,” Ava says gently.

Beatrice smiles a little. “To you. To me. But to my parents, there is nothing more.” She takes a deep breath. “And if they were framing it as me taking an opportunity to lead a successful life, then they would forget about… the things they were discovering about me.”

Ava immediately tenses. The Beatrice she is now knows it for what it is: an attempt to contain her anger. The Beatrice she was months ago would have worried. Was Ava afraid of her? Was Ava disgusted by her? The thoughts had swirled that movie night. What if she did admit to a crush on Patricia Velasquez? Would this new person she wanted so badly to be around, without knowing why, suddenly change her mind once she found out the truth?

But Ava hadn’t. Ava won’t. Beatrice knows it with every fiber of her being. There are very few absolute truths in the world, but this is one of them.

“They read my journal, you know,” she continues. The words are coming out easily, this tiny fissure in her chest cracking open as Ava looks at her with wide and trusting eyes. “A new girl started school at the beginning of the term. Her name was Mina. Her father was in banking, I believe. She had the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my life.”

Ava scoffs lightly. “Blue eyes.”

She skims the pad of her thumb over Ava’s wrist. “One day, our hands brushed. It was something simple, innocent. She was passing me a paper, and we miscalculated the distance. I’m sure it meant nothing to her.”

“It meant something to you,” Ava guesses.

“I was thirteen. Everything meant something.” Beatrice sighs, feeling her chest rise and fall heavily. “And anything that meant something to me went into my journal. I just didn’t know that what went into my journal eventually landed in my parents’ hands.”

“So those bastards went through your private journal and read about some girl who touched your hand,” Ava hisses. “I swear, the minute I meet them, it’s fist to face. They don’t call me The Piraya for nothing, you know.”

“No one calls you that.”

“They might call me that, you don’t know. I have a whole superhero persona you don’t know about.” Ava puffs out her chest a little bit.

“The name Piraya implies you’re more of a villain than a superhero.”

“I’m a villain’s villain. How’s that?”

The trickle of despair of dragging this up again fades as Ava’s smile widens. She knows what Ava is doing. But she doesn’t stop her, grateful for the brevity and the way it makes her feel like she’s grounded in something, not floating listlessly and endlessly in her terrible memories.

“I mean it.” Ava’s voice drops, low and serious. “I’ll be their worst nightmare.”

“I’m afraid that role is already taken,” she says quietly. “Though, I don’t think they intended for it to be their daughter.” She sighs. She used to be her mother’s doll. But once she started moving her own parts, she found herself moving in the opposite direction.

“Bea,” Ava whispers. She tightens her grip on Beatrice’s wrist.

“I remember I wrote that touching her hand was as if the heavens opened up and I finally understood what song the angels were singing. We were in the middle of a poetry unit, and I fancied myself quite good at it.” She lets out a dry chuckle. “When I found them in the kitchen one night holding onto my journal I foolishly thought they had found out I was reading Emily Dickenson instead of studying for my science exam.”

Beatrice remembers coming down the stairs, flushed with the late November cold. Mina had invited her for dinner the next night, and she promised to show Beatrice the new video game she got. Beatrice didn’t care about those kinds of things, but no one else had gotten an invitation to Mina’s. Beatrice felt special.

But her parents’ faces had stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t notice her journal at first. It was made to look discreet, not to stand out. It had blended into her mother’s dark skirt, and it wasn’t until her mother raised it into the air that she saw it for what it was.

They asked her to explain herself. She wasn’t sure what they wanted her to explain, not at first. She stumbled through an apology about delaying her studying; she’d do it immediately and ask her teacher for an extra take home lesson. She scrambled through a rushed explanation about having new friends meant more opportunities for networking. With new friends, she could join a new club. It would do well on her list of extracurriculars.

It wasn’t until her mother spit out the name Mina that she had any idea of what she was supposed to be afraid of.

“What did they say?” Ava asks gently.

“They didn’t have to say much. There were questions about who Mina was. My mother had a particular talent of making something that wasn’t a swear sound like it. And she hissed Mina’s name like it was the dirtiest word she could say.”

Beatrice thinks of Mina now. Where was she? What was she doing? Beatrice never heard from her after she left. No letters, no calls. She came and went in her life so quickly, it was as if Beatrice made her up. The only sign that she had been there was the page missing from her journal, returned to her the night before she left for school.

“They demanded to know what she had done to me. What had I done to her? I was so confused. She had touched my hand. I certainly hadn’t…” Beatrice’s chest hitches at the thought. “It was a fleeting moment, but I learned that fleeting moments were the most damaging ones. That,” she says dryly. “And that locks do nothing to keep a determined person out.”

“Locks are meant to keep people out,” Ava all but hisses. She sighs, working her fingers up Beatrice’s arm to her elbow. They rest in the dip of her arm, right over the thin vein under Beatrice’s skin. “God, Bea. I’m so sorry. They were - are - horrible. No one should have had to go through that. Especially not you.”

Especially not you, Ava says. Like Beatrice is better than anyone else. Like she should exist under different rules.

“Of course you’re afraid,” Ava says quietly, speaking to herself. She raises her voice, talking to Beatrice now. “Of course you’re worried about even - Jesus, Bea. Touching a girl’s hand?” She looks down as if she’s suddenly noticing how she’s knotted herself around Beatrice’s arm. She laughs dryly. “What would they say if they saw us now?”

Ava means what if they saw me comforting you? Not what if they saw how I touch you like nothing else matters?

The answer would be the same: her mother would simply set fire to the room.

The chasm is widening now. She’s cracked the seam on these memories, and her mind is cycling through the events that followed: a new suitcase set, pink with her name on an address tag; a set of starched uniforms that felt like coarse wool against her skin; a final meal in her parents’ formal dining room, the chef-of-the-week uncaring of her dislike for persimmons; a single plane ticket pressed into her hand and a dismissive nod as a car pulled away from the airport, leaving her alone.

She tells Ava this in stilted words, as if narrating someone else’s life. But then it starts to sink in, the anger. And it spreads in her belly, burning into a rage. She feels the moment the numbness transitions to an inferno. She hears herself exhale the word alone and something snaps.

“They had no right,” she says. Even through her anger, the words surprise her.

Ava’s voice sounds hoarse, unused. “They didn’t.”

“I was a child. Their child.” Her hand clenches tightly into a fist, Ava’s hand moving with the flex of her forearm muscle. “A ‘problem’ arose and they just…” She stops. “They strung me along until I was no longer of use to them.”

“You are not a problem.” Ava's voice is low, burning hot in the rapidly closing space between them, in a tone she’s never heard before.

Beatrice almost startles, confused. She had nearly forgotten that Ava was here, so consumed in her story. But now she’s noticing her.

Her eyes flash. The tops of her cheeks pinken slightly. She’s angry. Beatrice has seen her on more than one occasion get angry on her behalf. The mere thought of her parents seems to send her into a flurry, but the anger in her eyes now is nearly staggering.

“You’re not,” she says again, insistent to the point of almost desperation. “Beatrice, you are not a problem.”

And Beatrice, blinking, already falling, dives deeper into love with her.

Ava feels her cheeks go hot with a liquid anger that roils in her blood. She’s been angry before - angry at Bea’s parents, even. But this feels like pure molten rage. All of the pieces are slotting together: a young girl who just wanted to make her parents proud; who saw someone - touched someone so innocently - and felt the world shift; who didn’t understand why a cliff rose up between her and the people who were supposed to love her more than anything; who trusted so completely and had it thrown back in her face as if she was the one who somehow failed.

Ava’s fingers tighten until her fingernails cut deep half-moon shapes into her palm. She pulls the words out from between her teeth like nails scratching the floor.

“You are not a problem.”

Bea blinks. The broiling heat in her stomach softens its edge, replaced by the confusion in Bea’s eyes as she blinks again.

“You’re not,” Ava insists. She tugs Bea’s hand, pulling her closer until they’re pressed together, an almost-sweaty slide of the skin of their knees bumping together. Bea blinks a second time, mouth parting slightly. “Beatrice, you are not a problem.”

She needs Bea to believe her. She’s never needed anything more in her whole life. She could live without air. She could make it minutes without oxygen. But she can’t live with another second of Beatrice believing her parents’ poison.

She coaxes Bea another inch closer. “Do you hear me?”

Bea’s mouth parts further, something on the tip of her tongue. Ava squeezes Bea’s hand a little tighter. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Bea says faintly.

Ava isn’t satisfied. “You need to believe it. You’re not a problem. You’re-” She softens her grip, thumbs Bea’s wild pulse. “You’re-”

“Don’t say perfect,” Bea whispers, eyes slamming closed. “Please don’t say perfect.”

Ava hesitates. She was going to say perfect. She was going to say frustratingly perfect. But she can pivot. There are a million other things she can call Bea - courageous, intelligent, kind, beautiful. All things she’s told Bea before and all things she’d tell her a million times more.

“Human,” she lands on. Bea’s eyes open slowly. “You’re human, just like every single other person on this big rock orbiting in space. You live like everyone else. You laugh, you cry. You love, just like everyone else. And none of that- not who you are or who you love, or even the special little rules you have for tea that took me forever to learn - not a single part of you is a problem.”

The space between Bea’s eyes wrinkles in thought. Ava usually holds herself back, usually just wishes to press it flat gently. But the line between them is so thin now that she doesn’t think twice about it, reaching up and resting her thumb between her brows, pushing gently until the skin relaxes.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks in a whisper. Bea holds so many of her secrets, one more won’t hurt.

Bea nods slowly.

“When I first met you, I was so… intimidated.” Bea’s eyes widen slightly and Ava nods. “I was. You seemed so… cool. Composed. Not at all affected by someone who crashed into your table with the grace of a… what did you call it?”

“A newborn foal,” Bea says lightly.

Ava grins, her smile widening when some of it reflects in Bea’s face. “A newborn foal. That’s a giraffe, right?” She doesn’t wait to be corrected. “I thought, I need to know who this is and I need to know everything about her right now or I’m going to combust.”

Bea rolls her eyes, the motion of her eyes disrupting Ava’s thumb, still on her forehead. She doesn’t drop her hand, being bold and dragging the blunt ends of her fingernails against the smooth skin just above Bea’s eyebrow.

“You’re very dramatic.”

“Did I pretend to be anything else?” Ava shakes her head when Bea opens her mouth. “Don’t answer that. Just know.” She sobers, breathing in and exhaling the most truthful thing she thinks she’s ever said in her life. “The minute I met you, I knew you were something spectacular. I knew you were going to change my life.”

A weight hangs between them now. Bea looks shy under it, her head ducking slightly. Ava’s fingers slip, nearly burying into Bea’s hair. She drops her hand back into her lap but curls it over Bea’s, not quite wanting to let go yet.

“Can I tell you a secret now?” Bea asks, eyes still on the space between them.

Ava nods without being seen. “Anything.”

“I never really felt like that.”

“Like what?” Ava frowns. “Spectacular?”

“Human.” Bea looks up. “I spent so long feeling like… an other. That feeling like a human just didn’t… I couldn’t make sense of that. It took some time.”

Ava smiles gently. “But you got there.”

“After-” Bea stops herself, pulling her lips in as if she’s trying to keep something from erupting out. Ava watches the thin stream of air work its way through her nose, and catches the slight shine of Bea’s eyes, the way they seem to sparkle as unshed tears fill them.

“Hey,” she says softly. “No. No, don’t cry.” She drops Bea’s hands, cupping Bea’s face. Her thumbs brush along the flats of Bea’s cheeks. “I don’t know what to do when pretty girls cry,” she admits.

Bea laughs, choked and watery. “Neither do I. But it never stops me from telling you that Lilith doesn’t actually hate you no matter how much of her fancy vodka you drink.”

“One time,” Ava mutters, lips pulled back in a smile as she pretends to be annoyed.

It works. Bea’s smile seems a little stronger. “Ava,” she says quietly.

Ava strokes down a line of freckles absentmindedly. “Yeah?”

“Can I tell you another secret?”

“You can tell me you’re responsible for bringing down the Vatican, for all I care.”

Bea doesn’t laugh, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth instead. Ava wants to press down against the smooth skin but she stops herself before her thumb drifts that low. That perfect, soft-looking skin, a breath away. She focuses, pulling herself back into the moment.

Bea’s voice is nearly a whisper when she says, “Someone thought I was spectacular once.”

“Just once?”

Another silence. Ava tightens her jaw. Listen, don’t talk. She can do that. She can be still. It’s something Bea has taught her - just be still. Just wait. It will come to you when you stay in one place. So, she’s been waiting, patient against every urge within her to jump up and down and scream.

Sometimes, these feelings for Bea are so big in her chest that she feels like she’s going to explode into a hundred stars. She pictures herself shattering as the unspoken words build in her until they can’t go anywhere but out. But Bea is something to wait for. Bea is someone Ava doesn’t mind standing still for. She knows it’s there. She knows the feelings aren’t just her and that Bea needs to find her way forward. Ava just needs to be the flashlight in the distance, waiting for Bea to find her.

“At least, I thought she thought I was spectacular,” Bea continues, almost as if she didn’t hear Ava. “She said- well, she said something close enough to it.”

Ava can feel another piece of the puzzle slotting into place. Another brick that makes up Bea’s nearly-impenetrable walls. For every one Ava manages to crack and loosen, another suddenly rises in its place. But she feels like this time, it falls and nothing slots into place.

She doesn’t stop herself from touching a freckle this time, tapping out a song she heard years ago before her hands drop again. “Was she pretty?”

She’s clumsy on a good day. Boisterous on others. But Bea is doing that thing again, learning how to run without knowing how to walk. And Ava is practicing. She’s trying so hard. She stays so still that Bea could almost imagine her gone.

“People are pretty in different ways,” Bea finally says. It’s a very diplomatic answer, something so very Bea that Ava breaks her stillness to smile. “All the other girls wanted to be her. I remember someone saying that her hair was so shiny, she must brush it a hundred times on each side before bed.”

Ava can’t help herself. “Is that why your hair is always so perfect? Are you secretly combing it until your wrist hurts?”

“A brush through wouldn’t kill you, Ava.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Bea’s growing smile flickers out. “I suppose it didn’t matter if she was conventionally pretty. I…” Ava watches the way she shores herself up against an invisible storm. “I thought she was beautiful.”

“What was her name?” she asks quietly.

“Penelope Marshall.” Bea says it like a prayer.

“Penelope.” Ava suddenly creates an image in her mind. A girl with wide brown eyes, bronze skin, a perfect smile of perfect teeth, a button nose, long and shiny hair.

Bea swallows and Ava feels the click of her jaw under her palms. “She was in my year, her room just down the hall from me. We were partners in Latin.”

“I bet she copied all her answers off your test.”

“Maybe once or twice,” she admits. “She certainly did not always do her homework on time. But Sister Magdalene liked her and simply turned a blind eye every so often.”

Bea’s cheeks are warming. Ava can see it in the way they pinken.

“It’s silly, but… I remember the first time she smiled at me. I had conjugated the verb, sum, to be, in the pluperfect subjunctive. She had been trying for the better part of an hour, but the switch from esse to fui for the tenses was always confusing to her.” Bea smiles slightly. “When I gave her the answer, she smiled at me and it felt like…”

“Like the world kind of tilted off its axis?”

Bea looks surprised. “Yes. Exactly that.”

“I’m familiar with the feeling.”

Because she is. So, so, deeply familiar with the feeling. The first time she saw Bea, that first smile she got as she bumbled her way through cleaning up the few drops of tea that spilled, the world went sideways and it hasn’t completely righted itself since.

“It’s peculiar, that feeling. It sticks with you, doesn’t it?” Bea looks down. “I used to dream about it,” she admits.

“That’s normal, Bea,” she says gently.

Bea looks up again. “Is it? Because it didn’t feel normal. It felt… other. Strange. Like a rock in the pit of my stomach. Penelope would touch my arm over our Latin text, and I could see my parents poring over my journal, looking for any otherness that might exist between us.”

“She made you happy, though.”

“I thought I made her happy as well.”

Ava doesn’t need Bea to tell her the rest. She can imagine how it went: touches as they broke down a dead language, sitting with their shoulders brushing at meals, giggling as they studied in what Ava assumes must have been a massive and cold library. She can imagine the small strands of Bea’s hair slipping from her bun across her cheeks and Penelope pushing them back behind her ear with quick fingers.

Ava lets herself be selfish and do that same thing now. Bea’s face turns slightly into her hand. Not enough that she probably even notices.

“When did she kiss you?”

Bea looks surprised again and Ava’s hand falls away. “How did you-”

“A good guess,” she lies. Because she knows that having Bea there and not kissing her is God’s strongest battle. She has been a good soldier.

She’s not sure how much longer she can be good.

“A few months into the semester.” Bea’s voice goes taut. “She invited me to study for her biology test. On the recommendation of our teacher, she told me. I imagined it was a lie; she had the same grades as I did.” Her cheeks pinken. “We were reviewing the different biological features of various aquatic animals and she…”

“She kissed you over the cod?” Ava says, voice a little strangled.

Bea meets her eyes. “It was my first kiss. Everyone I knew had theirs already, but I thought that if this is what I was waiting for, it was worth it.”

“The best things are worth waiting for.”

“I’d read about whirlwind romances in novels. Girls in the dormitories talked about it. Boyfriends they had back home that they saw on holiday weekends. But it was nothing like kissing behind locked doors. It couldn’t be. No one else could be experiencing what I did. It was so uniquely ours. Do you know what I mean?”

She does. It means closed doors. It means secrets. Bea reads it on her face because she can see something close to shame bloom across Bea’s cheeks.

“It was just for us,” Bea confirms. “A secret not even my parents, kilometers away, would learn of.”

Ava has never been one for secrets. She doesn’t like the way they taste in her mouth. You’re keeping your own, a voice like Mary’s reminds her. But that secret isn’t really a secret, is it? Because Mary knows. And Shannon knows because Mary knows. And her favorite barista, Lucy, knows it. JC knows it. The belayer at the rock climbing place and the guy at the one party she dragged Bea to and Lilith and Camila - they all know.

Bea knows too. Ava feels the truth of that in every crevice of her heart. Bea knows. Bea isn’t going to do anything about it - she feels that truth too. But the list of people Ava is hiding this from is shorter than the list of people who know it.

“You loved her.”

Bea’s smile is sad, far away. “First kiss, first love. I was convinced we would graduate and run away together. She would lie in my bed propped up on one arm talking about Paris and Rome and the places we could travel as soon as we got away from school. I’d felt so futureless when I arrived, but now I could imagine a million possibilities.”

Ava thinks of making a joke. Something about Bea jet-setting across all of Europe with a pretty girl, exactly the kind of lifestyle she deserved. But she knows this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

“She told me she loved me. More than anyone she loved in her life. She said we were young, but it doesn’t matter. You just feel love louder, she would tell me. I…” Bea takes a deep breath. “Mina may have been the first girl to touch my hand, but Penelope…”

Bea goes quiet long enough that Ava nudges her hand gently. “She…”

Bea’s eyes clear a little. “She touched me in other places. In other ways.”

Ava guesses the next part of this story too. “You wanted to tell someone and she wanted you guys to stay a secret.”

Bea laughs, short and sharp. “I wish it had been that simple. I wish I had been enough to stay a secret. Instead… She must have learned my parents’ trick. When someone becomes unseemly, when it becomes ugly and unwelcome, you simply… strike it from the record. Forget it ever existed. Send it away to boarding school and hope for the best. Or-or pick a new Latin partner and create an ocean that feels uncrossable.”

“Bea,” Ava says quietly.

“I could have accepted it was all done. An ending. I’m sure I could have. But instead I was…” She shakes her head. “Have you ever had someone you thought you were in love with look at you and tell you that none of it mattered? That it was girls being girls and that whispered promises in the corners of classrooms were never more than just a game? A joke?”

“Bea.”

But Bea has a haunted look in her eyes, like she’s somewhere else than Ava’s bedroom with its overflowing laundry and rumpled comforter and the paint swatches on the wall. Ava imagines she’s back in a girls dormitory standing in front of a pretty girl who is cutting her down to bits.

“She told me that none of it was real. It was wrong. It was just something to do. She wasn’t like that,” Bea says, voice just as haunted. “She promised that she wouldn’t tell, because she didn’t want people to think there was anything wrong with her.” An empty laugh, sardonic and hollow in a way that Ava’s never heard, escapes Bea’s lips. “Don’t worry, she said, I wouldn’t want people to think there was something wrong with you, either. I suppose in some twisted way, she still cared.”

The thing about Ava is that she’s always capable of more than she thinks she is. They said she’d never walked; now she runs across campus after Mary. They said she’d never be smart enough to go to university; now she’s in the front row of all her classes, her scholarship enough to make sure she doesn’t need to worry about her degree. They said she’d never make friends; now she has six of them who make every single day something more than she ever hoped.

They said she’d never fall in love; now she has Bea.

And when she doesn’t think she can go a little further, push a little harder, she thinks of Sister Frances and the way she told Ava that she’d never be capable of anything.

But she’s capable of this: setting everyone on fire who ever hurt Bea.

Her anger unleashes like a wildfire, and it swells in her chest so brightly that for a moment she can’t breathe. She can’t see straight. She’s imagining Penelope again but all of the softness is gone and she’s a cutting monster knocking Bea to the ground. She tightens her hand into a fist so tightly that sharp pinpricks echo in her palm from her fingernails.

She doesn’t realize she’s nearly growling until Bea’s fingers are working hers apart, smoothing them flat.

“Ava, it’s alright.”

“It’s not.” Her voice sounds stretched thin. “She’s not.”

“She’s gone.”

“But she’s still here.” Ava shakes her head insistently. “She’s still stuck in here.” She presses a single finger over Bea’s heart. “She still has all this space to be cruel. And when I meet her - not if. I’m going to find her - I’m going to make her suffer. I’m going to-”

“You can’t go on a one-woman crusade because someone hurt my feelings.”

Ava stares. “Hurt your- Bea, she didn’t hurt your feelings. She broke them.”

Bea straightens up slightly. “I’m not broken.”

Ava softens instantly, like someone turning out a light. “No. No, you’re not Bea. Of course you aren’t. There’s nothing wrong with you.” She ducks her head, catches Bea’s eyes, and smiles a little. “You’re incredible. You are spectacular. I promise you that.”

Bea exhales. “I’m embarrassed to say someone had such a hold on me.”

“That’s not embarrassing. That’s human.” Ava raises a cautious hand to Bea’s cheek again. “That’s wonderfully, perfectly human.”

“She just…” Bea takes a deep breath. Ava’s hand slips to her jawline. “My whole world ended in a single minute. Everything I did after that felt… fraught. I couldn’t trust her, couldn’t trust anything anymore. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if she was going to change her mind and tell someone how different, how terrible I was. She made me… nervous.”

She made me… nervous, Ava thinks.

Ava feels the soft skin between her eyes wrinkle as she works the words over in her mind. Of course Penelope made Bea nervous. Of course she made Bea doubt everything - every friendship, every interaction. Of course she held so much power over the way Bea engaged in the world. Of course she-

Oh.

Bea, who doesn’t linger too long when she’s looking at Ava. Bea, whose cheeks go pink when Ava dusts a hand down her bare shoulder. Beatrice, who is always the gentleman, always the one to hold back when they seem to be teetering on this invisible line of why aren’t we.

Of course Bea is going to be scared of what their friendship could become. Because she had this happen. She put her whole heart into something only to be told how wrong it was when it was over, how wrong she was, and that none of it was real.

Ava has been wondering why Bea is so afraid of what they could be. She thought if she proved herself, if she stayed when she could have run, then Bea would understand. She thought Bea would look at her and see someone worthy enough of falling in love with. She thought, some nights when the stars on the ceiling just weren’t enough light, that there was something wrong with her. Something that Bea wasn’t telling her because she was too nice to let Ava down so cruelly.

But it’s not her. It’s not Bea. It’s all the ghosts of Bea’s past stacked up against an ‘Enter’ door that are stopping Bea from pulling it open. It’s all these things outside of Ava’s control that’s holding them back.

It all comes together so neatly in her mind. Bea is not going to make the first move. She never was. She’s been leading Ava to this place, but she can’t make the final step. She’s loading the gun but she can’t pull the trigger. She’s putting this in Ava’s hands and hoping that Ava doesn’t break it in two.

Ava’s clumsy on a good day. Boisterous on others. But she’s also been practicing so hard at being still and maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Maybe Bea needs her to move, to run ahead and give in first.

Ava takes a deep breath, feeling it expand in her chest. It’s loud, roaring in her ears. Bea looks at her curiously. Maybe she doesn’t know that Ava has put it all together. Maybe she’s just as confused as Ava was a second ago. But Bea is smart. No, she’s not just smart, she’s Ava-smart. And she can read Ava like one of the dog-eared books littering their breakfast bar.

“Bea.” Her voice is remarkably steady.

Remarkable, because her whole body feels like it’s moving, vibrating at a frequency unable to be heard by the human ear. She catches Bea’s wrist in her fingers, locking them tightly around the delicate bone.

Bea is still, eyes dropping down to where their skin meets. “Yes?”

“Beatrice.”

Her hand is the thing shaking now as it rises up between them and slowly presses to Bea’s cheek, fingernails curling around her jaw. She feels it move as Bea swallows, hears the slight click of it as the silence magnifies. Bea’s eyes widen and she nearly pulls away, Ava’s hand on her face the only thing stopping her.

“Ava, I…”

Ava imagined their first kiss. She’s dreamed of it almost from the moment she met Bea, already wondering what it would be like before she knew who Bea really was - before she knew how good it was going to be. But she read something somewhere about how knowing someone enhanced the experience of loving them. How something steeped in history made the love richer. And the history she has with Bea may be short, but it is rich. Bea knows all her secrets and now she knows all of Bea’s.

So, fucking kiss her, a voice like Mary’s demands.

And isn’t Mary always telling her she has to listen better?

She only closes her eyes just before their lips touch. She wants to see Bea’s face and is rewarded with the fluttering of delicate eyelashes, the slight parting of Bea’s lips, the quiet hitch of her breath and the way her throat bobs as she tries to hold it back. Her hand slips to the back of Bea’s neck, pulling just until her top lip brushes Bea’s bottom one.

Her eyes slip closed as Bea’s bottom lip slips between hers and they’re kissing. They’re kissing. Bea is warm and soft and still. She stays there, intent in the way her mouth clings to Bea’s. I’m here. I’m kissing you. I’m choosing you. And you’re spectacular.

Bea shudders, her whole body coming alive, and she surges forward as Ava starts to pull away. The air goes out of her lungs and she tips backwards a little and she panics, unwilling to break apart now that Bea is kissing her back. But Bea’s hand goes past her, holding her up as she exhales against Ava’s mouth.

They’re so close together, their knees knocking. Bea’s mouth presses hot against hers, closed mouths clinging to each other. She can’t believe it, can’t believe they’re finally kissing and Bea isn’t running - she’s closer as Ava’s shoulders fall back against the bed, Bea’s hand curled around her shoulder as she settles against Ava’s side. Her free hand has found the hem of Ava’s shirt and her knuckles are brushing against the sensitive skin above Ava’s navel, steady and warm.

It’s Bea who takes the hesitant step forward, her lips parting just enough that Ava’s slide, and then Ava can feel Bea breathing as she kisses a little harder, mouths open against each other. It’s Bea who takes a less hesitant step again, the tip of her tongue ghosting along Ava’s bottom lip.

Ava pulled down the last brick, but Bea was a roaring river behind the dam and she kisses like she’s been uncorked. Her fingernails dig into the soft flesh beneath Ava’s shoulder, her knuckles press into Ava’s stomach, and she kisses with reckless abandon.

“Bea,” Ava whispers between kisses. She’s never been one for religion but maybe she’s been worshipping the wrong gods. Maybe this is who she should have been praying to all along.

Bea hums pleasantly against her mouth. She’s bolder now, kisses a little more frenzied. Ava understands. She tightens her hand at the base of Bea’s neck, pulls her closer. Her other hand slides down the flat of Bea’s stomach and curls around her hip bone, thumb stroking over the soft fabric of her sweatpants.

She thought kissing Bea would be amazing but she was wrong. It’s life-altering. She can see everything shifting to accommodate the way Bea’s lips press, hot and open-mouthed, against her own. She’s going to be completely altered after this, her life now in two separate parts: Before Kissing Bea and After Kissing Bea.

Bea’s hum burns into a low moan as Ava’s fingers dig more insistently into the dip of her hip. Ava is addicted now. She kisses harder, body starting to move as she rolls, a leg going over Bea’s until she’s bracketing Bea’s hips. She slides her mouth along Bea’s jaw to just below her ear, following the way Bea pants at the sensation of her teeth against smooth skin.

She needs to be closer. She needs nothing between them. She sits up, holding her weight as she works her fingers in her shirt and lifts it high and off her shoulders. She tosses it onto the corner, adding to the laundry pile, and sits above Bea in her bra with the flamingos on it, her chest heaving in anticipation.

Bea stares up at her, her face flushed and her lips bruised. Hesitant hands go to Ava’s waist, fingers flexing experimentally as they settle just above the hem of her shorts.

“Hi,” Ava whispers.

Bea nods, the line of her throat bobbing. Ava watches as her eyes track down her body, shoulders down to the sliver of skin just above her shorts. It takes her a minute to look back up and meet Ava’s eyes.

“Is this-?”

“Yes,” Bea interrupts. Her fingers feel purposeful now, like she’s burning her fingerprints into Ava’s skin. “I… I want this.”

A niggling thought works its way into Ava’s mind. Just a breath of hesitation. “You’re sure?”

Bea sits up, hands sliding to the small of her back. She blinks, eyes wide but focused. “Ava, I’ve wanted this for…”

“So long,” Ava finishes.

“So long.” Bea’s eyes flutter and she leans forward, mouth brushing over Ava’s collarbone. She feels her eyelashes against her throat. “Are you sure you want me?”

Me, she says unspoken. Me out of everyone else you could have.

Ava puts two strong fingers under Bea’s chin, lifts her face up until their eyes meet. I’ve never wanted anything more sounds too small. But it’s the only way she can think to say it. And when she does, Bea’s smile brightens the room.

Bea presses her lips to the pulse thudding in Ava’s neck, gentle teeth scraping against the skin. Ava breathes in sharply at the feeling of it, of Bea’s fingers working steadily up her back until they’re hesitantly touching the clasp of Ava’s bra. Ava is brave enough for both of them. She reaches back and loosens it, the fabric falling away from her chest. She tosses that away too.

Ava hisses softly when Bea’s fingers skate up her stomach to cup her breast. Her hand is burning, and Ava pushes into it so she can feel herself on fire. It only grows hotter when Bea kisses her collarbone again, teeth a little more insistent as she makes her way down to her own hand.

Ava pulls at the bottom of Bea’s shirt, freeing it from where she’s sitting on it, and pulls gracelessly until it’s over her head and somewhere by the door. She traces the lines of Bea’s navy bra until she finds the clasp and undoes it, flinging it away.

“I’m not going to make a joke about your boobs,” she whispers into Bea’s temple. Her tongue swirls over sensitive skin at Ava’s chest. “But just know that I really want to.”

Bea lifts her head. “I appreciate your restraint.”

“Saint Ava, they call me,” she babbles. “Patron Saint of-”

Her words are swallowed up in a gasp as Bea presses a hand down purposefully down on her waist. It sends a shiver through her and pulls a little bit of a moan from the hollow of her throat, Bea’s eyes widening slightly in surprise.

Ava tucks some of the loose strands framing Bea’s face back behind her ear, cheeks just a little red. “Before we… Before we do anything else, you need to know that I’m not going to be normal about this. Like, at all.”

Bea walks two fingers up her side, using ribs like steps. She moves them across her chest, brushing against her nipple. Ava shivers again. “I don’t know that I’m much interested in normal,” she admits.

Ava arches into her touch. “I’d hope not, considering how much you’re into me.”

She pauses, breath caught in her lungs as she waits for Bea’s reaction. Bea looks up with wide, imploring eyes. She searches for something on Ava’s face, and Ava hopes beyond hope that she finds it.

Not because she needs Bea’s hand to keep doing what it’s doing. Not because she wants to slip her fingers beneath Bea’s waistband. Not because she wants to hover over Bea and nose down the long stretch of what she’s sure is perfect skin from her chest to her belly button.

Because she wants all those things. But she also wants Bea to know she’s safe. That it’s okay to want her. That Ava is going to be someone she can trust, that Ava won’t treat her like something that’s going to break but will hold her gently regardless.

It feels big, to say that. But Bea is right there, a fingertip away, with her lips bruised and her hair starting to tangle around Ava’s fingers, and she thinks: I’m never going to come back from this. I’ll never be the same. What she feels is undeniable and real, the most real thing she has ever known and she would never, ever want to go back, even if she could.

“I am,” Bea finally says, voice a breathless whisper.

“A lot?” Ava asks, a sliver of neediness in her words.

Bea nods, unblinking. “A lot, yes.”

Ava makes a show of breathing a sigh of relief, a relieved smile on her face. “Well, that’s embarrassing for you.”

“Ava.”

Ava buries her reply in a kiss, fingers curling around Bea’s shoulders as she slowly inches her backward onto the bed until Ava is a shadow hovering above her. She wonders what the hollow of Bea’s throat tastes like, and she smiles into the kiss as she realizes she doesn’t need to ask. She breaks away from Bea’s mouth, kissing over the point of her chin and the underside of her jaw and down to the dip of her throat, teeth nipping at sensitive skin as Bea’s breath hitches. She can feel fingers flex at her waist and then tighten more purposefully.

Sensitive neck, she catalogs. She wants to make a list, grow it until she knows all of the places that cause Bea to make that breathless noise.

Bea’s fingers are insistent at her neck, drawing her back up until they’re kissing, harder than they have before. Bea kisses with lips and teeth, her tongue soothing away the nips, while one hand works its way to Ava’s waistband, curling into the thick denim fabric of her jeans.

She would have been satisfied with some heavy making out. Her skin is already burning where Bea’s bare chest is pressed against hers. She can live with this. But Bea doesn’t seem to be able to live with just this. Ava feels the back of her knuckles against her stomach as Bea pops the button of her jeans and works down the zipper. It’s so loud in the silence.

Ava kisses her way down Bea’s throat again then goes lower, tongue leading the way as she flicks the tip of it over a pebbled nipple. There it is again, that breathless noise. The fingers at her waistband freeze, tighten around the denim, and then release. Ava’s hand goes to Bea’s other breast, and she feels it press into her palm as Bea arches her back slightly.

Ava dares to go lower, kissing over the swell of Bea’s breast and down to her navel. She slides back on Bea’s legs, her fingertips light against Bea’s skin above her hip bones.

“Ava,” Bea breathes. She reaches down, hands reaching for Ava’s chin. Ava kisses the center of Bea’s palm as strong fingers curl around her jaw. “Ava.”

She doesn’t know what Bea’s trying to say, but she doesn’t need to. She can feel the heat radiating off Bea, the anticipation. She hooks two fingers in the waistband of Bea’s study-sweatpants, the ones she wears on all-nighters where she’s going to fall asleep sitting up, and starts to work them down a little as Bea’s hips lift off the bed.

She rests her forehead in the dip of Bea’s hip. She’s never believed in a God, but she does believe there’s a higher power out in the cosmos, and they’ve suddenly found her worthy of this gift: Bea stretched out across the sea of her comforter with her eyes closed and her chin tipped into the air as her chest rises and falls with increasingly harder breathes and her hips arching just slightly until Ava feels her against her forehead.

Because shit, this is holy.

A hand snakes its way into her hair, blunt fingernails scratching against her scalp. She can feel them trembling slightly. Ava wants to feel the whole of Bea tremble. She kisses down as she pulls Bea’s sweats down until they’re past the top of her thighs to her knees.

This feels like a moment they can’t come back from. And looking up at Bea, at the way those dark eyes stare into hers and the hand in her hair tightens slightly, she doesn’t want to come back from it. She wants to never, ever come back from this. She only wants what happens on past this moment.

She works Bea’s underwear down until they’re on the floor with her sweatpants in a tangled heap, and she noses her way lower until it’s nothing but heat and something slick against her tongue. Bea keens, hips lifting high off the bed, and Ava presses down hard against them with flat palms, keeping Bea down in one place.

The hand tightens in her hair, Bea’s knees tighten around her shoulders, trapping her in this crystalline moment. She rolls into it, tongue working more steadily as she feels Bea’s hips start to roll in response. She dips lower and soars higher, an unknown melody working into her mind and guiding her as Bea lets a sigh loosen from her throat.

Her hand climbs until she feels Bea’s breast against her palm, and she works her fingers over sensitive skin. Bea’s hand traps hers in place, palm burning. She can feel Bea’s legs start to tremble, and she licks a little more precisely, a little more purposefully.

She swirls, she drives forward and pulls away. She finds a rhythm until Bea’s whole body starts to tighten into an invisible line, pulled taut by an some unseen string. Ava doesn’t stop, even as Bea’s legs tighten around her. Even as that hand in her hair pulls a little harder. Even as Bea’s breathing swells into a hard pant and she lets out a strangled cry of Ava’s name.

She doesn’t stop until Bea’s body melts into loose muscles, until Bea’s hand goes slack in her hair. Everything is hot against her skin. Her tongue eases away, laving up and over Bea’s hip to her navel and charting a slow course to the center of her chest until she’s back at the hollow of Bea’s throat, teeth nipping as she feels Bea’s chest rise and fall rapidly against her own.

Bea draws another ragged breath, a hand up over her red face.

Ava pulls it away and kisses Bea hard, their mouths sliding together. Bea’s fingers curl around her throat, holding her in place when Ava tries to pull away. A tongue dips behind her teeth. Bea inhales sharply, stealing the air from Ava’s lungs.

Bea, still panting softly, hooks a leg under her and twists, rolling until Ava is on her back, and Bea is hovering over her, eyes dark and flashing.

The air punches its way out of Ava’s throat. If she’s cataloging the things that turn her on, this has just gone to the top of the list, right after the way Bea tastes and the feeling of her mouth sliding against hers.

“Bea.” Her voice is strangled and warped between them.

But Bea doesn’t answer her. She works her fingers purposefully down Ava’s front, sliding beneath her waistband without fanfare, without hesitation. Ava’s legs part with a half-breath, the other part of it stuck in her throat.

Then it’s nothing but an overwhelming sensation and the soft sound of Bea panting in her ear as Ava feels the world start to tighten around her. Bea’s breath is replaced by a white static, and there’s a fullness in her that she knows she’s going to be chasing for a while. Her hips lift and fall, a rhythm she knows without having to think about it. She rides it out, settles into it like she’s known it all her life and then-

And then-

Then she’s soaring, hips off the bed and her whole body shaking as she tries to focus on the rhythm again, the whole dance gone from her mind as it’s replaced by fireworks exploding, one after another. She can feel Bea’s hand on her, in her, and nothing else. She’s disconnected from reality except for where Bea is touching her. Floating weightlessly in an in-between where nothing but this feeling and Bea, hot against her side, exist.

She crashes back down, the world slamming back into her head as her legs clench, Bea’s hand between them. Strong fingers slide away and stroke across her thighs before they go up and curl around her side. Her breath comes hard, her pulse pounding in her head. She squeezes her eyes tightly, afraid to open them and see that the whole world has been turned upside down.

She wouldn’t care if it was, is the problem. She wouldn’t care if she suddenly found herself light years away where there was no oxygen in the solar system. As long as Bea is next to her, she doesn’t care.

She opens her eyes slowly and turns her head, finding Bea looking back at her with liquid pools for eyes.

“Hi,” she breathes, the word sticking in her throat.

Bea smiles softly. “Hi.”

“That was…” She inhales raggedly. “It’s never been like that.”

Because I’ve never been in love, she doesn’t say out loud.

Bea is biting on her bottom lip, eyes searching Ava’s face. “Me either,” she finally says.

Ava hums, content and boneless. “We are so doing that again. Soon,” she promises. “When I can feel my legs, it’s over for you.”

Bea laughs a little. “Okay, Ava.”

Ava lets her eyes close again and when she opens them, Bea is still looking at her. It doesn’t unsettle her. She lets Bea drink her in, and she lets her own eyes follow the lithe line of Bea’s body.

“Boobs,” Ava sighs. She curls one hand around Bea’s breast, no intention in the movement.

Bea wiggles around as if it tickles slightly, but she just settles more tightly against Ava’s side.

“I’m going to be insufferable,” she warns.

“So I can expect more jokes about my boobs.” Bea walks two fingers up her side and across her chest, pressing over where her heart is. “What else?”

Ava inhales shakily. “Anything else you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” she promises. “Whenever you want. I’ll be a court jester for you, babe.”

Bea’s face pinkens at the name, but she holds Ava’s gaze for another moment before she rests her head between Ava’s shoulder and neck. “I do find you marginally funny,” she admits lightly.

Ava grins, the smile lazy. “See? You need to tell more people how funny I am. Mary doesn’t believe it.”

The blush doesn’t fall from Bea’s face. “Please don’t talk about Mary while we’re naked.”

“Why not? She’ll think it’s hilarious.” But Ava stretches her neck and kisses Bea’s temple. “But okay. Just this time.”

“I appreciate it,” Bea murmurs. It’s familiar, the exasperation, but it’s tinted with this whole new feeling. A new depth. “Ava?”

“Hmmm,” Ava hums, sleep pressing against her body.

“I can tell you later.” Fingers brush hair off her damp forehead. “Close your eyes for a little bit.”

“Just a little,” she agrees. “And then I’m making you stir fry.”

Warm lips press against the hollow of her throat, humming an okay against her skin. Bea settles against her side as a warm and welcome weight.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she knows she goes quietly and calmly, and that Bea is still there, still pressed against her side, molded to her like she was never meant to be anywhere else.

She wakes up to the smell of paint. Her eyes take a minute to adjust to the light in the corner but she pushes up on her elbow, the comforter over her sliding down to her waist. She blinks as Bea comes into focus.

“You’re painting?”

Bea turns. She’s barefoot, in her underwear again, and one of Ava’s cropped t-shirts that has a white cat in red shadows and I’m not cute I’m purr evil written on it. It hangs a little higher on her and Ava can see the swell of her breasts through it.

She’s the most beautiful woman Ava has ever seen.

And she’s blushing. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Ava sits up more fully, stretching her arms above her head. She watches, a slightly smirk on her face, as Bea’s eyes drop to her chest. But she doesn’t push. There’s time to tease Bea about staring at her boobs. All the time in the world, really.

“How long was I asleep?” She looks at the wall. Bea has nearly finished the whole thing.

“Not long.” Bea puts the paint can down on the stool, balancing the paintbrush on the edge of it. “But you looked…”

“Like a dead fish?” She’s aware of the way she sleeps, limbs thrown about and head rolling back. Years of being unable to move makes it so she never stops now, even sleeping.

“Peaceful,” Bea finishes. She’s hesitating, torn between wanting to do something and worrying about doing it.

So, Ava takes the lead, leaning in until she’s kissing Bea. She feels Bea sigh into it and knows it was the right move, that it’s what Bea wanted to do. She wants Bea to know she can do this whenever she wants. Bea kisses back almost instantly, sliding into an already-familiar rhythm.

She pulls away, a smile on her face. “Hi.”

Bea is a little breathless when she says hi back.

“I thought we weren’t painting.”

Bea looks back at the wall, most of it covered already. “You were right. About leaving our mark on this place. Someone needs to know we were here.”

“If we ever move out.”

Bea smiles. “If we ever move out.”

Ava pulls her legs up under her and Bea’s hand into her lap. “The only place I plan on moving is into your room. Or you can move in here, since we’re already decorating.”

“Oh?” Bea says. Her voice seems tight, like she’s holding something back.

A wiggle of doubt worms its way into her mind. “I mean, if you want to. No pressure. I’m more than happy to stay here and we can pretend like-”

“I don’t want to pretend,” Bea interrupts. She seems surprised by the firmness in her words and she sucks in her lips for a second before she shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure if you- I know you just kissed me but maybe that was you letting me down and-”

“Bea.” Ava waits until Bea’s mouth snaps closed. “I don’t want to pretend. I’ve been waiting months to kiss you, and unless you tell me otherwise, I plan on kissing you at least a hundred times a day.”

Some of the tension drains from Bea’s shoulders. “A hundred.”

“Give or take another hundred.” Ava grins. “One kiss for every time I’ve thought about kissing you the last seven months. Spread out, of course. Otherwise we’d probably be stuck in this apartment for days, just kissing.” She narrows her eyes playfully. “That might not be the worst thing to happen, though.”

“I’d miss finals,” Bea points out.

“Do you really need to pass them? Aren’t you teaching the classes at this point?”

Bea rolls her eyes, fond and exasperated. “Ava.”

“Bea.” She rolls her eyes back. “Fine. If you won’t lock yourself away to make out with me for days on end, what else are you willing to offer me?”

Bea is quiet for a long moment, her hand twisting in Ava’s as she thinks of something. Ava can see it pressing against her teeth, can practically feel the tension of whatever Bea wants to say radiating off her and lighting up the whole room. Ava waits it out patiently, knowing that whatever Bea has to say will be worth it.

She stays still. She waits. Bea has a way of bringing out all of the things in her that no one else has bothered to look for before. And after another minute, Bea looks up.

“Me.”

Ava’s heart clenches in her chest. “You.”

“I’m willing to offer me. Just… me. If you’re willing to accept.”

Ava turns Bea’s hand over in hers and presses two fingers to the thudding bundle of nerves at the base of her wrist. Bea looks down at where they meet and her eyes stay locked there for a moment while Ava watches her.

“If you think there’s anything just about you, then you don’t know the Beatrice I know,” Ava finally says. “Because I’ve never thought there was anything just about you. You always leave the light on for me. And you never make me do the dishes alone. And you don’t mind mushrooms on your pizza. You keep soda in the apartment and you always vacuum when I’m not home.”

A funny smile graces Bea’s face. “I think that makes me good for you.”

“The best,” she agrees. Her smile softens. “I’ve never thought there’s anything just about you. You’re incredibly kind, trustworthy. You’re humble - maybe too humble,” she jokes. “And considerate. And insanely intelligent. Hilarious. My best friend.” She pauses. “And I’m pretty sure you’re the love of my life.”

Bea inhales sharply.

“I know that’s, like, a lot. And I don’t need you to say it back, because I’m not trying to pressure you. But saying it all has lifted some kind of weight off my chest. Like, I didn’t know I was suffocating under not saying anything but I guess that I was,” she babbles. “But honestly, you don’t need to-”

“Ava,” Bea says patiently. She waits until Ava snaps her mouth shut and mimes zipping it closed. “My parents…”

“I’ll kill them,” Ava says cheerfully, looking guilty when Bea’s eyes cut to her. She closes her mouth again.

“My parents made me believe that love had to be earned. That if I wanted it, I had to work for it.” She takes a breath, astonishingly steady. “But you’ve never done that. You’ve never made me work for it. You’ve just… given it. It’s who you are.”

Ava’s smile wavers a little. “Because you don’t need to deserve love.”

“I didn’t know that before you.” Bea shakes her head. “I’ve had to unlearn a lot of things since meeting you. Like that. Like how to not be afraid. Like how to eat pizza. All these things that were so ingrained in who I was that I didn’t think I’d ever know anything different.” She reaches up and cups Ava’s cheek. “You changed all of that for me.”

She thinks Bea is saying I love you. She thinks Bea is saying You’re the love of my life, too.

And then Bea, spectacular Bea, looks into her eyes and says exactly that. “I love you. I’ve loved you since you spilled tea on my very important notes, and I’ve fallen in love with you every day since.”

Ava feels relief flood through her like a dam breaking. “That’s good. That’s really, really good. Because it would be embarrassing to be sitting here naked telling you how much I love you if you’re not going to say it back.”

Bea shakes her head but she’s smiling. “Ava.”

“Beatrice.” Ava curls a finger under Bea’s chin and beckons her forehead. She kisses her slowly and sweetly before she pulls back. “Kiss one of a hundred today.”

A blush spreads across Bea’s face. “You’re not really going to count, are you?”

“I’m going to keep a tally, that’s how serious I am.” She kisses Bea again. “Number two.”

Bae rolls her eyes and when Ava kisses her a third time, she opens her mouth, tongue brushing Ava’s bottom lip. It leaves her breathless when Bea pulls back.

“If I knew getting you in my room would have ended up like this, I would have tried a lot harder,” she says, eyes still closed.

Bea’s lips press against her cheek, then under her eye. “I wasn’t ready for that,” Bea whispers against her skin.

Ava doesn’t open her eyes. “I know you weren’t.”

Bea’s forehead rests against hers. “I am now.”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I won’t stop loving you.”

Bea’s breath ghosts across her mouth. “I am. I’ve never been ready for anything more in my life.”

“Not even your finals? Because you’re really ready for those, even if you think you aren’t.” She feels Bea start to argue more than she sees it, eyes still closed. “I’ve never met anyone who studies as much as you study. Seriously, you’re a beast when it comes to notecards and colored highlighters and-”

She does stop this time as Bea’s lips press against her. She hums, sinking into it. “Oh,” she says when Bea ebbs away. She finally opens her eyes.

Bea is smiling, beautiful and wide. “More than my finals. If only because I’m still not convinced of Thecla’s real contribution to modern religions.”

“I don’t know who Thecla is, but she’s never been less relevant to my interests right now.” Ava twists a strand of Bea’s hair, resting on her cheek, around her finger. “She could be Jesus’ mother for all I care.”

“She’s not-”

“I know she’s not.” Ava grins. “But I like the way you look when I say something wrong.” She presses her finger to the space between Bea’s eyes. “Like you’re not sure if you want to lecture me or kiss me. For the record, I’m very much in favor of the second option.”

Bea’s lips pull up in a slight smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ava breathes in deeply, letting the air fill her lungs as she stretches her arms over her head, noting the way Bea’s eyes follow the lift of her chest. She smiles to herself. Maybe Bea is a boob-girl. She’ll have to weaponize that knowledge for later.

“I think I promised you stir fry.”

Bea opens her mouth to argue.

“And I’m hungry,” Ava says over her. “And can be trusted with a knife. So, I will be making you stir fry, because it’s the one thing I’m good at. And I want to impress you.”

Bea’s smile is fond, and Ava thinks back to the first time she saw it, how it was aimed at Camila and how she wished one day it would be a smile for her. And now here she is, Bea in her shirt and an I love you between them and a smile that is reserved just for her.

“So let me make you stir fry and you can come sit and study some more. In my shirt. Which, by the way, is very sexy.” She winks.

Bea rolls her eyes. “Mine was quite tangled up in the comforter, and this was just the most easily accessible.”

“You have a bedroom about a hundred feet away,” Ava feels the need to point out. Bea’s eyes narrow and Ava grins. “But for the record, I really like seeing you in it.”

Bea blushes a little but stands and opens Ava’s drawer, pulling out a pair of underwear - Ava’s favorite, yellow with pineapples on them - and then a big t-shirt she stole from Mary that has a pug with a pair of aviators on printed across the front. She hands them to Ava.

“No pants?” she asks as she pushes the comforter down and wriggles into her underwear. She pulls the t-shirt on, huffing her hair out of her face.

“No pants,” Bea says simply.

Oh. Okay. She grins and stands up, curling her hands around Bea’s waist and pulling her in. “This is going to be so good. I know it.”

Bea smiles, swaying slightly with her when Ava starts to go back and forth on her feet. “I know it too.” She presses her lips to Ava’s forehead and speaks against it. “Thank you, Ava,” she breathes.

Ava frowns. “For what?”

Bea pulls back and tucks a strand of Ava’s hair back behind her ear. “For waiting for me to be ready.”

“Of course I waited. I love you,” she says easily.

Bea’s smile widens. “I know.”

Ava beams back at her, feeling like everything has slotted into place so neatly. She never wants this moment to break, never wants it to go away. She wants to remain forever in this room with Bea in her arms and the rest of the world somewhere else doing whatever it is they’re doing. All that matters is this moment, these kisses between them, the possibility of what the next moment brings.

She can’t wait.

#THE WAIT IS OVERRRRRRR!!!!!!#sirens going off #warrior nun #forever roommates #guys this took so long i am so sorry but i hope it's worth it #rated m for mature audiences kids #there was so much to this that i didn't even know where to start but eventually we got there #everyone say thank you kay thank you kay #GUYS GUYS there is one more piece to this and it will be compleeeete #elmofire.gif #okay please like this i'm needy and hungover #i got tickets to noah kahan and i feel INVINCIBLE!

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alumints · 5 months

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⚔️ TGAA/DGS Asoryuu dolls ⚔️ I made unofficial Asougi and Ryuunosuke plushies!!! Explore, eat, and fight for justice with your very own aibous ⚖️⚔️ They are 20 cm tall and will include an adoption card! All the stretch goals have been unlocked and the bonus items will be included for eligible orders: ✦ Two stickers will be given per plush ✦ One enamel pin will be given per pair Pre-order end April 30th 11:59 PM PST 🌸 http://alumints.com 🌸

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sexymanxisuma · 6 months

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it's here! the sexymanxisuma 1 year dtiys is here! and its definetly not super late lmao

rules for this dtiys will be under the cut ^-^

there is no time limit! feel free to take as long as you wish or start this whenever you wish! rt has no experation date :)

this is open to fic writers as well! feel free to write something inspired by the drawing!

feel free to change it up! make it more angsty or more light hearted! just keep it vaguely related to the original ^-^

tag me and/or use #sexmayxisuma 1year !! i want to see your takes on this dtiys!! ^-^

other than that, have fun with it!! <3

#xisuma #evil xisuma #xisuma art #evil xisuma art #sexymanxisuma 1year #mod artsy talks #i am very sorry it took me so long to get this done T-T #but i hope the wait was worth it ^-^

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neo-my-geo · 6 months

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Tee hee!! Im not sure if some1 already asked this before but is Eyelander in the dnd au? If so, how?

Yes. But it's called Eyeslander now

#anon I am so sorry for how long it took to answer this #I hope it was worth the wait #tf2 au #demoman tf2 #ask #neo's got the mic #neo's funny art tag

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allylikethecat · 10 months

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omg more prompts!! would love to see matty holding hands with george while he’s stressed out about something and then maybe later laying his head in george’s lap🥺

HELLO THERE ANON,

You sent me this WONDERFUL intimacy prompt literally three months ago, BUT I finally did it, I finally filled it! Better late than never? Right? I want to apologize though for taking so long to get to it, and thank you so much for sending it in. I hope that you're still around to see the response! I ended up combining the two- I hope that was okay! Please let me know what you think! Additionally, if anyone else wants to send in any intimacy prompts, the list can be found here. I can't guarantee that it won't take me three months to finish the next one, but I promise that I *will* eventually. I really enjoy working on prompt fills and even if it takes me forever to actually sit down and write them, just know that I am in fact always thinking about them!

Thank you so much for requesting this prompt, your patience since I am the worst and it took me months, for reading, and for your continued support! I look forward to hearing what you think!

❤️Ally

WARNINGS: Reference to past drug abuse

Holding hands during a stressful situation & Resting your head on your partner's lap

Matty hated flying. He hated the drive to the airport. He hated that they were always, inevitably, caught in stop and go traffic that made his already nervous belly churn, nausea burning the back of his throat. He hated leaving his bag with the airline agent, the worry that it would get lost, that it would get stolen, that it wouldn’t make it to his final destination even as he obsessively tracked its air tagged location on his phone. He hated going through security and border control. He hated taking off his jacket, and shoving his backpack into the plastic bin. He hated the scrutiny of the security agents as they took in his tattoos and the scars on his arms. He was always, without fail, pulled for random, additional screening. He always tried to smile good naturedly, anxiety bubbling in his gut, even if he knew he wasn’t truly chosen at random, drug dogs sniffing his ankles as they swabbed his hands for explosives. At least he got to carry his own passport now, it was no longer in Jamie’s clutches as if he was going to run off to score the second he was left unattended. (He never had even considered fleeing an airport to score, however, he had considered fleeing an airport to run back to the flat he shared with George and hide under the covers of their bed.)

He hated making his way through the crowded terminal, people rushing around him, knocking into him, suffocating him as he tried to remember how to breathe. The straps of his backpack digging into his shoulder. He knew there would be a red mark on the skin when he sat it down, there always was. He loved their fans, he loved them more than anything, but he hated that he could feel their eyes on him as he moved through the airport, taking pictures of him with his eyes downcast, the brim of his baseball hat pulled low as if it would be able to fully hide his mop of curls. Only for the pictures to end up on Twitter moments later, which led to more eyes seeking his location. The braver ones would approach him and ask for a picture with him rather than just of him from a distance. He would force a smile, his arm stiffly around their shoulders as he tried to focus on his breathing, his palms sweating as every fiber of his being screamed danger and run. He hated that they always seemed to be assigned the gate furthest away from the main artery of the terminal. He hated that his anxiety meant he needed to lay eyes on the gate, that he needed to verify that it was real before he could wait with the rest of their group in the lounge.

He hated that once he had dropped off his bag, and made it through security, and checked on his gate, that it was time to wait. Matty was not a patient person, he was even less patient when he was stressed, wanting things the way he wanted them right this instant. Demanding, George had called him one time with an amused smile and love shining in his eyes.

At this particular instant, he was both stressed and demanding, gripping George’s hand as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth as he dragged him through the crowded corridor towards their gate. He was more stressed than even his usual airport levels of airport anxiety. He hadn’t slept the night before, tossing and turning, worrying about the ten hour flight from LA to London they would be embarking on the next morning, popping piece after piece of nicotine gum as they inched towards departures in their rental van. They had played the last show of the tour the night before, and Matty was burnt out and ready to go home. Once at the airport, he had been, as usual, pulled for additional screening, the man that patted him down rough and inconsiderate. He had been stopped by a duo of fans less than five minutes later, forcing a smile as he tried to swallow down anxious tears threatening to spill. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his blood rushing in his ears as a man speaking loudly on the phone bumped into him, splashing him with iced coffee.

“You’re okay,” George soothed, giving Matty’s sweaty hand a comforting squeeze of his own, as the man turned away from them, glaring, as if they were the ones not watching where they were going. He swiped his thumb reassuringly against the back of Matty’s hand.

“The gate is just up ahead,” George said, pointing with his free hand to B37. “We still have an hour ‘til boarding.”

Matty nodded, wishing that seeing the gate with his own eyes would have loosened some of the tension in his chest, the way it usually did. George gave his hand another squeeze and Matty swallowed hard. George had calluses on his fingers and across his palm from years of playing the drums professionally, Matty loved that they slotted perfectly against his own guitarists calluses. Matty loved that George’s hands were so much bigger than his own, dwarfing his hand, his fingers wrapping fully around his own, engulfing them, protecting them from the outside world. He loved that even when he was shaking, even when his palms were disgustingly damp and sweaty, George never let go. He might have been the one clinging to George, but really, George was the one holding onto him. He closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the feel, on the weight of George’s hand, intertwined with his own. He could still feel his heart beating in his ears, but he no longer felt like he was going to drift away, like he was going to be pulled out to sea by the current and lost forever.

George pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Matty’s head. “Let's head up to the lounge, I would kill for a cup of coffee.”

Matty let himself be led through the crowd, their hands connected as if George was the tugboat guiding Matty’s ship to shore. George showed their passes to the hostess and they were granted access, the rest of their group already sprawled out on the couches, bags at their feet, coffee in hand. Matty swallowed a yawn, he was exhausted, and knew that coffee would help, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach the acidic liquid at the moment.

Matty sat down on an open two seater. Matty hated that he had to let go of George’s hand as he made his way over to the coffee bar, pleased that they were reunited a moment later, a steaming paper cup in George’s hand. He dropped into the seat next to him and without thinking Matty found himself leaning over, not caring that technically they were in public, to rest his head in George’s lap.

“I just want to go home,” Matty said softly as George tugged Matty’s hat off to run his fingers through the messy squashed curls.

“Soon love,” said George, “we’ll be home soon.”

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swordgrace · 3 months

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you’d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍�� 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

copyright @ swordgrace; please do not translate, steal, or copy my works and post them onto other platforms or claim as your own.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys targaryen x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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kaiser1ns · 3 months

Text

#. KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE

featuring 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. umemiya hajime, sakura haruka, suo hayato, kaji ren, togame jo, takiishi chika, endo yamato

fluff. since when did you dream of a first kiss with the boy you like. and the chance finally came, but not everything turned out as imagined.

up to 500-600 words per scenario, i tried my best, sorry i'm still trying to describe romantic scenes womp womp, like and subscribe!

UMEMIYA HAJIME

You are so in love with this man that you can't get enough. Literally, you can't get enough of the way he is so oblivious to the hints you drop every single day. He is laughing yet again at something, surrounded by Furin first years and Hiragi at Kotoha's cafe. The desire to smack him on the head and tell him he is so stupid grows faster than the vegetables in his garden. Only Kotoha seems to notice your gloomy mood — you haven't touched the food she prepared, and it makes her worry.

"I'm going to give up if he doesn't do something soon," you tell your best friend, your voice tinged with frustration.

She pats your hand reassuringly. "It'll be okay. Don't mind Hajime's antics. Boys take time to develop, you know."

You thank her and finish your food, but you still want to go home. Being in his presence feels draining right now. You quietly say goodbye to Kotoha and immediately leave, while she wonders what she can do to help you out.

You aren't far away when you hear running footsteps behind you and the voice you knew all too well. "Y/N, wait for me, please!" It's Umemiya, running worriedly towards you. You turn to face him as he pants from the exertion. "Kotoha said you wanted to talk about something with me. Is that why you left?"

Oh my, this girl. How dare she does this to you? You didn't want to tell him, you were supposed to be mad at him. "It seems that I have forgotten what I was going to say," you murmur, turning on your heel to walk away again. But he hugs you from behind, his grip strong and tight, your back against his chest.

"You wanted to have your first kiss, right?" There it goes, your best friend spilled everything to her brother. "I've noticed everything you did to indicate your wants and needs. I was just waiting for the right moment, when we aren't with people, like this ..."

He lets you go, turning you around and kissing you. His eyes are closed, but yours widen in surprise. The feeling of his lips on yours and his hands on your back makes you relax. You're a blushing mess, a whirlwind of butterflies and emotions coursing through you. Hands find their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat race as fast as yours.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes meet yours, filled with a tenderness you've longed to see. "I'm sorry it took me so long," he murmurs, his voice soft and sincere. You smile, your heart swelling with the butterflies going there instead. "You better make it up for all the waiting."

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I guess I am a bit dense, huh?" You laugh, the sound light and genuine, laying your head on his chest and hearing his heartbeat once again as he hugged you "Just a bit."

As he walks you to your home, hand in hand, you can't help but think about Kotoha and how she played Cupid, knowing exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t.

SAKURA HARUKA

You’ve heard it all before, the endless litany of self-deprecation and doubt that spills from Sakurs’s lips like a broken record. It’s a familiar routine by now, his recounting of how he doesn’t deserve kindness or acceptance, how your sweetness to him feels misplaced. His voice wavers with each confession, half-hoping you’ll agree and half-fearing you’ll walk away.

“I don’t get why you’re so nice to me,” he says for the umpteenth time, eyes downcast. “I don’t deserve it.” Your eye twitches. You’ve had enough. The words repeat in your head, grating on your nerves. You care about him deeply, but his lack of self-worth is starting to drive you insane. He’s strong, capable, a fighter in every sense of the word—except when it comes to himself.

“Oh my god, Sakura, stop with this bullshit,” you snap, sharper than you intended. He blinks, taken aback. “Hah!?”

“Stop talking about yourself like that. It’s so frustrating. ‘I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve that.’” You mimic his tone, letting your irritation seep through. His eyes narrow, anger mixing with confusion. "Huh!?" He clenches his fists, the familiar motion of cracking his knuckles following. It’s a gesture meant to intimidate, but you’ve seen it too many times to be scared. “Shut up before I make you,” you threaten.

He meets your gaze gaze, unflinching. “Make me then. Let your fists do the talking.”

That’s it. The breaking point. You stand up abruptly, closing the distance between you. He braces himself, expecting a fight. You can see the conflict in his eyes, torn between his instinct to fight and his deep-seated fear of hurting you. Instead, you grab his face with both hands and pull him into a kiss. It’s sudden, forceful, and completely unexpected. His body tenses up, then melts against you, stunned into silence.

When you pull back, his face is a shade of red you didn’t think was possible to achieve. He’s a mess of incoherent sounds, his mind clearly struggling to process what just happened. “W-what… Huh!?”

“You shouldn’t talk so much crap,” you say calmly, sitting back down. “It’ll lead you to problems.”

He stands there, dazed and silent, a stark contrast to his usual self. You relish the quiet, the absence of his self-doubt hanging in the air. Finally, a moment of peace. Sakura haven't said a word all day, lost in his thoughts. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, hoping that your impulsive act has left an impression, that maybe he’ll start to see himself the way you see him.

SUO HAYATO

The boy himself, the living legend of making people accept his requests with his teasing smile, is sitting next to you. His beautiful dark brown eyes make you melt like chocolate left out in the hot sun. Suo Hayato, the enigma from the neighboring school, is here in your living room, surrounded by your scattered chemistry notes. You begged him for help with your homework, and in his usual style, he agreed with a condition. You, expecting another teacake request, readily agreed.

The two of you sit on the floor, papers spread out across the table. Hayato explains the properties of alkaline metals and their reactions. His hand occasionally brushes against yours, sending a jolt through your system each time. He notices your reactions, the subtle glances you steal, the way you tense and relax. He is enjoying himself, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“And that’s all. I’m sure you’ll ace the test, L/N-san,” he concludes with a smile.

A few days later, you find yourself beaming as you show him your test. Maximum points. You’re the only student with a perfect score, and Hayato knows it. His smile widens, and his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

“I knew you’d do it. But don’t you forget something?” he prompts.

Ah, yes, his reward. “No, I didn’t forget, Suo-kun.” You reach into your bag and pull out a box of homemade teacakes. “Here, just the way you like them.” He takes the box, smiling with one eye closed, the other hidden beneath his signature eyepatch. “Oh, thank you very much. So kind as always.” he pauses “But I wanted something sweeter.”

Confused, you stand there trying to figure out what he means. Wasn’t he on a diet? Perhaps you should brew him some tea. He chuckles, observing you and most possibly reading your thoughts.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want freshly brewed tea.” His voice is soft, but there's an edge to it. How does he always know what you’re thinking? Does he know you wanted to kiss him while you studied? His perceptiveness is both thrilling and intimidating.

“So what do you want?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. He closes the distance between you in a heartbeat. “You.”

Before you can process his words, his lips are on yours, warm and insistent. Your bag slips from your shoulder, landing with a soft thud. The kiss is everything you imagined and more, a perfect blend of surprise and inevitability. You feel the chemistry, the undeniable connection between element Suo and element Y/N, strong and unbreakable.

You pull away, still in shock, as he steps back. His hands are behind his back, holding the box of teacakes, but his eyes are fixed on you. He turns to leave, but glances back over his shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting for more chemistry tests to help you out,” he says, a promise in his voice. And you know, without a doubt, that his request will always be met.

KAJI REN

You had always admired the way Kaji Ren seemed to be in his own world, headphones clamped over his ears and a strawberry lollipop lazily balanced between his lips. He was lost in thought, probably wondering about you, always worried—if you needed help, how your day went, if there was someone he needed to deal with for you. His obliviousness gave you the perfect opportunity. You appeared in front of him and, snatching the lollipop from his mouth, putting it in your own.

"What the—" His initial reaction was irritation, a typical Kaji Ren tantrum brewing, until he saw you standing there, and that devilish look in your eyes. You were still in your school uniform, like you always are when he waits to walk you home.

"Oh, strawberry one. My favorite." You teased, a smile tugging at your lips. He scoffed, too tired to engage in your banter, as started walking behind you, when you suddenly stopped. Before he could react, you snatched his headphones and dashed off.

You were fast, but Kaji was faster. In a heartbeat, he caught up, slamming you gently against the nearest wall, his arms caging you in. You looked up at him, a devilish grin on your face.

"Now, what, Ren?" you taunted, breathless.

For a moment, he just stared, as if trying to figure out his next move. Then, in a move that surprised both of you, he grabbed the lollipop from your mouth and tossed it on the ground. His lips crashed onto yours with a hunger and urgency that sent the butterflies right into your stomach. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, tasting the sweet strawberry flavor that lingered on your lips.

You kissed back with equal hunger, your hands tangling in his hair. Time seemed to stand still as you both poured everything into that kiss. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, as you stared at the blonde boy.

"Do you want to try an apple flavor next time?" you asked, a teasing once again.

"Shut up," he muttered, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. He snatched his headphones back and started walking again, but you weren’t ready to let go just yet. You ran up to him and slipped your hand into his. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, but instead, he squeezed your hand tightly.

TOGAME JO

You never go into Shishitoren territory without Togame. He’s your personal bodyguard, a very fine one at that, and he insists on accompanying you every time. Texting him is a lost cause—he never responds. At least, that’s what he wants you to believe, even though your texts are the only ones he ever reads. So, you always call to tell him you are under the bridge, waiting for him.

Tonight, the two of you are wandering down a bustling street, searching for a pub to settle in. The crowd is big at this time of the night, and Togame keeps his hand firmly on your waist, ensuring you stay close. Despite him wanting to keep you close and safe, you are always slipping away, and it drives him crazy.

You meander through, your curiosity piqued by a very interesting shop window. Something inside catches your eye, and you pause to admire it. Meanwhile, he is frantic, scanning the crowd for any sign of you. When he finally spots you, relief floods his body, quickly replaced by an angry expression. The Shishitoren vice-capitain makes a note to buy the item for you tomorrow, but now is not the time. He strides over and grabs your hand, pulling you towards a quieter, more secluded area.

“What if something happened to you? Do you know how much I’d regret that?” His usual slow, measured speech is now rapid and laced with frustration.

You look down, guilt washing over you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He sighs heavily, his expression softening as he sees your sad face. Gently, he tilts your chin up, his fingers brushing away the few tears that have escaped. “Don’t cry now, pretty girl.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss. You hadn’t expected your first kiss to happen like this, in a quiet, dimly lit alley, but it’s with Togame Jo, and that’s all that matters.

His hands cradle your face, thumbs tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You close your eyes, relaxing in his touch, your heart pounding in your chest. It is soft, tender, and unhurried. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the two of you in this moment. His lips are warm, and he takes his time, savoring the feel of you, as butterflies made their way to your stomach. When he finally pulls away, you’re both breathless, faces mere inches apart.

He presses his forehead against yours, a small smile playing making its way, reassuring you that everything was fine, “Just... don’t do that again, okay?”

You nod, still dazed from the kiss. He entwines his fingers with yours, leading you back to the crowded street, but this time, his grip is gentler, more safe. The bustling city seems a little less overwhelming with him by your side, and you can’t help but smile, stealing glances at him, your heart fluttering with every step. Togame catches your eye and squeezes your hand, his own smile growing wider.

TAKIISHI CHIKA

He showed up at your house, knocking on the window as you sighed, getting up from your bed. You, of course, let him in, seeing how he was again stained with blood that was not his. It was the same every time: he came to you so you could patch him up, fix him, give him a shower, change of clothes and a place to sleep in. You never ask questions, and he never offers explanations. Tonight is no different as you sit in his lap, bandaging his face and hands.

You're not a couple; you're not anything. It’s complicated. There are unspoken words between you, a delicate balance that neither of you dares to disrupt. As you sit on his lap and clean his face, you find yourself closer than before. His yellow eyes, intense and piercing, lock onto yours, heart races, each beat echoing in your ears. You’re getting closer, inch by inch. Hesitation grips you, your breath caught in your throat.

"Don't move." Just as you think of pulling away, his hand moves behind your head, gently but firmly pushing you forward. Your lips meet his in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s surprising, the gentleness of it, especially coming from someone as fiery and unpredictable as Chika. The kiss is brief, a fleeting moment that feels that for once you were something. When it ends, you pull back slightly, searching his eyes for any hint of what this meant to him. But his expression is the same as every day. And then you are back to becoming nothing.

For you, it meant everything. It’s a confirmation of the connection you’ve always felt but never acknowledged. But what did it mean for him? You're not sure, and you don't dare to ask. Not now. Maybe not ever. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. You can think about this later. Right now, he still needs you. You focus on his injuries, cleaning and bandaging.

Chika watches you work, his eyes never leaving your face. You can feel the weight of his gaze, and it only makes you more aware of your own feelings. But you don’t let it distract you. You finish bandaging his hands and move to check for any other injuries, your fingers brushing against his skin, meanwhile, he gently caresses your thighs with his thumbs leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

When you’re done, you lean back, surveying your work. He looks a bit better now, though still battered and bruised. You meet his eyes again, and this time there’s something different there. Something softer, more vulnerable — a golden hue reflects the dim light, adding a warm, almost ethereal quality to the sun.

“There all done,” you say quietly, unable to trust your voice to say more. You stand up, as you don't want to leave his embrace but you have to clean up the supplies scattered around and prepare a bath. As you move around the room to get him new clothes you can feel his eyes on you, following your every move. You wonder if he’s thinking about the kiss, about what it meant. You wonder if he feels the same confusion, the same longing, the same love.

ENDO YAMATO

The wind lifting strands of his dark hair and whipping them around his face. He’s talking about something, his tattooed hands tracing patterns in the air. But you’re not listening. You’re caught up in the way his lips move, the curve of his smile, the glimmering in his eyes.

"...and Takiishi was there, you know? Doing that thing he always does," Endo continues, oblivious to your silent longing. Takiishi Chika. Again. You frown, a little annoyed now. Why does he always have to bring up Chika?

"Endo," you say, softly at first, hoping to catch his attention. He doesn’t notice.

"Takiishi’s just so unpredictable. I never know what he’s going to do next."

"Endo," you repeat, louder this time. Still, he’s lost in his own world, his words tumbling out like the wind itself, unstoppable and carefree.

"And then, Takiishi—"

"Endo!" You say it sharply, frustration bubbling up inside you. He finally pauses, blinking at you in surprise. You take a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, before he can say anything, you reach up and grab his collar, pulling him down to your height. His eyes widen in shock, but you don’t give him time to react. You press your lips to his, silencing him in the most effective way you know.

Feeling his lips against yours, the taste of his breath mingling with your own. It’s not perfect. It’s rushed and a little clumsy, your noses bump awkwardly, and you can feel him tense. But it’s real. It’s happening. And it’s better than any dream.

When you finally pull away, he’s staring at you, confusing and amusing gaze. His hands, still raised from his gesticulations, hover in the air, uncertain.

"Ah," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I’m not good at judging people, am I?" You laugh, knowing how he chooses people and how his expectations are later contradicted, that right now is happening with you, "No," you agree, your voice soft. "You’re really not."

He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I guess I was talking too much."

"A little," you admit, your heart still racing. "But it’s okay."

He steps closer, his hand brushing against yours, indicating his motives. "Can I try again?" he asks, his voice quieter now, the playful edge gone. You nod, your breath hitching in your throat. "Please."

This time, when he kisses you, it’s slower, more deliberate. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin as you live your dream.

2K notes · View notes

allywthsr · 7 months

Text

WRONG PERSON | (l.norris)

summary: you send a sexy video to some tinder guy, until you realize you tapped Lando‘s contact instead, you both help the other to finish what you started

wordcount: 2.4k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: smut!, talking about toys, details about masturbation, phone sex, dirtytalk

notes: inspired by this!!! Tell me what you think, I‘m still scared to write smut, hope you all like this🫣

You were working for Quadrant, it wasn’t like you were some important boss or something, you mostly dealt with customers and sometimes got to plan a video, but Lando still took the time and got to know you. When the whole team went out for dinner, Lando talked to everyone for at least twenty minutes, he wanted to know who was working for him and his brand.

There was no denying you found him handsome, everybody thought he was pretty, but you needed to hide your excitement in your panties whenever he was near you. Not only did he make eye contact every time you two talked, but he also smelled delicious, you wanted to rip his clothes off, the whole time he was near you.

But back to where you were now, laying in bed naked, at almost one am, with your phone in your hand. You were single and desperate, texting with guys from Tinder, who were not worth more than a quick fuck, but you were young and had your needs.

With your phone in one hand, and your left boob in the other, you recorded a small video, where you were squeezing your boob and moaned slightly. You‘ve been snapchatting with a guy you met on Tinder, both of you were horny and needed a release, so why not help each other? You quickly wrote a text to the video, to make it more seducing, ’ You make me so wet…‘ and taped on the slot on Snapchat where he was for the last few snaps, before you could double check that you selected him, you hit sent and threw the phone next to you.

While you waited for his answer, your hand slowly made its way to your pussy, circling your wet clit. With a moan, you teased yourself and kept stopping the sensation in your most private area. When you heard the Snapchat notification tone, you took your phone in your hand and only saw that Lando send you a snap, it wasn’t unusual that he would snap you, you two were streaking after all, but at that time was a little odd, because you were kinda bored and waiting for your guy to reply, you withdraw your fingers from your wet cunt and opened Lando’s snap.

With a gasp, you threw away your phone, the first photo was a normal snap, a picture of his bedroom with some series on Netflix playing, but when you tapped on the screen to exit the snap, a new picture popped up. You could see his hand holding his boxershorts clothed dick, he was hard and big, long and thick. He also wrote a little text, you had to read it twice, making sure your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you, ’was this meant for me, babygirl?‘

You didn’t know what to do, so you did nothing for a few seconds, you didn’t feel horny anymore, suddenly aware of the cold air hitting your still-hot pussy. Should you reply and apologize, saying how you accidentally sent your boss a nude, and look him in the eye at the next dinner? Impossible.

You thought about leaving the country and starting all over again, where no one knew Lando, but that wasn’t a solution either, you had to face him and say that it wasn’t meant for him. But how can you get rid of the image in your head of his dick, the only thing that was roaming through your brain right now was how lucky his future wife would be. With a dick like that, she sure would be happy for the rest of her life.

You excited the snap and took a deep breath, what were you going to say, sorry I send you a nude, but your dick looks nice? No. It took you at least two minutes to think about it and when you took a picture of half your face and started writing a paragraph of apologies, your phone showed you an incoming call.

Lando Norris.

Shit. Your whole body tensed, you couldn’t answer, you just had to pack your things and go, leave London and Lando behind, but something in you didn’t want that, and after what seemed like hours, you did answer the call.

”Hey Lando, look uhm, I‘m sorry I sent you that video, it wasn’t meant for you, obviously. B…But thank you for responding, I mean that picture was nice, but I don’t think that this uhm professionalism between us should be broken. If.. if you want me to leave Quadrant, I‘ll do that.. uhm I’m sorry for sending you that, and I-“

”Y/N, will you stop rambling?“, his voice sounded like he was out of breath, you started shaking when you heard him speak.

”I‘m sorry, for rambling and sending you the video.“

He chuckled, ”Don’t be, maybe you could’ve seen by my response, that I wasn’t mad about it. Sure having your employee suddenly sending you a video where she squeezes her boob and moans, isn’t something I‘d expect, but you have beautiful boobs.“

You didn’t know what to say, so the only thing that came out of your mouth was a: ”Thank you?“, you could hear your heartbeat in your chest, the silence on the other line panicked you.

”But, maybe this is unprofessional of me now, but you left me in a kind of hard situation, Y/N. I bet you’re still wet if your fingers would slide between your legs, aren’t you?“

Your breath hitched, was this for real? Was Lando Norris, your boss, dirty talking to you?

”I..I don’t know, it was a pretty big shock to see you replying, I‘m not as horny as I was ten minutes ago.“

”Then I want you to glide your hand over your boobs and stomach, down to your pussy, I bet it’s pretty, and then tell me how wet you are.“

With a small sigh, you did what he told you, gliding over your boobs and stomach to your pussy, you touched your entrance slightly and felt yourself pulsating, you may not be as horny anymore, but your wetness said otherwise, maybe a part of you already found it hot that Lando actually replied to you.

”Fuck, I‘m so wet Lando.“

You heard a moan from the other line and some sheet rustling, ”Baby, I want you to touch yourself like you would do without me. Finger yourself, rub your clit, do whatever satisfies you. I‘m hard as a rock baby, I need to touch myself too, I wish you were here to do it for me.“

You did as Lando told you, rubbing your clit in circles and feeling yourself come closer to the edge, this whole situation was so hot, it turned you on so badly.

”Please touch yourself, Lando, I wish I was there to help you.“

”I could eat you out until you’re crying and begging me to stop because you would be overstimulated.“

Another moan escaped your mouth and slowly you let your fingers slip into you, which was no problem due to your wetness, but it wasn’t enough, you needed more, thankfully Lando seemed to know what you were thinking when he heard your unsatisfied moans.

”Do you need more baby? Are your fingers not enough, you need my dick to stretch you out?“

You let out whiny and breathy ’yes‘, this situation was so bizarre but hot at the same time.

”Do you have any toys, Y/N? I want you to use a toy on yourself.“

”I..I do.“

”Show me.“

”Can we switch to FaceTime? It’s easier, and I want to see you.“

Lando hummed and muttered a quick goodbye before the screen with the call disappeared, the only thing you could see on your phone now was the picture you took a few minutes ago, and before you could do anything else, the FaceTime call from Lando came in. You answered without thinking about it and you were greeted with a big and girthy dick, and your mouth watered a little. You held the phone up, so he could see your face and your boobs, which he commented with a quiet ’fuck‘.

”Show me your toys, baby.“

You quickly got up and propped the phone against your lamp that stood on the nightstand, while you looked under your bed to fish out the box with your toys. It wasn’t like you were some pornstar and had thousands of toys, but over the years you had collected a fair amount of little helpers.

By now Lando had switched back to his face, so you could see his little beard and his eyes, he kept biting his lower lip, while watching you.

You opened your box and grabbed the first toy you saw, a standard dildo, it was skin-colored and a bit longer and thicker than the normal ones. You showed it to Lando and he groaned, tilting his head back, ”Is that your favorite?“, he asked.

You shook your head and pulled out a pink satisfyer, it was a mixture of a vibrator and dildo, but it also had a clit sucking element. That one was your favorite, you had spent hours with this beauty, and it never left you hanging. ”This is my favorite, you don’t know how good this feels.“

”Tell me about it.“

”It’s so fucking good, Lando. This clit sucking thing? It feels like heaven, it gets me there within a few minutes, the fastest I‘ve ever had an orgasm.“

”I bet I could get you there faster.“

That statement left you with a smirk, only the thought of Lando going down on you, made your head spin, you needed that.

”I can see that you’re imagining it right now, I bet you taste amazing, I would finger you, while lapping at your clit, you would be so full.“

You shut your eyes, and whined, your pussy clenching around nothing.

”What else do you have in there?“

”I have a wand“, you lifted the typical wand and dropped it on the bed, ”I also have a rabbit vibrator, and this“, you lifted another pink vibrator, but this one was smaller.

”You know what this is for, Lando?“

”I‘ve seen it in porn“, he smirked, ”have you ever let someone control it while being somewhere public?“

You nodded, it was a vibrator that you would insert into your pussy and it could be controlled with an app, you‘ve only used it once with someone.

”I was on a date with someone from Tinder, and we‘d been sexting for days and I gave him the app and he controlled it over dinner, it was an experience and I loved it.“

”I want to control it in our next meeting, seeing you tremble over some video ideas is going to be fucking hot.“

Another wave of pleasure rushed through your body, you couldn’t believe you were talking that way with your boss, unbelievable.

”I want you to use that rabbit on you.“

You chuckled, and held the rabbit vibrator into the camera, ”This one?“

Lando nodded eagerly, with a smirk you opened your mouth, dared your tongue out, and licked a long stripe over the part that goes inside of you. After a few licks, you put it fully in your mouth and started sucking it.

You could see how Lando started touching himself again, his eyes closed every now and then and he let out small whimpers. This was your sign that you needed to touch yourself too, so you laid on the bed and flipped the camera to your lower part, where the vibrator was circling your clit. Lando also flipped the camera and you saw his dick that was already leaking pre cum, he moved his thumb over his tip every now and then while moving his cock through his fist, collecting the white fluid. Due to your wetness, the vibrator slipped inside of you with ease, you turned it on and gasped when you felt the vibrations.

”Do you like that? Having your pussy stuffed.“

”Yes, Lando, yes. I need you here next to me.“

”I need you too, wrapped around my cock, you would be screaming and keeping up the neighbors all night.“

With a loud moan, you could feel yourself getting closer to a release, the tip edging your clit made you almost scream and the way you moved the vibrator in and out of you, made you see stars. Lando also was about to cum, he saw that your pussy got wetter and wetter, your fluids squeezing out of your cunt every time the vibrator left it.

”I’m about to cum, Y/N. Show me your face, are you cumming soon?“

You moaned loudly again and flipped the camera, just like Lando did, “Yes, Lando, I wish it was you filling me so well.“

With a loud moan and a lot of curses, Lando spilled his cum all over his hand and stomach, he quickly flipped the camera again, now showing you the mess he created, “That’s all for you, baby, I wish it was inside of you instead on the stomach. Cum for me Y/N, let go.“

While he said those words to you, you felt yourself falling over the edge, with moans and grunts. Lando was sure he never heard something so sexy, those sounds alone made him horny again, he needed to feel you close.

When both of you came down from your highs, you two let out a laugh, realizing what you just did, you had phone sex with your boss, but it felt right and good, and the way his cum sat on his stomach, made you horny again, you needed him.

“You feeling better now?“

“Lando, you’ve no idea, so much better than the weird Tinder guy the video actually was for.“

“I bet, but I still need you, Y/N.“

“Are you in London?“

He hummed.

“Well, my bed is cold without you in it, if you want, my pussy is ready for you, Lando.“

“Send me your address, I’ll be over in ten minutes, you better not start without me, or you’ll get punished.“

Part two

taglist: @millinorrizz @jamieeboulos @loxbbg

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #formula 1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando norris one shot #lando imagine #lando norris smut #smut #Lando

2K notes · View notes

aklaustaleteller · 4 months

Note

heyy how are you! i have this idea that wont leave my head, the reader is scared of love and runs away from it and keeps pushing anyone that tries anything away, but klaus does everything to prove to her that his intentions are pure, and after he does with a little while, she find out about him being a hybrid (maybe she gets really scared) and he has to grovel his way into her life

Mendable Inside Your Ribs

Y/n, all her life, had reached for love and then felt her white-knuckled dying grip on it slip. Then suddenly, Klaus comes in her life looking like the light at the end of the tunnel – and maybe, just maybe, their monsters have more in common than they originally thought.

Warnings - Mentions of animalistic urges, monstrosity, blood, wounds and bruises but it's all in a metamorphic manner (well, except for the blood) Word Count - 3.2k

Finally, Anon, I'm posting your request! I'm so sorry I took so long, but I truly hope that you find the wait worth it once you're done reading this! I could've written this in an entirely different and simpler manner, but I was already half-way through it already written it in a poetic/metamorphic way, so I hope you guys still enjoy it for I am quite proud <3 Please do tell me if you do!

Y/n, all her life, had reached for love and then felt her white-knuckled dying grip on it slip. So many times had it happened that now she was found sat with her hair tangled, dried blood and dirt on her face and inside her nails with crooked teeth, clawing at her own skin sitting in a corner, rocking herself back and forth to comfort herself as she saw love creeping towards her with a smile so sinister that it could make shivers run down the devil’s spine.

From her parents shaming her for wanting something so simple as love, to her romantic partners who’d always stumble a couple steps back upon realising just how hungry she was for love – how animalistic she could get just for an ounce of it.

All of it turned her into a person as cold as a tombstone standing over a dead person’s grave, unfeeling and unmoving.

But when she would feel, it felt like her own heart was pushing her head under the water, holding her in there until she had only one more breath left in her. It made her want to snarl and to hiss, to bite and to claw at the person who made her heart leap out of her chest.

Which would then make her turn and run the other way as fast as her feet could carry her, back to the corner where she belonged. Sometimes she would raise her head and look at the walls inside of her, reading the numbers she had madly tally-marked on them to keep track of just how many days she had kept herself chained there. And somewhere along the passing time, she’d begun defeatedly losing count.

Yet as she sat in that very corner and raised her head this time, she saw something bright. Almost like a light at the end of the tunnel. So she’d gotten forward on her hands and moved on her knees, curiosity pulling her forward until she reached the border which she’d have to cross to get to the other side.

And that’s when she saw him standing there – Klaus Mikaelson. Smiling down upon her like she was the cutest lamb he’d ever come across, instead of falling backwards because he actually saw the love-hungry animal that she was.

So, she had taken it upon herself to back off, and ran away from him. But horror crept over her and held her tight when she saw that he had followed her back inside, back to her corner where she resided.

“Love,” she heard him whisper as he brought his open hands in front of him, wanting her to place her own calloused ones in them and come with him.

But she never did, always turning away with a growl so that he’d leave. But every time she’d look his way to check if he’d finally left, she’d find him still standing there, with that same smile and those same open arms.

“Go away, Klaus,” she said coldly, looking away so her dead eyes wouldn’t have to witness hurt flash through his starry eyes.

He wanted nothing more than for her to see herself the way he saw her. Wanted for her to know that he was the one who’s undeserving of her love, actually. He was the animal here, not her.

But she profusely denied all of his pleas and begs, holding herself strictly uptight so that she wouldn’t fall into pieces upon him and crush him under the weight of all her grief, anger and tragedy.

He just couldn't seem to get through to her, no matter how hard he tried. So he just decided to remain persistent, and show her how truly pure his intentions are via small acts. Like buying her gifts that he knew would matter to her, such as those small plants that never grow, or random postcards that he knew she put up on her walls, or books that he’d annotated for her to get her to take a glimpse into the way he saw her.

But sometimes, those acts got rather intimate. Like that time he brushed her hair for her for a week long when she had broken her wrist, or that night when he took her feet in his lap to massage them gently after she’d given her best performance on stage. Hell he’d even gone as far as to cook for her on especially hard nights so that he could feed her his love.

And maybe he was just growing delusional now, but he was beginning to feel like she was taking down her walls around him brick by brick. She no longer glared at him with those ice cold eyes when he would enter into a close proximity to her, nor did she sneer at him to go away.

Instead, he saw her eyes grow a little wider when he’d enter the same room as her, the dead stare tucking itself away for other people as some life took a dive in her eyes. And he heard a lullaby in her voice when she’d greet him back, her body turned towards him and eyes on him to give him all of her attention.

That’s how he knew that he had brought her away from that corner and back to the very border, again. And he also knew that he now had to tread carefully so that she wouldn’t go back, tumbling away from him.

And Klaus didn’t know if the Salvatore brothers telling her all about the supernatural world, about who The Klaus Mikaelson was, was his fault or not.

But what he did blame himself for, was for lowering his guard when he’d brought her just one step away from crossing the border and loosened his grip on her because the moment she was told about his past, not only did she go fumbling back but she also left crescent moons dug in his shoulders from when she’d been shaking him, sobbing loudly and crying out for him to tell her that all of it wasn’t true.

But Klaus couldn’t lie to her, so he’d stood frozen with tears spilling from his eyes as she ran back to her corner, tally-marking another day after so long that her eyes had taken a moment to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her again, this time, more like an evilly laughing capturer instead of holding her in it’s arms like a pitiful mother.

Y/n awoke this morning with her eyes puffed up, it happened every time she went to sleep exhausted out of her mind. And as the flashes of last night began reeling through her mind again, her eyes grew moist and her vision grew blurry while she climbed down the stairs to go into the kitchen.

Grabbing a glass of water she chugged it down, leaning over the sink and mumbling to herself that everything was fine, that she was fine. Her eyes remained shut but tears slipped out regardless, sniffling sounds echoing through her house as she tried not to retain any of the information that had been dumped on her.

“He’s a …hybrid,” Stefan had said, looking at her through his lashes like he was talking to a child about how tooth fairies aren’t real.

“And what’s that?” She asked, a feeling in her gut telling her that it was, in no way, a sweet creature.

“He’s half vampire, and half werewolf,” Damon finished saying behind her.

Breath was knocked out of her lungs at that. She’d always had her suspicions about some certain people surrounding her, like Stefan and Damon themselves, but never once had she felt anything remotely scary when Klaus would stand in front of her.

Perhaps it was because of his big starry eyes, and those unruly blonde curls that he kept trimmed for some reason. Or those dimples that would shy away from her gaze and that mouth which would always stretch into a smile upon her sight. Or, those hands that held her so gingerly, and those feet that held the weight of her body as he carried her home.

And maybe it was the fact that he’d never once told her about this himself, that hurt the worse. He had lied to her, or kept the truth from her, dare she say to defend his honour. But it felt like a punch square in the chest when she learned about the blood that stained his hands, his clothes, his face and his mouth.

Despite that horrifying revelation, she had run straight to his home and shouted at him to come outside. And the moment he had, she was pushing and shoving at him, putting her hands on his shoulders and shaking him, crying – “tell me they are lying! Tell me that you aren’t what they say you are, that you have no blood on your hands!”

“Tell me!” She had broken down, resting her head on his chest as she let out the sobs.

“Tell me this wasn’t your intention!” She shook him again and Klaus had opened his mouth to agree with her, but she had fallen to her knees then, looking up at him with tears staining her cheeks and blood swirling in her eyes.

“Please don’t take me home,” she had told him despite the hot tears streaming down her face and fog settling in her mind. “I can never go home now,” she whispered, scared.

Home was something that was supposed to be a constant in one's life, that one returned to every single day. And there hadn’t been anything like that for her until Klaus. And now that the shelter of his frame had been uprooted and thrown away, cold rain scraped at her skin all over again as she scrambled around to find her corner to go back to.

She didn’t want that corner to be her home but time and time again, it was proven to her that it was – whether she liked that or not.

Taking deep breaths to gather herself, Y/n went back up to her room to get ready for the day – knowing that all she was going to do was read and write and water her dying plants and maybe bake some biscuits that she was never going to get Klaus to taste now.

And just as she came back to make her first cup of tea, she heard a hissing sound and turned to see a paper that had been folded into half. It had been slipped in through the crack underneath the door.

She picked it up and opened it, immediately recognising Klaus’ handwriting.

Y/n,

I know I’ve wounded you deeply by keeping who I truly am from you. But spending so much time with you, I’d somehow mistaken myself to be just the Klaus Mikaelson that you saw. I'm the one who’s wrong at that part, forgive me for it. I never meant to lie to you, perhaps, I was waiting for the right time. But it’s never the right time, is it? I’ve learned that now.

And while I’m sure the brothers told you enough, I’d still like to introduce myself to you all over again. This time, by laying all my defences down. I should’ve said it then and there, but something came over me and I couldn’t form words. But I hope you’d believe me when I tell you that hurting you was not my intention – it’s something far far away from what I truly do intend.

My family is hosting a traditional ball tonight. Please save this sick lover of yours a dance. And, you need not fret for I have brought you a dress, come outside?

Yours truly,

Klaus

A deep weight rested itself on top of Y/n’s chest as she slowly walked towards her door, and opened it. She’d been expecting to see Klaus, but instead there was a box on her porch with a silk bow resting on top of it. She sat down and brought it to her lap, opening it to reveal a blue dress, folded neatly inside the box.

She knew she was going – there was no doubt about that. But what did gnaw at her, was the chance of what would happen when she’d get there. She wanted to accept the feeling that told her he wouldn't hurt her. And yet, a tremor coursed through her body as she sat and sipped on her tea, waiting for the evening to roll around.

She wanted for him to unleash himself and show her who he truly is, so that she can love him for him. She didn’t want to fall in love with just his bruised upper skin – no. She wanted to get to know him, inside and out. Wanted to know what his guts found intimidating and what his soul found peaceful.

But if he wasn’t going to show her that, then nothing could ever make her clean herself up and rid herself of all the wounds that had been inflicted upon her, so that she doesn’t bleed on him from the cut that he didn’t inflict. She had a feelling that maybe, just maybe – there monsters had more in common than they thought they had.

There must be a reason behind the blood tainting his skin, perhaps, it was thrust upon him for all she knew! Maybe he didn’t want to be the monster that he had been turned into.

And if that’s true, Y/n wondered if she would still want to unravel him if it turned out that he was just a monster that had no other driving force apart from some personal fun.

So she dressed herself up for the night. Prepared to listen to him and ask him questions if he wouldn’t have answered them already in his explanation.

Entering the mansion that she always ran far away from, Y/n took a huge breath before wandering her eyes around to search for the one and only. And It didn’t take long before their eyes locked, with him already looking at her with rather guilty eyes and a relieved smile for she had shown up.

Walking to her, Klaus took in a shaky breath as he fixed his suite. He was nervous, hell, scared even. Honestly, terrified that tonight might be the final time he would see her and the final memory he’d have of her would be of her sprinting away from him for she couldn’t bear the sight of the ugly monster he had ended up growing into.

“You came,” Klaus smiled, looking at her with those same starry eyes except tonight they were shining because of the sheen layer of tears glossing them up.

“You asked me to,” she shrugged faintly, her mouth cold to sight but her eyes were big and almost smiling up at him.

With her hand still in his’ from when he had bent down to kiss the back of it, Klaus walked her over to the vacant balcony – nothing to witness the tragedy but the sky that had itself gotten dressed in its best constellations and ornament, the moon.

Klaus wanted to believe his heart when it told him that she would listen to him and try to love him, but his head’s juxtaposition was not gentle. It prepared him for the worst, reminding him of how no one had ever loved him before, and no one would now. For all that was true, he had only gotten worse over time.

“To hurt you, was never my intention,” he whispered, his big eyes looking into hers.

“It is true that I am a Hybrid – a vampire and a werewolf. It is also true that I’m covered in blood from head to toe, from my bones to my skin, I am drenched in it.”

His legs were growing jittery and breathing was becoming harder to do than it should be. But his hold on her hand only tightened, tears collecting on his bottom lash line.

“It is true that I am a monster. One with a heart that doesn’t beat and a soul that feasts upon the love it never gets,” with his free hand, Klaus wiped the tear as it slipped down the slope of his cheek.

She only stood still in front of him, urging him with her eyes to go on. Her own breathing ragged as she began seeing him and listening to him

“But I need you to know, before you leave tonight,” his voice shook as he stole his eyes from hers for a second to gain back his courage, as all of it had been spent the moment he mentioned her inevitable departure. “That I would never hurt you, I never can, hurt you,” he assured her, searching her eyes for anything.

“I truly am in love with you. And I will take forever to show you that if that’s what you’ll ask of me,” bringing her hand to his chest, he rested it there. “I want you to lay yourself bare in front of me so that I can show you that even your ugliest is loved by me,” he whispered.

“Say something, please,” he almost cried, his voice cracked, not having anticipated her departure to come so soon.

“I –,” Y/n began, her voice hoarse due to not having used it for so long. “I think I can love you, Klaus,” she uttered, looking away from his eyes, fearing that he was going to deny her heart upon realising just how ugly and bruised and beaten it is.

Upon the realisation that sure, her insides are a million colours – but they are all shades of blue.

And when the deafening silence got too much for her to bear, she turned away from him to make a run back home.

But her hand felt to have gotten caught in something and she was pulled right back, into a hard and vulnerable chest as her mouth felt something soft press itself hardly against it.

Klaus’ mouth.

His mouth was on hers and one of his hands was curled against the back of her neck while the other cradled her face with force.

Everything inside of her erupted into flames as she tilted her face to better mould it against his’, and fisted the curls on the nape of his neck, pushing him further into her while bending her back to accept the force.

“Say it again,” he breathed, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead on hers, his tears slipping from his eyes and falling onto her cheeks.

“I think,” she exhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath while her eyes remained stuck on his mouth. “I think I can love you,” she confessed again, instantly moving her lips in sync with his’ as he kissed her desperately, finally.

“My heart – it is shabby and broken but it’s already yours,” she choked out. “And it’s only mendable inside your ribs,” her shoulders shook as she cried, now fisting the shirt of his collar to keep him close to her.

“My love, your heart – it, it is safe with me,” he breathed with her, trying to calm his racing heart down. “And my heart will forever beat on your command,” sniffling, he tucked her hair behind her ear, gently lifting her face to seal his confession by breathing in her breath and letting her take away his’ as he pressed his mouth against hers, once again.

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pretty-circa006 · 2 months

Text

Livestream

Sugar Daddy! Coach! Negan x Cam girl! F! Reader

summary Negan stays true to his promise tags smut, unprotected p in v, multiple cream pies, breeding kink i guess, vaginal fingering, exhibitionism, pet-names, dirty talk, age gap

wc 2.9k words

previous parts: 1 , 2

note here's the final part, finally! i am so so so so so sorry i took forever uploading this. i was having the worst writers block, but i think im finally over it! i hope this was worth the wait P.S. im so sorry if i missed any mistakes while proofreading, it's 3am and im sleepy as fuck

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

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“You look so sexy in this, baby,” Negan whispers in her ear as they stand in front of her full length mirror. When Negan arrived to her apartment earlier, he brought her some gifts—a bouquet of flowers and new lingerie.

“Really? I never thought I looked good in pink,” she replies. Negan’s hands slide down her body and grasp her hips, pulling her closer into him. He leans down and kisses along her jaw to her neck until she giggles at the feeling of his facial hair tickling her soft skin

“You look fuckin’ perfect in anything.” He pulls her in for a lingering kiss before sitting down on her bed. She stays in front of the mirror, admiring herself in the lingerie. It’s a pink flyaway babydoll that’s frilly on the ends and completely see-through, finished with a little bow at the center of the bra part.

“Ready to do this livestream?” he asks, looking up at her from beneath his long, dark lashes. She makes her way over to him and climbs into his lap, straddling him. His hands slide up her back before pulling her down to meet his lips by the back of her neck. She wraps her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as she grinds herself against the growing bulge in his jeans.

“You trying to make me cum before we even get started?” he asks with a raised brow after pulling away from her lips. She smiles before sneaking one more quick kiss. He misses the warmth of her body on his when she gets up to set her phone up on the little tripod she bought with some of the money he gave her.

“Ready?” she asks as she adjusts it.

He nods his head as he unbuckles his belt. “C’mere, babydoll.” She begins the stream and rushes over to him. His eyes are full of lust as he looks up at her, admiring her body.

“On your knees,” he commands gently. With her back still facing the camera, she lowers herself to her knees, coming face to face his bulge. She undoes his jeans and he lifts his hips so she can pull them down along with his boxer briefs. His large, hardened cock springs free, slapping against his abdomen.

“I’ve been waiting so long to feel it in person,” she comments before placing a gentle kiss to the tip. He caresses the side of her face before smacking his cock against her lips, spreading his precum on them like lipgloss. She licks her lips before taking his tip into her mouth. He breathes in sharply, feeling her soft hands stroking what isn’t in her mouth. She swirls her tongue around him before taking more of his shaft into her mouth, feeling each vein sliding across her tongue.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” he praises. She hollows her cheeks as she bobs her head up and down the length of him, gripping either of his thighs for support.

“Holy fuck, I thought you were a virgin.”

With innocent eyes, she looks up at him before taking the entirety of him down her throat. She gags, but only once and it feels so good around him. He leans back, supporting himself on his hands as he lets her suck him off. Profanities spill from his mouth and his breathing grows quick and shallow. He can’t hold himself back anymore and grabs the hair at the back of her head. Negan holds on to her hair tightly as his hips lift with every thrust he fucks into her face.

“Fuck, baby, fuck. I’m gonna fuckin’ come down your throat.” She doesn’t need his words to know that he’s close. She can feel his cock twitch inside her mouth and his grip tighten in her hair.

“Ah fuck,” he swears before emptying his load down her throat. He pulls out of her mouth with a pop. She looks up at him, admiring his flushed face and lustful eyes. His hand grips her jaw, forcing her mouth open.

“Swallowed that shit like a goddamn pro,” he admires. She smiles and stands up on her knees, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. Pulling him close, she connects their lips. Negan pulls her into his lap without breaking the kiss. As their tongues mingle in each other's mouths, Negan can taste himself. He removes himself from her lips and kisses a trail down her throat until he reaches her sternum. Negan slides the thin straps of her lingerie down her arms and pulls it down, freeing her breasts and bunching it at her waist. He takes one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened nipple while teasing the other with his free hand. Her fingers tangle in his hair as she tosses her head back, moaning in pleasure. Slowly, she grinds her hips against him, feeling every detail of his dick through her thin panties. Without warning, he turns her around so her back is against his chest. Her core aches so bad with the desperation to be filled that she doesn't even care if her face is in the camera or not. She leans her head back over his shoulder and presses delicate kisses against his jaw. His large hands slides down her body, stopping at the waistband of her panties, but instead of pulling them down like a normal person, he rips the sheer fabric in half, tearing them off her body.

"Those were new!" she complains.

"Shhh, I'll buy you something even better," he whispers in her ear before playfully nipping at the lobe.

With one arm, he lifts her legs by the backs of her knees, pressing them against her chest and putting her bare pussy on full display. His free hand comes down to rub tight, fast circles against her clit. She gasps and arches her back, her eyes screwing shut from the pleasure. His fingers slide down her folds, coating them in her arousal before bringing his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of her fluids.

"Been waitin' so long to taste you baby. Fuckin' delicious!" he praises. Her only response comes out in the form of a breathy moan. Two of his thick fingers enter her pussy and the way he could feel it stretching to accommodate him brought a smirk to his face.

"Baby, you're so goddamn tight," he whispers before pressing his lips to her neck, sucking a mark onto her soft skin. She whimpers when she feels the rough pads of his fingers pressing against her g-spot.

"Ah! Negan!" she yelps, her fingers gripping the comforter of her bed. He slips in a third finger and she tenses, sucking in a sharp, pained breath through her teeth.

"C'mon, princess, I know you can take it," his raspy voice encourages as he distracts her from the pain by playing with her clit with his thumb. His thrusts are slow while he waits for her to grow comfortable with the stretch and once he feels her relax against his body, he knows she's there and quickens his pace. Her breathing becomes shallow as the coil in her stomach comes close to bursting.

"Please, Negan, please! I'm so close."

"What'd I tell you about patience? Hm?"

"Negan!" she protests, tears burning in her eyes as he slows his pace, making her fall from the peak of orgasm she almost reached.

"Not just yet. I wanna feel you coming on my cock."

"I can do both! Just please lemme come now," she begs, tears now cascading down her cheeks.

"Look at you. So desperate for me to fuck this tiny pussy with my fingers." Without warning, he enters another finger, earning a pleasured scream from her. He could feel her legs shaking as he brought her close to her orgasm once again. Her toes flex and curl in the air as her orgasm tears through her body. Negan continues to fuck her with his fingers until he feels her relax against him.

He gently sets her legs down and holds her in his lap, giving her a minute to catch her breath.

"You did so good for me, baby," he whispers soothingly in her ear. She turns around in his lap and turns to face him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Now will you fuck me?" she asks, batting the lashes of her pleading, doe eyes at him. He cups her cheek in his large hand and wipes at her fallen tears.

"Of course. I can't resist you for another goddamn minute."

With faux innocence, she smiles at him before grabbing his hand, the one he fingered her with, and begins sucking her juices off his fingers. As she does, she grinds her bare pussy over his once again hardened cock, feeling every vein drag along her sensitive folds.

"Keep doin' that and I'm gonna fuckin' come again and won't have it in me to stuff that tight pussy of yours."

She pouts reaches for the bottom of his black t-shirt instead. He lifts his arms and allows her to pull it over his head. She runs her hands up his strong chest before pressing kisses on it, occasionally leaving marks across his body. His hands caress her soft body before gently maneuvering her off his lap and onto the bed. She watches him expectantly as he stands and rids himself of the rest of his clothing. The look of lustful admiration in her eyes is flattering to Negan, but he can also see a slight fear in them. He caresses the side of her face with his hands and gently tilts her head to look up at him.

"It's okay, baby, I'll be gentle," he reassures. She lays back against her pillows as he crawls over her, trapping her between his arms. He leans down and meets her lips in a kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck as she slides her tongue in his mouth. A gasp escapes her lips when she feels his tip sliding across her folds. Negan can tell she's nervous, so he continues kissing her as a distraction from the impending intrusion. He lines himself up with her entrance and she tenses at the slight stretch of his tip.

"You took four fingers just fine, but you're still nervous?" She rolls her eyes earning a chuckle from him.

"I'm jus' teasin' ya, baby, relax." He kisses her collar bone before kissing down to her breasts, taking one in his mouth to further distract her. Her fingers tangle in his hair as she moans at the sensation of his tongue flicking at her nipple. Her moans intensify as he slides himself in as slowly as he can. His four fingers have nothing on his dick, but they did help prep her for its largeness because it doesn't hurt as much as she anticipated.

He pulls away from her nipple and begins slowly thrusting in and out of her. Her warm, wet cunt squeezes him so tight that he can hardly resist fucking into her like a madman, but he wants her to enjoy her first time just as much as he's enjoying it. Her smooth legs wrap around his hips, as if she were silently begging for more. His larger hands grasped her smaller ones, intertwining his fingers with hers as he fucked her harder. Negan’s long lashes kiss his cheeks as his eyes fluter shut, the pleasure overtaking him. His face is flushed and breathing shallow and god, he looks so beautiful.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so goddamn tight.”

“M gonna come,” she wines, her hands squeezing his, similar to the way her cunt is squeezing his cock.

Negan is about to pull out, but her legs around his waist keep him from doing so.

“Come inside me.”

He seems hesitant for a moment, but that quickly goes away when he bottoms out inside of her, filling her with his cum as she screams his name, her own orgasm bringing her to pleasure’s peak. She thought this was it, they both made each other come and now she’d just lay in his arms, but Negan flipping her over and positioning her on all fours tells her that she was mistaken. He spreads apart her asscheeks, watching the way his cum oozes out of her fucked out cunt. He steps away for a second and she watches him in confusion.

“Watcha doin’?”

But she doesn’t need a response because her question is answered when he comes back with the phone camera in hand, pointed at his hardening dick. She feels the mattress dip behind her when he gets back on the bed. She shudders at the feeling of his thick fingers spreading open her sensitive folds, mixed with the feeling of his hot cum dripping from her cunt down her inner thigh.

“Look at this fuckin’ cream pie. None of you sorry sacks of shit could fill this pussy like I do,” he boasts to the viewers as he films her up close.

“Mmmm Negan, I need you,” she whines.

“How could I say no to this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

He kneads the soft flesh of her ass with the hand that isn’t holding the camera before bringing his hand to his cock, lining it up with her entrance once again. He thrusts all the way in this time, not needing her to adjust to his size. His cock gets her in all the right spots. She can feel every detail of it gliding against her velvety walls as he fucks her. This time he's really fucking her. He was sweet and gentle when taking her virginity the first time around, almost as if they were making love, almost. But he can't hold himself back from the primitive desire to pound into her until her legs are shaking and the only thoughts she can conjure are of him. His free hand holds her hip in a bruising grip as he records his dick coming in and out of her cunt. Her arms shake with the struggle of holding herself up before she finally gives out, falling face first into the mattress.

"Negan 'mgonnacome," she whines, the sound muffled by her face being in the mattress.

“Just hang on, baby,” he grunts.

“Ah! Negan,” she moans, her hands fisting her sheets as her legs shake. Had Negan not been holding on to her, she’d have collapsed ages ago. The springs of her mattress squeak in unison with his hips smacking against her ass.

“Oh, baby, you’ve ruined any other pussy for me,” he says between pants. Once again, she feels that familiar feeling she’s growing to love of Negan coming inside of her. Her legs give out and she collapses onto her mattress as she comes in unison with Negan. Behind her, Negan lays down on her bed, catching his breath as he comes down from his orgasmic high. He stares up at the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut with the feeling of sleep entering his body. His eyes lazily flutter back open at the feeling of him being watched and he comes face to face her, looking down at him with lust filled eyes.

“I wanna go again.”

Negan runs a hand over his face, half sighing half laughing.

“Again? We already went two times.” She runs a hand along his chest, combing her finger through his chest hair.

“Please?” Her hand slides up his throat before caressing his cheek, moving her thumb across his cheekbone. He relaxes into her touch, looking up at her softly with his hazel eyes. She leans down and gently pecks him on the lips.

“You know I can’t say no to you.” She kisses him again, deeper this time, earning a grunt from the man beneath her. He can feel her smiling though the kiss.

“But I don’t think I have another round in me.”

“It’s okay,” she straddles his lap, “I’ll do all the work,” she mumbles sleepily.

She takes his semi-hard length in her hand and lines it up with her entrance before easily sinking down on it. He slides in effortlessly and she feels so good around him. He lets out a sigh of relaxation and his eyes roll back. Using her knees, she slowly lifts herself up off him, so slowly he feels like she’s taunting him. She sinks back down onto him and he hits her g-spot just right.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby. You’re gonna be the death of me.” He watches her as she rides him, staring at her tits as they bounce in unison with her. His eyes are so full of lust and admiration that he can’t help the sexy dimpled smirk that spreads across his face. Her cunt squeezes around him and he sucks a breath in through his teeth.

“You gonna come again, aren't you babygirl,” he asks, feeling his own orgasm approaching once again. She nods her head, barely able to keep her tired eyes open, as she increases her pace, moaning his name along with other unintelligible ramblings. They come together one last time before she collapses against his chest. He reaches over for her phone and ends the livestream before tossing it aside.

“You did so good for me, babydoll,” he whispers soothingly as he rubs his hand up and down her bare back. Her heavy breathing and lack of response tell him that she’s already fallen asleep. He presses a kiss to the top of her head before shutting his own eyes.

#jeffrey dean morgan #negan x reader #negan fanfiction #negan smith #fanfic #jdm #negan #negan smith x reader #twd fanfiction #twd negan #negan x reader smut #coach negan

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rosesareredrosa · 2 months

Text

So Obvious part 2

Theo x fem reader

Summary: Y/n realizes her feelings and mistakes and now comes to Theo to apologize and slowly restart their friendship and maybe become something more.

w/c: 920

The days following Theodore's confrontation with Y/N were agonizingly slow. The weight of his confession hung over him, and the uncertainty of Y/N's response gnawed at his thoughts. He replayed their conversation over and over, wondering if he had been too harsh, too impulsive. His friends noticed the change in him, but they respected his need for space.

In the Ravenclaw common room, Y/N was equally tormented. Theodore’s words echoed in her mind, the raw pain and frustration in his voice a stark contrast to the calm demeanor she had always associated with him. She had always admired Theo’s quiet strength, his unwavering loyalty, and his subtle kindness. She had been so focused on her studies and her own world that she hadn’t seen what was right in front of her.

Determined to make things right, Y/N decided to find Theodore and talk to him again. She needed to understand his feelings better and share her own. She found him in the Slytherin common room, sitting by the fireplace, staring into the flames. Gathering her courage, she approached him.

"Theo, can we talk?" she asked softly, her voice tentative.

Theodore looked up, surprise and a flicker of hope crossing his features. He nodded, gesturing for her to sit down.

Y/N took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about what you said. About how you've been trying to show me how you feel. I’m sorry I didn’t see it. I was so caught up in my own world that I missed the signs."

Theodore's gaze softened slightly, but his expression remained guarded. "I didn't mean to be so harsh, Y/N. I just... I needed you to understand how much this has been affecting me."

Y/N nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know, and I appreciate your honesty. I’ve been blind to what was right in front of me. But now that I know, I want you to know that I care about you too. More than I realized."

Theodore's heart ached at her words, a mix of relief and lingering pain. "You do?"

"Yes, Theo. I do," Y/N said, reaching out to take his hand. "I just didn't think you'd ever feel the same way about me. I thought you were just being a good friend."

Theodore squeezed her hand gently, a sad smile playing on his lips. "I’ve always felt more than that, Y/N. I’ve just been too scared to say it outright."

Y/N's eyes filled with regret. "I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to hide your feelings. I want to make it right, Theo. I want to try, if you're willing to give me a chance."

Theodore studied her for a moment, his emotions a turbulent mix of hope and hesitation. "It’s going to take time, Y/N. I’ve been hurt, and I need to trust that things will be different."

"I understand," Y/N said softly. "I’m willing to wait, and to show you that I care. You deserve that."

Theodore nodded, his heart swelling with a cautious optimism. "Alright. Let’s take it slow. We can figure this out together."

Over the next few weeks, Theodore and Y/N began to rebuild their relationship, taking tentative steps toward something more. They spent more time together, sharing their thoughts and feelings openly. It was a process of healing and rediscovery, and while it wasn’t always easy, it was worth it.

One evening, as they walked along the edge of the Black Lake, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the water, Y/N looked up at Theodore. "Thank you for giving us a chance, Theo."

Theodore smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "I’m glad we’re trying. I’ve always been a fool for you, Y/N. And I think I’m okay with that."

Y/N laughed softly, leaning into him. "I think I am too."

As they stood there, watching the sun dip below the horizon, they both felt a sense of peace. It wasn’t the end of their journey, but a new beginning. For the first time in a long while, Theodore felt hopeful about the future, knowing that they were facing it together.

Days turned into weeks, and their bond grew stronger. Theodore found himself opening up in ways he had never imagined. The quiet moments they shared in the library, the walks by the Black Lake, and the late-night conversations in the common rooms all became precious memories.

One afternoon, while they were studying in the library, Y/N glanced up at Theo. “You know, Theo, I’ve been thinking about us.”

Theo looked up from his book, curiosity in his eyes. “What about us?”

Y/N smiled softly. “About how we started, how oblivious I was. I’ve come to realize how much you mean to me. How much you’ve always meant to me.”

Theo reached out, taking her hand in his. “I’m glad you see it now. It’s been a long road, but I wouldn’t change a thing if it brought us here.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with emotion. “Me neither. I’m grateful for your patience, Theo. For everything.”

Theo leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’re worth it, Y/N. Every moment of doubt, every second of frustration. You’re worth it all.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with affection, and she leaned in closer, resting her head against his shoulder. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s presence, finding solace in the unspoken words between them.

In that moment, Theodore knew he was no longer a fool. He was simply a man in love, and that was more than enough.

#theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #slytherin x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x you #angst with a happy ending #fluff #theo nott #slytherin boys

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talktonytome · 3 months

Text

Buck’s nervously bouncing his leg on the barstool, hands a little sweaty, as he waits for Hen and Karen to show up. They had invited him to a gay western club, after he came out and he’s excited to finally be here. He’s craning his neck to see if he catches a glimpse of them, when a beast of a man walks up to him.

Wow, Buck knows he’s a big guy himself but this dude is even bigger than him. He’s got insanely broad shoulders, big arms, thick thighs and an ass that had to be sculpted by the gods-

Suddenly, the man is clearing his throat to get his attention. “Excuse me, but I think you took my chair,” he says matter-of-factly, like Buck should have known. And it’s maybe a little infuriating because who does this guy think he is?

“Oh I’m sorry, I must have missed your name on it,” Buck retorts, eyes narrowed at the stranger. The chair was open when he got there and really, it’s a little childish to be calling dibs.

Hot jerk holds his hands up placatingly, attempting to deescalate the situation. “Sorry, sorry”, he says genuinely enough. There’s something about his eyes that comforts Buck. “It’s just, I only ran out to take what I thought was a work call, and I was hoping my spot would still be free. It’s been a long week,” he sighs.

Buck can understand that. It’d been a long week of hectic calls for the 118 and he’s been looking forward to tonight. “Hey, uh, I get it. It’s been a week for me too,” he offers a rueful smile. “I’m meeting some friends so I’ll give you your chair back soon, don’t worry.” If he didn’t know any better, he could swear the man’s face falls a little.

As if by stroke of luck, the stool next to his opens up and hot guy immediately sits down. “It’s my fault really, I know this place is packed Friday nights. It’s worth it for the live bands, though,” he says. “I’m Tommy, by the way. Fighting the great chair war merits name privileges, right?” He winks.

Buck blushes, suddenly feeling a little breathless. “Oh definitely,” he manages not to stutter. “I’m Bu- um- Evan Buckley.” Wow he almost had it.

“Evan,” Tommy tries out and it sounds like the name was made to be uttered by him and him only. Buck gulps.

“Well, since we’re both here, how about I buy you a drink? I owe you that much for being rude earlier.”

Buck can’t help but smile. “Sure, why not?” He nods, “my friends aren’t here yet, anyway.”

“Great,” Tommy grins. “Craft beer okay? Or I can get you something else?”

“Beer’s fine, I’m not picky,” Buck shrugs.

“I am, at least when it comes to beer,” Tommy chuckles, signaling the bartender for two beers.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Buck teases. Why does this feel so easy?

“Hmm, I think there’s a lot about me that’ll surprise you,” Tommy smirks.

Buck may be inexperienced with the same sex, but he damn well knows how to flirt. He tilts his head a little, knows his eyes are twinkling. “Is that right?”

“Oh absolutely,” Tommy declares. He’s so confident in a way that radiates coolness. “For example, I’m a pretty great dancer.”

Buck thinks back to the times he’s tried to dance and winces. “I’m definitely not.”

“I could teach you,” Tommy says as Buck finishes his sentence.

“Really? Is that gonna be right after our beers?”

“I mean I don’t think we can drink and dance at the same time,” Tommy laughs, “at least not effectively.

“Yeah okay, teach me, Tommy.” Buck says dropping his voice, looking right into his eyes.

Tommy’s eyes grow wide and Buck immediately notices the blush on those gorgeous cheekbones. He preens a little because he did that.

“Ok,” Tommy swallows, holding out his hand. “Let’s do it.”

“What about our beers?”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

Buck laughs incredulously, but gives Tommy his hand and lets him lead them onto the dance floor. The band’s playing something sweet and slow, for lovers. Tommy uses the grip on his hand to pull them close together, until they’re chest to chest. He guides both of Buck’s arms around his neck and he circles Buck’s waist with those big hands, finally turning them into a gentle sway.

You got me out there, honey

We danced until I let go

Never been lost in a moment

But there's hours I can't recall

Buck looks down at his feet trying desperately not to mangle Tommy’s. He feels two fingers under his chin, as Tommy tilts his face up. “Eyes on me,” he says softly. “I got you.” Buck obeys and gets lost in Tommy’s eyes- gosh they’re so blue-as they sway and spin so smoothly he forgets about his feet altogether.

Maybe tonight

You'll let me run

Into your arms

And we'll conquer the heart

Tommy’s guiding them into another spin, when Buck can’t hold back from wanting to kiss him any longer. If Tommy’s eyes constantly flicking down to Buck’s lips are anything to go by, he’s on the same page. Buck tests the waters by leaning in, enough that Tommy’s breath ghosts across his lips.

You came in like a fire

Burned all I ever knew

I've been weighed and found wanting

And all that I want is you

Tommy gently grips his chin again, one big thumb slots right in the middle, and brings him in for the gentlest, most tender kiss Buck’s ever gotten. Tommy’s lips are warm and soft as they slide against his. It’s not long, by any means, but when they part, it leaves him breathless, all the same.

Tommy rests their foreheads together. “Was that okay?” He whispers, a little awestruck.

“More than,” Buck grins, playing with the hair on the nape of Tommy’s neck.

“Good,” Tommy replies, pressing a kiss to Buck’s bicep. “I do have a confession to make.”

Tommy tangles their hands and pulls Buck away from the dance floor. The song is over by now, so they make their way to the edge, where they can lean against a railing.

Bucks stomach drops. Did he get it wrong? Was Tommy not interested? Was he about to let him down gently?

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Tommy cuts into his spiraling. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“I’m a little embarrassed to say it now,” Tommy breathes, “but.. that wasn’t my chair.”

Buck finally lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Huh?”

“Erm, where you were sitting? It wasn’t actually my chair. I just… I saw the most beautiful man I’d ever seen all alone and I knew I had to talk to him,” Tommy rushes out. “Upon reflection, my approach could have been better,” he mutters.

Bucks laughs, but makes sure to squeeze Tommy’s hand in reassurance. “It was… not good,” he laughs again.

“Come on, hey!” Tommy exclaims in mock offense.

“But- you did it anyway. You came up to me all cocky and hot, not knowing the outcome, and it worked out so,” Buck shrugs.

“You think I’m hot?” Tommy smirks, playfully bumping his shoulder.

“Oh like you don’t know?”

“Did I mention you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen?” Tommy looks at him in a way that’s too fond for having just met.

“Maybe, but doesn’t hurt to hear again,” Buck grins. “Thanks for the dance, by the way,” he adds shyly. “It was pretty great.”

“I had the best partner,” Tommy says.

They look at each other for several beats.

“So, you wanna get out of here?” Tommy jerks his head toward the exit.

Buck doesn’t know if he’s ready for what that sentence entails, but he really likes Tommy.

Just like before, Tommy notices his apprehension; he’s so goddamn considerate like that, apparently. “Not like that,” he clarifies. “I’m having such a great time with you and I’m not ready for the night to end. I know this place with the best tacos,” he gives Buck his best puppy eyes.

Buck breathes a sigh of relief. He’s not ready to part ways either. “You had me at tacos! Lead the way.”

Tommy wraps an arm around his waist as they start walking toward the exit, when Buck remembers, “oh wait, my friends!”

“You sure they’re coming?” Tommy raises a doubtful eyebrow.

“I dunno, they said they would. Let me-“ Buck pulls out his phone and opens his messages. Sure enough there’s a couple from Hen.

Sorry buckaroo, Denny has a stomach bug and we’re pretty sure we all have it now :(

We’ll make it up to you, we swear!

Buck can’t feel too disappointed, when he got Tommy out of it. He texts back a quick ok feel better! and slides his phone back into his pocket, then reaches out to take Tommy’s hand again.

“Their kid has a bug and infected them so they are, in fact, not coming,” he explains.

“Kids and their germs,” Tommy laughs. “So you’re free to go?”

“Yes, I- I am free.”

- inspired by the chair (george strait) and conquer the heart (orville peck)

#bucktommy #tevan #my fic #they’re just sooooo #dailykinley

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brailsthesmolgurl · 6 months

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HOW WOULD THE LNDS BOYS REACT TO YOU FORGETTING ABOUT A DATE?

Just some mild fluff before I proceed to ravage you all with more angst writings :) Read my recent angst please : Damnation

Read my most recent fluff: LNDS Boys as Daddies

Warnings: fluffy af, sfw

Rafayel knows that you know he does not like waiting. But, he also knows the risk of your job and how it sometimes take up a lot of your time. But in this scenario, BOTH of your time. Rafayel sat at home, hands holding his phone, and his eyes would not wander off of the screen. Highly anticipating for a call, a text even. But it never came.

"Rafayel!" The door busted opened, and his burgundy-shaded eyes darted up. His eyes widened as he noticed your arrival, but narrowed again and he turned his head away from you. "Rafayel, I am so so sorry. I had totally forgotten about our date today!"

You walked in, pulling onto the hem of your dress, the one that Rafayel had got it specially tailored for you just for the dinner function you guys would be attending tonight. But, you did promised him that prior to that event, both of you would grab ice cream together. Until, you slept late the night before and you nearly forgotten about the date.

"I do not have the energy to deal with a goldfish. And, I am certainly not going to entertain you." He tossed his phone onto his couch and crossed his arms over his chest, eyes still not facing you. You sat on the marble floor, and reached your hand out to touch his thigh and you watched as the tip of his ear turned rubicund, matching the tint on the apples of his cheeks. Knowing him well enough, the pout on his lips would make him look like a puffer fish. Puff for me or puff me please.

"Rafayel, I am really sorry okay, I did not mean to forget about this date. I just fell asleep pretty late last night as I was filing reports for all of the recent areas that wanderers had appeared and the deadline is today." You sighed and rubbed your hands against his thigh. Eyes scanning his body language, hoping he would not toss a fuss. Not that you mind, but you figured that you would not want him to pull out of the event last minute as this dress of yours does cost him a pretty penny and you wanted the dress to serve its purpose.

His hand reached out to grab yours, to silently indicate you to stop and he turned around to look at you. The pout that was no longer evident on his lips silently made you wished you had teased him further. He actually looked adorable with that pout of his and sometimes it is worth the trouble just to witness it.

Taking in your features, dark circles seemed to be an accessory for your face nowadays. Sighing, he held your cheeks in his lanky hands. "I see that you have not manage to do your makeup. Would you like me to do it for you instead?"

"No no, Rafayel. I was late, I could not possibly ask you to do my makeup! I can do it myself, I brought my makeup along!" You mustered a smile on your face, hands rustling through your bagpack and you pulled out a small pouch, filled with all of the makeup necessities you need for an event. The sight of the makeup bag did not impressed Rafayel but instead made him scoffed at you in return.

"That is a small makeup bag for such a big event. My lover cannot appear looking like a hag, she has to look like a queen. And a queen I shall make her to be. I have better makeup equipment than you eventhough I am a guy." Rafayel tossed his hair back and used his hands to run through his silky purple strands.

"You mean those?" Index finger pointing towards the stacks of paints by the other side of the room. "God knows what other infection I will get this time. The last time you did my makeup with those paints, I ended up with conjunctivitis."

"Hey hey, now, you may insult the tools I have, but you never insult my skills, yeah? I would still admit I did a pretty good job with paint for makeup." He spoke proudly and he stood up, walking off to his lavish bedroom. It did not took him long before he appeared with a bucket bag in his hand. "So I made preparations this time."

He sat down on the floor, in front of you this time, and he opened the bucket bag to reveal all of the makeup tools. They all looked very new and awfully expensive. With silver handles and bristles that looked like it was made out of the finest hairs within the makeup industry you could imagine. "That is a lot of makeup." You blurted out. Can you imagine how many videos he had watched just to get the right makeup kit for you?

"It is to save you from having to bring over your makeup next time and gives me another outlet to channel my creativity. How about we both stay home for now and I take the time to do your makeup, yeah?" He nudged your nose, a smile forming on his pink lips. "I know that I do not like waiting, but for you, I will always be more than willing to wait."

Xavier stood outside of the claw machine outlet, arms crossed on the front of his chest and he was looking everywhere. For you. He glanced down at his hunter's watch. 2pm. But he has not even seen your face since the last hour. You were supposed to meet up at 1pm, but your no-show is getting him a little worried.

He took his phone out of his pocket, going through messages, sliding thoroughly across his message app to ensure he does not miss out on anything: Jeremy...work...work...Jeremy. He really has no friends I guess. Welp, less time for others, more time for you! But none from you. As he was about to give you a call, his cerulean eyes caught sight of you running past the square, before stopping to look at traffic and you continued running. By the time you arrived in front of him, you were huffing and panting. Hands on your knees as you struggled to catch your breath.

"Did your work held you back?" Xavier bent down, clearly concerned as he was analysing the way you were breathing. His eyes at the meantime, scanned your body to ensure that you did not have any wounds on you till he came to your shoes. It was rare for you to wear heels given your job and that you have to constantly be on watch for your surroundings. Xavier's eyes could not leave your pink platform heels. "You ran in those?"

The pointing towards your heels made you snapped your head up to his and his eyes widened, as if he was shocked at your sudden reaction. "Yeah, I figured I might as well dress up a little as this is a date afterall. And furthermore, these heels are only 2cm in height, it will not stop me from fighting wanderers. Stylish and practical." Your chirped, answering his question and giving him extra information that you know he would ask eventually. As you stand up straight, he finally get to take a look at your whole outfit. A white loose polyester-made sweatshirt tucked in behind a denim overall skirt, and it is clear as day that you had put on some makeup. "What are you looking at?"

"It...uhm...you look different." He said, hands coming up to rub his lips, a nature of his when he is either flabbergasted or in awe. "I think you look pretty today." His eyes caught yours again and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"Oh yeah, before i forget, I am sorry Xa---." You wanted to apologise for making him wait for an hour for you. There are times where you would be late to work or to a date, but being an hour late is definitely inexcusable and Xavier had every right to receive compensation from you.

"Don't be." He interrupted you mid way and disregarded your apology. "I can wait. I had nothing to do anyways. I even managed to take a short nap as I was waiting for you." He displayed a small smile, a comforting one. "But I would like for you to pay for my meal as you did made me wait for you for an hour." Hearing that request, you could not stop a smile from appearing onto your face. Getting complimented by him and also getting forgiven by him seemed like a huge green flag to you and well, you are his afterall as he is to you. You finally take your time to analyse his outfit for the date. There is no doubt he put some effort into this date as well.

A white shirt with black slacks, with a pale yellow cardigan for the an accent of colour to his outfit. Guess he is not that bad at dressing himself up. "You look dashing as well yourself." You complimented and his eyes caught yours once again, a smile emerging on his face. "I like the colours that you had chosen for today. It fits your aesthetic, especially with your blonde hair, the pale yellow really suits you." We all love the soft boys aesthetic, especially if Xavier is your type, squeal.

"I did took some time to research on the outfits that guys would usually wear for dates. Most of the searches showed tuxedos and blazers but I figured that would be too much for casual dates so I ended up settling for this." He gestured towards his own outfit, his tone carrying a hint proudness when he talked about his searching progress. "Anyways, what you do you plan to eat?"

"How does hotpot sound, Xavier?" You reached out to grab his hand and he took the chance to intertwine his fingers with you as both of you started walking down the street together. You noticed how some passerbys would eye Xavier, I mean, who would not? He is such an eye candy especially with the outfit he had chosen for himself.

Xavier looked up at the sky, what was once a sunny scene is now becoming gloomy, with dark clouds closing in one another. A rain is expected to be arriving. "Hotpot in rain sounds like a great date to me. And I personally think with you accompanying me to eat hotpot, I would gladly wait for you always."

The ringing of your phone blasted through the silence of your room and you were jolted awake. You hastily grabbed the device and held it to your ear. "Where are you?" Zayne's voice rang through your speaker.

You sprung up on your bed, the sudden movement made your bed creak and you hear another sentence came through your phone. "Were you asleep?" You hesitated, as you did not want his suspicion to be confirmed. But you did not even get a chance to answer before he spoke. "I am coming over now."

You hurriedly rushed to the bathroom, thinking you could tidy yourself up to give yourself a better reason to explain on why you were late for the morning coffee date you had set with Zayne since last week. But your late night movie marathon gave you such a dopamine rush that your had forgotten the dictionary word of 'sleep' and 'waking up early for a date'.

After you had brushed your teeth, you were going to take a shower next before the sound of the doorbell spooked you. IT WAS BARELY 3 minutes. How close was he to your house? The last you recalled, the coffee shop you guys were planning to visit was halfway across town and that would take around a 30 minutes drive. Another ring of the doorbell turned your fast walk into a straight up sprint, running past the corner of your house to get to the front door. But a slip on your floor mat, made you stumbled and you hit your shin against your coffee table and you squeaked. Yes, squeaked like a rat.

Once you got to the door, you unlocked the bolt and you opened your door, revealing the tall man, wearing all black, with dark features being his trademark. You adjusted your stance and stood still, eyes wandered everywhere, purposely avoiding his intense stare. "You looked like you were in your dreamland." His monotonous voice cut through the tension in between you two. "Is that the reason why you were late?"

You stood aside as he took a step into your house, taking his leather shoes off and he placed it on your shoe rack neatly. "I am sorry Zayne." You closed the door, and muttered your apology as you turned around to face the towering man. "I overslept and forgotten about our date. I am really sorry."

"You do know that if you constantly sleep late at night, it would deteriorate your health right?" He reached out his hand to the small of your back and he slowly guided you towards the couch in your living area. You nodded, eyes still refusing to meet his as you felt guilt eating into your gut. Noticing how you were slightly limping on one leg, he squatted down immediately to take a look at your leg. "It seems like the bang that I had heard just now was from you."

"I...I did not want to make you wait at the door as I was already late for our date." You muttered and mustered just enough courage to run your hands through his slick black hair. His hazel-green eyes looked up to catch yours and he seemed to relax a little. "I am sorry Zayne."

"Come, let's get you seated." Before you could say anything, he lifted you up bridal style and took a few long strides before seating you onto the couch. "Getting yourself hurt just so you can reach to me on time is not an ideal scenario to me. The last thing I would want is for you to be hurt. Wait here." He stood up and took strides towards your bathroom, probably to get your med kit.

Indeed, he comes back with the med kit and immediately started working on the small cut accompanied by a bruise on your shin, applying antiseptic on it before placing a plaster onto the wound. "I am sorry Zayne. I will not be late again. It is so careless of me to miss out on our date when today is one of the only days I get to meet you throughout the week."

"People forget, it is part of the human's nature. Eventhough I am busy, you can always stop by to visit me at Akso Hospital. I can schedule my surgeries to have short breaks in between if your concern is that we are not spending enough time together." His respond is the method he uses to accept your apology. He is not good with comfort, but he does have his ways to show you that he cares about you and about this relationship. "Does your shin still hurt?" The shake of your head indicated a no and he took in a deep breath, packing the items he had used for your wound back into the med kit and he took a small stool and sat onto it. A big man on a small stool making me gag through my laughs. Although the stool is not that tall, but with a giant like him sitting on it, his eyes are levelled against you. This allows him to see you at a better angle, to analyse your facial features better.

"How long have you been waiting for me?" You asked, eyes looking into his mesmerizing ones and he took your small hand into his. His eyes looked down towards your calloused fingers and he placed a kiss onto the back of your hand, his warm lips no longer a foreign feeling on your skin. Your cheeks flushed at the interaction.

"I figured I could fetch you there instead of having you to sit on public transports to reach there. So, I had my car parked outside of your condo since an hour ago." He said, hands reaching up to touch the side of your cheeks. "Although I was a little frustrated that you were taking a while, but I was more concerned on what had happened to you. You are weaker than what you seem."

"I am not weak." You responded, lip turning into a frown. The sight of you pouting at him calling you weak made him smile. "I was just busy watching movies that I liked yesterday night and I just happened to sleep late. But I am in no way weak or whatsoever. I can take care of myself just fine."

"I never doubted your capabilities to take care of yourself. But for some instances---" He pointed at your plastered shin and flashed you a smirk. "I am glad to identify myself as your appointed physician. But you said that you were watching movies till late night yesterday, and that you overslept?"

You nodded and he added on. "Then I suppose as your prime physician, I would advise you not to sleep late anymore. Instead, we can both watch however much movies you want whenever we are on a date so that could probably prevent you from oversleeping on our dates right?" He looked at you with comforting eyes and he pulled you to sit onto his lap. "And regardless, waiting for you will always be better than seeing you being hurt."

I may or may not have gone haywire on the wordings, so hopefully these would give you guys a good brain rot.

Drop me comments as it would brighten up my day and lemme know if you have any requests as well for any stories :)

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #lnds #fluffy #fluff #lnds x reader

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ghosty-writes-23 · 1 month

Text

Just Can't Let Him Go. - Leon S Kennedy.

!TAGS!: NSFW Content, Needy!Leon, Desperate Sex, CONSENT IS KEY, Cheating (With Y/n), Sweet Ending, !WRAP IT, BEFORE YOU TAP IT!, Unprotected Sex, Soft!Dom!Leon, P in V, Creampie, Eating Out, Slight Anal, Spit Kink, Slight Choking, Praise, Aftercare.

Pairing: Vendetta!Leon + Mistress!Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature.

Summary: “I Know I Need To Put A Stop To This Before Its Too Late, But I Can’t He Makes Me Weak.”

Leon knew coming here was a mistake, he just needed to get back onto his motorbike and leave, to not be sitting outside your apartment at night waiting for you to reply to his message, to not be hoping you will open your apartment door and welcome him with open arms. He knew this was wrong to crave the touch and affection from one person while being with another, but he couldn’t stop himself. He needed you like oxygen even if it meant going behind his girlfriend’s back.

Word Count: 4.4k

Ghosty's Notes: Hello my lovelies, yes I have finally done it, I have written Vendetta!Leon finally, I know I have been promising it for months and I am sorry that it has taken this long to get around too, but I do hope you find it worth it, this is probley some of the filthiest smut I have written in a long time, so please enjoy.

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Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

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Tonight, you were finally enjoying a cozy night in after last night’s nightmare of a shift at the bar you work at, you hated spending your night’s serving asshole customers, unnecessary flirty comments or remarks from drunken men and woman trying to get in your pants or a free drink, minor’s trying to buy alcohol with clearly fake ID’s and the list goes on, from catching couples fucking in the bathrooms to breaking up fight’s that break out in the bar and having to get the police involved, these are never fun when you have to clean up the mess afterwards, who knew cleaning up blood would be such a mission.

But even with all the negatives you have for your work place, there are some positives like the friends you have made there, a boss that isn’t a complete prick and let’s you have free drinks when your working your shift just as long as they aren’t alcoholic ones.

Some of the customers can be sweethearts like a regular you have that comes in every Friday night just before closing and like’s to give the staff any left over food from his takeaway store that didn’t sell, but he didn’t want to throw it out. You and your work besties are always grateful and take it with a smile and give him a discount on his drinks since it was only fair.

You were sitting on your couch panting your finger nails while the opening credits to Buffy The Vampire Slayer season two started playing, you were humming along to the theme song and trying to focus on not getting black nail polish all over your hand.

It always annoyed you that you needed to do more then one coat to get the desired darkness that you liked, but you carefully applied the polish and waited for it to dry, which took forever. You planned on having a self-care night with painting your nails and doing a face mask that you will have to dig around in your bathroom to find.

Your friend Claire was always tell you needed to take some you time and relax, so she gave you a little self-care pack with some face masks, eyes patches that felt like slimy jelly in your hands and made you cringe at the texture, but she seemed so excited for you to try, so for her you would try and use some of the things she had gifted.

When the first coat of nail polish finally dried you went to grab the little brush handle to start the second coat when your phone buzzed, indicating a new message which made you frown because who would be messaging you this late, reaching over the table you grabbed your phone and unlocked it and went to look at the message.

Leon: I miss you Y/n…

You froze as you stared at the message on your phone screen, your heart rate picked up slightly as conflicting feelings and emotions started swelling in both your head and heart. You and Leon have a complicated friendship if that’s what you could call it.

You and Leon meet many years ago while you were working in a hotel bar, one of his missions went longer than anticipated and he stayed at the hotel you were working at and came down to the hotel bar just before you were closing.

He looked exhausted but not the kind that sleep could fix so you decided to keep the bar open for a little bit longer, so he could have his drink in peace and you could take your time closing the bar down for the night.

But one thing you couldn’t have predicted about that night was being bent over the bar counter and being railed with his gloved hand around your throat as he used your body like his own personal stress relief toy, you had never been fucked like that ever before, he made you see stars.

The following morning you had to sneak out of his hotel room, even after he tried to ‘convince’ you come back to bed with neck kisses and soft growls and as much as you wanted to stay in bed with him, you had to go to work downstairs or you would be fired.

You had showered at gotten to work only for your boss of the hotel bar calling you into her office and pulling up CCTV footage of you and Leon in the bar last night, you remember all the color draining from your face and trying to figure out an excuses you could make, but she just smirked at you and gave you a warning but also high fived you for finally getting laid.

She was one of the best bosses you had while working there, she was roughly around the same age as you and was the boss of the whole hotel’s daughter so she let some people get away with small things every now and then, but when you left to go to the job you currently have the city It broke your heart, because you would miss her a lot but you would always stay in contact and try and see each other when you could. It made you remember that time you told her Leon had a girlfriend.

*Flashback*

You and Iris were sitting in your apartment sipping on wine glasses and catching up, it has been months since you last seen her, you had missed her dearly. “So, wait let me get this straight, Leon as in the guy that gave you the most mind-blowing sex of your life, has a girlfriend.” Iris says before she took a sip of her whine, just then sentence made you want to curl up into a ball and hide forever. “he doesn’t call her his girlfriend, more like friends with benefits, but she see’s him as her boyfriend.” You tried to explain it to her the way Leon has explained it to you a few nights ago. “Still if he is involved with somebody else then he shouldn’t be trying to get into your pants.” Iris said before she sets her glass down on the coffee table and grabs your hands.

“Y/n honey, just because he is good for your hole, doesn’t mean he is good for your soul.” Iris says with a straight face, causing a very heated blush to come onto your face at her crude words. “IRIS.” You say with a soft embarrassed squeal in your voice. “You know I’m right.” Iris says matter of factily and deep down you knew she was right, going down this road would only lead to disappointment and heartbreak but that doesn’t stop you from melting every time he calls you darling, doll or his good girl, or the pure bliss you feel when you feel his muscular arms wrap around you making you feel safe.

*End of Flashback.*

Shaking your head you focused on the present, you still hadn’t replied to the message leaving it on read, you know what you needed to do, to ignore the message or even delete it and pretend it doesn’t even exist no matter how much it hurts your heart. This was wrong on so many levels, yes Leon didn’t love his girlfriend and it only seemed to be a situationship that they both benefited from and it’s not like they in an actual relationship but that didn’t stop you from feeling any less guilty, you wanted so badly to put an end to this before somebody got really hurt but deep down you knew he made you weak he always had, ever since he purred you were his doll as he took you from behind, you heart had never same since that night.

Leon: I know you said last time was the last time, but please Yn I need you even if it’s only just for tonight, she isn’t you, she doesn’t understand me the way you do, Please doll.

Y/n: Leon…

You didn’t know what to reply with, it has been months since you last saw him, all you could manage to send was his name because you knew deep down what was going to happen, you would welcome him into your apartment with open arms and open legs, you would let him ravish your body any way he wanted, marking you his until the bruises and bite marks faded a few days later, it made you feel weak and pathetic but you couldn’t help yourself, you loved him even if you weren’t meant too.

Y/n: I’ll leave the front door unlocked.

Leon: Just left the DSO, on my way now, be there in 10 minutes.

You sighed softy as you threw your phone onto the couch before placing your hands over your face, guilt was bubbling in your stomach, but so were butterflies. After tonight you had to put a stop to this no just for your sake but also Leon’s before things got to deep and complicated. Soon you heard the familiar rumble of a motorbike causing your heart to pick up and your thighs to clench subconsciously

When you heard you apartment door open you ran over to Leon in a hurried pace, your feet carrying your body towards him, Leon’s bag fell to the ground with a heavy thud before he opened his arms to catch you, your legs wrapping around his thin torso as his muscular arms wrapped around your body holding you securely to his body, you guys fit together like puzzle pieces, two halves of a whole, Leon has caught you effortlessly, his large gloved hands held you by your ass as he walked into your apartment and then pressed you against the front door.

Your mouths crashed together in a hunger and desperate filled kiss, your tongues intertwining and lapping at each other’s as your bodies grinded against each other’s. Moans and groans leaving both of your lips. Leon pulled away only for a few seconds, his forehead resting on yours as his blue eyes meet yours, desperation, hunger, lust and warmth clouded his eyes, his warm breath was hitting your face, you could see the tips of his ears were red.

“I need to be inside you doll.” He groaned softly, there was a soft growl in his voice that made you clench around nothing. “Condom?” you say softly, you knew you had some upstairs but something told you weren’t going to be making it upstairs. “Don’t have one on me this time sweetheart.” Leon says with a frustrated groan, you knew he had just gotten back from a mission, you didn’t think he would be taking a condom with him.

Biting your lip you knew the other option, you had gotten tested not that long ago and knew you were clean, you made it a priority that you get checked at least every 2 weeks to 4 weeks or whenever you sleep with somebody different, because you can’t be sure sometimes. Looking up at Leon he nodded his head. “I’m clean as well, got tested last week.” He tells you and you nod your head, you knew the risks of not using a condom, but you took your birth control this morning and you trusted Leon.

“Okay.” You say to him and he nodded his head and helped you out of your shorts and panties, they fell down your ankles pooling on the floor, you kept you hoodie on as Leon opened his pants, he got them half way down his thighs before he was grinding against you, you could feel his soft length grinding against you, causing you to bite your bottom lip soft sounds leaving your lips.

“Please Leon.” You soft whined as you tightened your arms around his neck as you pressed your body closer to his, there was no distance between your bodies, you could feel his warm breath on your neck panting softly, the scent of his cologne, gunpowder filled your nose it was a scent that brought you a sense of comfort and warmth, as well as made your body feel hot and bothered.

“I know doll, I know.” Leon says against your neck as he adjusted his position, soon Leon spat on his hand and used his saliva as lubricant as he gave his cock a few pumps before he brought it to your entrance, he tapped his tip a few times causing sweet whines to leave your lips before he pressed his hips forward causing his length slide inside smoothly causing sweet whines and cries to leave your lips as he filled you up, you could feel him growing inside you stretching you could perfectly.

One of his gloved hands came up to the door behind your head, to balance himself and use his other hand on your ass to keep you in place as he began to thrust at a steady but slow pace, burying his face in your neck, his stubble scratching the soft skin of your neck and shoulder but in this moment you didn’t care, all thoughts left your mind as you focused on the pleasure this man was giving you.

“Fuck, been waiting for long on for this.” Leon groans in your ear as you feel his grip on your ass tightens slightly, his gloved fingers digging into the soft flesh knowing there will be a bruise there tomorrow, you could feel his cock twitch as he kneaded your ass as he thrusted into you rhythmically, sweet moans and cries fell from your lips uncontrollably as you moved your hips to meet his thrusts, you leaned back against the door as you tightened your legs around his waist.

You could hear the door creak and rattle with every thrust, you felt Leon pick up the pace slightly, the tip of his cock hitting that sweetspot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head, you felt his hand that was on the door was now in your hair, tugging your head back slightly exposing your throat, you could feel his lips and teeth attack the soft skin, leaving marks on your skin that you will have to cover up tomorrow before you go into work. Sweat started to cover your body, your hair was sticking to your forehead, your body becoming slick.

“Leon.” You babbled his name out as you could feel your thighs behind to shake, you knew you were close, your body felt as if it was tightening, at the sounds of your cries Leon steady up his thrusts, he was now pounding into you could hear his grunts and praises.

“I know sweetheart, cum for me.” Leon grunted against your neck that his teeth were currently sunken into, soon he buried himself to the hilt inside you, that pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name with a loud whine and dug your nails into his shoulder as you felt your body come undone around him.

He soon followed and you felt his cock twitch inside you before he filled you up, causing pleasure to ripple though your body causing you to mew softly. You both stay like this for a few minutes, both breathing heavily and waiting for the trembling of your body to stop, but there was a smile on your lips. But soon you were lifted up and taken to your couch, where you were laid over the arm chair, you could feel Leon’s cum dripping down your thighs making a mess and your cheek flush bright red, you needed to clean yourself up.

Looking over your shoulder at Leon, you could see him admiring the sight of you bent over the couch arm, watching his cum run down your thighs, you saw him kneel down between your legs from behind, then he took off his gloves and put them on the ground before you felt his fingers run up the back of your thighs, your combined juices coating his fingers before he caught them up to his mouth and clean them a growl leaving his lips causing you to clench around nothing.

“You’re going to make such a pretty mess for me doll.” Leon says gruffy as you felt his hungry eyes on your puffy pussy. You felt him move the bottom of your hoodie up to the middle of your waist, leaving your behind exposed to him and the cool breeze. “Look at you, so perfect and dirty just for me.” He praises you causing a soft embarrassed whine to leave your lips before without warning he dived in, burying his face in between your thighs from behind feasting on you like a starving man.

A sharp hitch pitched moan leaves your lips as you pushed your hips into the couch, you buried your face into one of your couch pillows as you could hear the wet and sucking noises coming from behind you could hear Leon grunting also animalistically behind you devouring you, He carefully spread your legs more and buried face deeper, his tongue gently lapping at your sensitive bud, before taking it in between his lips and suckled softly.

“Leon.” His name fell from your lips in a hitch pitch slur, your brain was so hazy and blissed out that you couldn’t focus on anything expect him and the pleasure that was flowing through your body. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you.” Leon groaned against your pussy as you started to grind on his nose, as you were moving your hips you felt his thumb gently tease your asshole, before he slowly pushed it in.

You tensed at first since it was your first time having something back there, but slowly you adjusted your hands where now gripping the pillow your face was buried in as you felt your eyes roll into the back of your head. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your slick was now running down your thighs as Leon’s mouth and fingers worked you, as if he knew your body like the back of his hand.

“That’s its baby, cum all over my face, I wanna drink every drop.” Leon growled against your pussy encouraging you as he increased the intensity of his ministrations. You couldn’t hold on anymore your body feeling as if it was on fire as it trembled under his touch, you squeezed your eyes shut as your body came undone but then you felt it, a gush left your body causing a squeak like moan to leave your lips as your body spasmed.

You felt his grip on your thighs tighten slightly as well as a soft suckling noise, you reached your hand back and tried to push his head away. “to sensitive.” You whined softly before you felt his fingers intertwin with your as he placed one last kiss on your pussy and ass before he got up.

“told you I would make a mess of you.” Leon says with a deep chuckle then you felt his hand around your neck, the same one that was just inside you a couple seconds ago, you could see the front of his shirt was drench in your juice’s causing an embarrassed blush to color your cheeks.

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed over with a hazy and dazed look of lust before you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, you felt a drop of his saliva drop on your tounge and you swallowed it immediately, you could taste yourself which caused your cheeks to burn brighter and a grin to come onto his face as he slightly tightened his grip on your neck.

“Such a good girl, always taking everything, I give you.” Leon praises you, his voice low and husky before he leans down and captures your lips in a gentle kiss, that made your heart leap into your chest.

Soon Leon helped you to your feet, he put his arm around your waist to keep you steady as your legs were like jelly and shaking, you both made your way to your bathroom upstairs. “Do you want to shower together or separately.” Leon asks as he guides you into the bathroom and places you on the toilet seat, before going over to your shower and turning on the hot tap. “Together.” You said not trusting your legs to be able to keep you steady in the shower, Leon nodded his head and walked over to you and gently tugged your hoodie off and placed it on the sink before he started to strip himself.

You could see new wounds and scars on his body, but you don’t say anything, you knew his work was private or he couldn’t say anything, but you knew his work drained him both physically, mentally and emotionally and that is what made you worry the most.

Stepping inside the now warm shower water you both felt out a hum as the warm water cascaded over your bodies, relieving the knots and tight muscles in both your bodies, Leon wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closely to his body. Leaning against his body you went up on your tippy toes and pressed and gentle kiss to his lips, this wasn’t sexually driven or rough as before but more tender and softer as if you were trying to savor this moment of soft intimacy in your own little bubble.

Leon returned the kiss also immediately, his callous hands running down your curves before they settled on your ass and give it a small squeeze. “this.” He mumbles against your lips as he gave you soft pecks. “this is why I can’t let you go.” he whispers softly before his blue eyes meet yours. “You’re not just sex to me y/n, but something more.” He says as he cradles your head in his hands before his lips meet yours again in a soft and passionate kiss.

“but we can’t keep sneaking around Leon, it isn’t fair to your girlfriend, even if you’re in a relationship or situationship it still isn’t fair on her.” You say as you gently pressed on his bare chest breaking the kiss softly. “I know.” He admits quietly as he rested his forehead on yours, his damp hair was pressing against your forehead and for a moment you forgot that you were in the shower as his eyes looked into yours, you could see the guilt in them but also a look you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“you know how I feel about you y/n, I’ll figure something out somehow I promise.” Leon promises you as he places a kiss on the top of your head, despite the uncertainty and guilt hanging over them, all you wanted to do was be closer to Leon, he made you feel a way that no other man has ever made you before, he makes your heart flutter and skip a beat with just a look, his arms feel like home, making you feel safe and protected when they are around you, but you knew things were going to be easy for either of you.

After your shower and putting both of your clothes into your washing machine, you were laying on your bed just in a pair of panties, your hair was still a little damp but you knew it would dry overnight, only your bedside table lamp was on giving your bedroom a more relaxed vibe as you could hear the rain outside hitting your windows.

Leon came in a couple moments later, only wearing a pair of briefs, lucky he had left some of his clothes from last time he was here, He soon joined you on the bed and pulled you closely to bare chest as his hand started to run through your dam hair, causing a soft hum to leave your lips.

“Beautiful.” You heard Leon mumble before he leaned capturing your lips in a soft and passionate kiss, like you shared in the shower, you hummed softly against his lips and kissed him back the same, your hands resting on his bare chest, your eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself be lost in this man that you know has capture your heart despite everything.

The dim lighting in the room and the rain outside gave your bedroom an almost intimate and sensual atmosphere as you moved closer to Leon, straddling one of his thick thighs, you could feel the emotions in the kiss, the unsaid words you couldn’t say out loud, the promises and hope. You both explored each other’s mouths languidly, taking the time to savor the taste and feel of each other, not knowing when the next time you would be able to see each other.

You felt him break a hand up and gently stroke your cheek with his thumb as he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead on yours, gazing into your eyes with warmth and adoration. “I love you y/n so damn much.” He confesses softly, his tone was tinged with desperation and longing, as if it was a slient plea for you to always be his and only his.

Reaching up you intertwined your fingers with the hand that was on his cheek and leaned up and softly kissed him, you didn’t say the three words back to him but your actions showed it, slowly you pulled away causing a groan to leave his lips as he tried to chase after your lips, but you place one of your fingers on his lips.

“If your serious about this then leave her, I’m sick and tired of sneaking around behind everybody’s back and feeling as if I am walking on eggshells.” You say to Leon hoping he would understand where you were coming from, you felt him lean forward and soft peck your lips as he gave the soft flesh of your ass a small squeeze.

“I promise I will y/n, you’re the only one I want.” He mumbled against your lips as if he was sealing a promise, you didn’t know what the future held for the both of you, but you knew if Leon kept to his promise then you wouldn’t let him slip through your fingers not again.

“Okay.” You say to him as a smile came across your lips. “Okay.” He repeated back to you echoing your sentiment, he pulled you closer so now there was no space between you as you laid on top of him, you settle in for the night, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm ambiance over your entwined bodies. Even if this was to only last just for tonight you were going to savor every single moment until the sun raised in the morning…

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 months

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 33

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mentions of hurting an infant; mentions of injuries; mentions of descriptions of breastfeeding; descriptions of postpartum changes; sexual situations; fingering; oral (m receiving)

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the amazing @dixons-sunshine. Happy belated birthday, my love. I’m sorry that it had to be this chapter I dedicated because I am just not confident of it. I never am, if I’m being honest, and most of you know that. It’s just taken so long to update and I’ve even had to ask folks about things I’ve included previously or not included because I can’t remember. I just hope that it was worth the wait even if it’s not top tier.

“Daryl.” Every raging emotion wreaking havoc inside your chest was belied by the calm in which you said his name. Another close call, too close for a baby only a couple of days into the world. Birdie was with Hershel. She was safe. She would be fine. “Daryl.” You took a step toward him, the wind from the window clawing at his clothing and hair.

No one else was moving or speaking. If you couldn’t see them in your peripheral, you’d have sworn you were alone on that landing with the archer. Daryl remained utterly unmoving, only the heaving of his shoulders indicating that he was even real. Another step, but then you found you couldn’t will your feet to stop moving until you reached him.

Even in his current state, you knew he would never hurt you. Even if he would, he needed a tether, needed to be brought back from the razor-sharp edge of his anger before it sliced him too deeply. Without another thought, you slid your arms beneath his and molded yourself to his back, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

“It’s okay.” You soothed while your fingertips gently massaged into his chest in an attempt to ground him. “They’re gone.” You felt the moment he came back to himself, the minute jerk of his body against yours, the sharp inhale.

“Y/N.” He whispered, barely audible over the biting wind. “Birdie?” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay. She’s with Hershel.” You squeezed a little tighter, anticipating his next question. “I’m alright, Daryl. Everyone’s alright.” His shoulders dropped, breaths slowing to something at least approaching normal.

You held on until his fingers were prying yours away. When he turned, the rage had faded from those blue pools, replaced with an anguish that made your heart ache. He had murdered people—with good reason, utterly justifiable—and he was in a fierce battle with the guilt that accompanied the actions. It wasn’t the first time he had taken a life, but it was the first time he had done so with such violence, blinded by an anger that it had him quaking so hard that he might have just shaken apart.

“I—” His eyes flickered upward, somewhere over your shoulder and reminded you that you weren’t alone. The others were likely staring, only adding to the archer’s discomfort and shame. Twisting an arm behind your back, you jerked your wrist in a dismissive gesture and heard the shuffling of feet mere seconds later. When his head dropped onto your shoulder, he sighed, the trembling subsided, and you held him.

“You did what was necessary to protect us.” After a moment, he nodded against your skin.

“Need to see ‘er.” His voice was muffled but no less distressed. Turning your face into his hair, you pressed a kiss to his hair.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, okay?”

You had led Daryl to an isolated spot in the warehouse, grabbing his bag from where he had discarded it upon entry. He let you strip him of his poncho and vest, work the buttons open and slide his shirt from his shoulders. The blood and grime that covered him was more than that of the people he had slain. He had fought his way to you—to Birdie—throughout the wilderness, slathered in brain matter and dark liquid. You didn't ask him about the journey. If he wanted you to know, he would tell you.

The water was cold, the saturated fabric leaving gooseflesh in its wake. His face was first, blue eyes focused on you as you worked. You paused beside his mouth and traced your thumb across his bottom lip. Heavy lids fluttered shut, opening a moment later to reveal a darkness that was perilously close to unbridled desire. Something you could handle later. He made no move to act upon it, Hershel’s strict orders to abstain likely circling in his head just as it was your own. There were other ways to bring him that sort of comfort.

“Y’alright?” He asked, lifting a hand but dropping it a heartbeat later. He could have had walker blood on his fingers, smart enough to resist touching the bruising cut on your forehead.

“Mhm.” You nodded. He was clearly unconvinced. “I’ll let Hershel check it. Promise.”

Moving on, you cleaned his chest, tilting your head when your hand paused just above a weeping slice in his skin, just below his ribs. “Daryl, were you hit?” You swallowed hard, awaiting his answer regardless of the minor severity of the wound. The skin around it was dirty but free of the darkened blood of walkers. There was little likelihood that he was infected.

“S’just a graze.” He sniffed hard and averted his eyes. It would need stitched and he knew it, but it wasn’t unusual for him to downplay an injury. Exchanging the flannel square for a fresh one, you mopped away the fresh blood, raising a skeptical brow while staring at him from beneath your lashes. “It’ll keep for now.” Pursing your lips, you mulled it over, narrowing your eyes at the deep injury before you settled upon allowing his deterrence to stand. It continued to ooze, but you moved on regardless. He was still watching you, you could feel his gaze as you carried on with your ministrations. “I love ya.”

Your hand stilled, your breath hitching. It was so sudden and full of conviction, and no doubt brought upon by the traumatic events. That made it no less true. Your free hand came to rest on his cheek, thumb stroking beneath his eye. “I love you, too.” With a tight smile, you leaned forward and granted a chaste kiss, nuzzling your nose against his before continuing to wipe at his chest and stomach, his scars prominent on chilled skin.

“Wan’cha to be a Dixon for real.” And that did more than make your breath stutter. It stopped it altogether.

“What?” You managed, sitting straighter. His eyes squinted, full of determination.

“Already made ya a mama. S’ass backwards, but I—y’know what I mean.” Ducking his head, he looked away, cheeks flushed. “S’okay if ya don’t wanna. Ain’t gonna be mad or nothin’.”

You had to refrain from smacking his shoulder. How could he even begin to think you wouldn’t want to be his wife? Then you were forced to remember the examples of love he’d been given growing up, the seeds of uncertainty and inconfidence that had been planted so deeply inside of him and allowed to take root.

“Of course I’d want it.” You finally replied, likely leaving the silence to fester too long, enough to fill him with a doubt you’d need to strive to correct. “Daryl, is this what you really want?”

“Would’na asked if it weren’t.” He answered without hesitation, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. There was such a lack of confidence in his eyes. He was far outside his comfort zone, holding on by the skin of his teeth.

“You didn’t really ask.” You chuckled, needlessly running the cloth down his jaw again. While some would have found the proposal lackluster, to you—it was perfect. So Daryl that you were warmed inside and butterflies had stirred to life deep within your stomach.

“What? Y’want the one knee an’ ring?”

“No.” You leaned in for a gentle kiss. He returned it, though his eyes remained open and his brow remained drawn. “The answer is yes, but if you change your mind—”

“Won’t.”

“But if you do—”

“Won’t.”

“Okay, okay.” You held up your palms, surrendering, while the fabric hung from between two fingers on your right hand. “Yes, but we wait a while before we tell anyone, before anything is official.”

“Ain’t really no way to make it official anymore beyond decidin’.”

He had you there. A wedding would simply be a formality. There were no documents to sign, no certificates. Nothing beyond the vows you’d make and the last name you chose to carry.

“Still.” I wanna give you an out. He could walk away regardless, at any time after the decision. He could change his mind without attorneys and legal systems. Regardless, you needed him to know that you weren’t trapping him. “Please.”

He was observing you stoically, an obvious refusal on the tip of his tongue. After a moment, he grunted. “Fine.” You kissed him again, a simple peck even as he scowled.

“Thank you.”

You continued to clean his skin, eyes flitting over to the steadily seeping wound. Hershel would need to disinfect and stitch it, or you could if he truly preferred. Your partner was likely to be particular with such a small injury.

Your financè.

That realization brought upon an unbidden smile, one that Daryl clearly caught and returned with a twitch of his lips. Yet another happiness in such a cruel world.

Daryl was sitting cross-legged, Birdie’s bottom perched where his legs intersected. Supporting her head with overlapped hands, he was tenderly swaying her, her eyes heavy and attempting to close. She was so obviously milk drunk, having nursed for the second time before you passed her over to her father again. Perhaps it was her desperate cries much earlier in the night that had triggered your milk production or maybe it was simply timing. Either way, you were finding the postpartum cramps less and less painful each time she nursed.

There was something serene about the archer’s expression, a gratuitous relief with a hint of awe. The latter was almost always present when he looked at his daughter. Smiling softly, you dug through your bag for a fresh sweater and bra, the ones you wore being saturated with breast milk. Lori wasn’t kidding. Your nipples were fountains.

“I’m gonna go change.” You informed Daryl while grabbing a couple of bra pads. Pushing to your feet, you winced, pinching one eye closed when your head pulsed. Hershel had said it was a mild concussion. Unsurprising.

“Y/N.” Daryl’s tone was teetering somewhere between a warning and concern.

“I’m okay.”

He squinted at you, still swaying little Birdie while his eyes dropped to Carol. He jerked his chin toward you and received a nod in return. You slouched in defeat, a chuckle sounding from behind you before her petite hands steered you by your shoulders toward a nearby office.

Once the door closed, Carol leaned against it, arms wrapped around herself and head turned to afford you some privacy. To your surprise, you appreciated it. Before giving birth, you wouldn’t have cared in the slightest, but pregnancy had altered your body in such a way that you felt foreignly self conscious. Your stomach was soft but still swollen, stretch marks littered across the once smooth skin. It wasn’t until you had removed your sweater and bra, however, that you noticed yet another difference.

“Jesus, my tits are huge.” You professed, wide eyes studying the way your nipples leaked in the absence of your daughter.

“It happens.” The other woman responded without missing a beat. “You’ll likely need to pump in between feedings, though we have no way to keep the milk frozen until it’s needed.”

You bounced on the balls of your feet and watched the mounds of your chest jiggle up and down. “Almost seems like a waste.”

Carol hummed. “Sometimes it’s necessary. Becoming engorged can be painful. And don’t get me started on clogged milk ducts.”

“What’s that?” You fastened the bra, trying to quickly stuff pads into the cups before the liquid could drench the fabric.

“I don’t really know how to explain it but the milk won’t come out. There’s usually some swelling, like a knot. It’s painful.” When she no longer heard you moving, she chanced sliding her eyes toward you. Your face surely reflected the fearful anxiousness you were feeling inside. “It’s okay, honey. It’s pretty easily treated.”

You nodded with a hard swallow. “Anything else I should dread?” Slipping your arms into your sweater, you pulled it over your head and smoothed it in place.

“Certainly not something to dread, but I noticed Daryl brought back a pump when he got all those supplies.” You remained still and silent. “I’ll show you how to use it. You can pump some milk into a bottle. It’ll allow for Daryl to feed her too.”

That erased any and all negative emotion, replacing it with the mental image of your partner—Birdie nestled in the crook of his elbow—holding a bottle for your little one to get what she needed while he watched her with those wonderstruck eyes. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” You downplayed. Carol saw right through it.

She smiled, that soft reassuring upturn of her lips that somehow always set your mind at ease. One hand on the doorknob, she reached out for you with the opposite one. “No, it wouldn’t. Now come on before he loses his mind and comes looking for you.”

“We’ve been gone five minutes.” You reasoned. The woman shot you a look. Daryl could sometimes be a little overprotective, it said. Lips pursed, you nodded. “Fair point.”

The warehouse was cold. The old files from the office burned too quickly—Daryl had warned as much—with a smell that had everyone coughing and the archer standing far away with your baby to shield her from the smoke.

“Told ya.” He had stated matter-of-factly, a large finger gently holding the pacifier in place while Birdie sucked away at it.

Sleeping bags and blankets were passed around, those who were willing were sleeping in pairs to stave off hyperthermia. You laid on your side, facing Daryl with Birdie swaddled between your bodies. A sleeping bag was zipped around you and your daughter, her little form pressed nearer to you than her father—even though he laid close to ensure his body heat kept the baby warm. Another blanket was draped across the three of you.

You listened to the dwindling sounds of the walkers outside, their attention drawn elsewhere with the lack of noise within the warehouse. Your eyes were on Daryl’s face. He was actually sleeping, having knocked out almost immediately. He had to be exhausted from the hike to get to you and then the bloodbath that had followed his arrival.

Glenn was keeping watch, but you still flinched at every groan of the building, every howl of the winter wind outside. The image of little Birdie screaming on that cold floor, a gun aimed at her—it was seared into the back of your eyelids. You couldn’t close your eyes without seeing it, without hearing her. All it would have taken was one twitch of a finger and your innocent baby girl would have—

“Hey.”

Your eyes snapped open, blurry, unfocused, a familiar blue distorted and moving until your vision settled onto Daryl’s gaze. His brow was drawn inward, mouth set in a thin line. His shoulder shifted just before you felt the rough pads of his fingers against your cheek. His hand cupped your face, calloused skin in such brave contrast to the tender touch. You raised your head just enough to lean into his palm.

“She’s right here.” He whispered, reading your mind—or more likely, your eyes. “Ain’t gonna let nobody take ‘er from ya, y’hear me?” His eyes were shining but the tears never fell. “From me.” He added, his voice cracking as his bottom lip trembled. With the silence stretching, his touch lingering, you pulled your arm from within the sleeping bag to place your hand over his.

“I know you won’t.”

He squinted for the briefest of moments, as if studying you, before he turned his hand, squeezed your fingers, and pulled away.

“Get some sleep.” His hand lowered to brush over Birdie’s hair before retreating entirely. “Gonna be wakin’ up hungry soon.”

You smiled softly as his eyes closed, knowing that he’d get up with you when Birdie woke up to nurse. How had the powers that be seen fit to grant you Daryl Dixon as the father of your baby? As the man who wanted to spend his life with you? What had you done to deserve such a perfect little family at the end of the world?

Letting your own eyes close, you saw not the fearful image of your Birdie so cold and scared, but Daryl feeding his daughter her first bottle without a single hint of apprehension in his loving gaze.

It was cold.

What in the world had possessed you to try and wipe down while there was no fire to warm the water? Oh. Right. You were still bleeding from the birth and a woman could only take so much before feeling she was a walking brick of iron.

Using the office, you had placed one of your shirts across the top of the door to cover as much of the glass as you could before undressing to take care of business. Urinating in an empty trashcan felt awkward but it was a you gotta do what you gotta do type situation. Stripped bare, you shivered as you wiped down, removing the sweat and dirt of the last few days before focusing on the main area of concern.

Using a clean scrap of fabric, you dipped it into the bowl, counting down from three before swiping it through your folds, over your groin and inner thighs. It was a little surprising to feel a twinge of relief when the cold touched the warm, abused area. Carol had told you that healing would be slower with the inability to manage a healthy diet and maintain a sleeping schedule. Not that you didn’t believe her, but the heat you could feel through the cloth, the soreness that remained, only confirmed her words.

Feeling like a new woman, you tossed the cloth into the bowl and reached for your clothes, your head snapping up when you heard the turn of the knob. Grabbing your sweater, you covered your pubic area while an arm hugged around your chest to shield at least your nipples from the intruder.

Daryl slid through the barely open door with his head down, lip tucked between his teeth. He was in a button-up, his poncho and vest missing until they could be cleaned. He closed the door quickly and offered you his back, clearing his throat. His arm came up to display two pads for your bra between his fingers.

“Ya, uh—ya forgot these.”

Amused, you dropped your arm and tossed the sweater onto the desk. “You can turn around, Daryl.” The instant regret slammed into you like a freight train. Yes, he had seen your body before—before you had given birth. He hadn’t seen the soft curve of skin on your belly with its marks and wrinkles. When he actually began to turn, you panicked, flailing and grabbing the sweater up again to cover your abdomen.

Luckily, Daryl’s eyes were immediately drawn to your breasts.

He only stared for a moment before noticeably swallowing and ducking his head, his cheeks flaring. You would have found it cute if you weren’t currently battling the nausea that accompanied the tight anxiety in your chest. Daryl cleared his throat.

“They, uh—they look—shit.”

Thankful for the distraction of your fuller chest, you smiled nervously. “It’s the milk. They won’t be like this forever.” He only hummed, apparently finding the spot where the wall met the ceiling fascinating. You gulped and absently wondered how quickly you’d want to take back your next words. “You can touch them if you want.”

The look he gave you was downright comical, as if you had just asked him to do your taxes.

“Better, uh—yeah, better not.”

While your first thought was to assume rejection, it was quickly tramped down. You knew him better than that. The slight flex of his fingers, pressing in and out of the pads he carried, folding them to nearly a point of unusable. The way he trembled with keeping his eyes on your face. The redness to his cheeks that traveled all the way to his ears.

“And why’s that?” You sauntered toward him, the sweater still covering your stomach. You knew you’d need to drop it if you were going to do what you planned. When he didn’t answer, you continued forward, pressing yourself against him, backing him up against the door. “Why’s that, Daryl?”

His throat worked around words he was struggling to articulate, but the hardness that was now pressing against the back of the hand over your stomach spoke for him. “Hershel said—I ain’t gonna risk hurtin’ ya.”

With an inward sigh, a reluctance you didn’t allow to reflect on your features, you relieved him of the bra pads, tossing both them and the sweater to the top of the desk behind you. Keeping your body close to his—enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin—you hoped you could hide your imperfections. Keep him occupied with the one thing pregnancy and giving birth had gifted you.

Wrapping your fingers around one of his wrists, you lifted his hand to your lips, wasting no time in drawing his middle finger into the warm wetness of your mouth. Daryl groaned, a drawn out, deep vibration that you could feel just as much as you heard. With your other hand, you guided his palm to your breast. It was awkward at first, his fingers stiff, his hand unmoving. It wasn’t until you hollowed your cheeks and pulled against his finger that you felt him squeeze.

Your breasts were sensitive, nipples even more so, but the dull pain only sparked your desire into a simmering heat between your legs. Finding it didn’t immediately cause discomfort, you pressed onward, releasing his digit before seeking out his mouth. His other hand came to rest on your hip, kneading the supple flesh there, nearly dousing your arousal with a downpour of anxiety.

He eagerly licked into your mouth, chasing your tongue, which you granted him with equal fervor, insecurities forgotten. His hand massaged your chest, milk leaking out between his fingers and giving him pause. He pulled away, breaths heavy from the kiss, staring at his hand curiously. Even with all the blood in his body maintaining his erection, he still managed to have enough to redden his face.

“What?” You asked, your hands bracketing his neck, thumbs stroking his jaw.

“S’just—I’m—”

“Curious?” You supplied. You couldn’t fault him when you found yourself wondering the same thing: what did the milk taste like? Pulling your lip between your teeth, your gaze shifted to his hand. Moving slowly, deliberately, you took hold of his wrist and bowed your head, releasing your lip in favor of presenting your tongue.

You could feel Daryl’s eyes on you as you took the first taste, straightening before you swallowed.

“It’s—sweet.” You proclaimed quietly. When he made no attempt at moving, you gently tugged his wrist to position his hand just in front of his mouth. “It’s okay, Daryl.”

“S’Birdie’s. Feels—ain’t it wrong?”

Shaking your head, your free hand slid up to his cheek. “No. Not at all.” Of course, he wasn’t convinced. Daryl Dixon was nothing if not suspicious. “You’re not stealing from her by being curious.” His eyes flickered back and forth between you and the milk, the flashlight’s beam resulting in a slick shine across his knuckles. With a pragmatic hesitance, he flicked his tongue over the skin.

“Huh.” He grunted, lowering his hand to your waist. “S’pretty, uh—amazing whatcha do for ‘er.” You were unsure whether or not he had stopped blushing since he had entered the room. He must have realized it as well, what with the way he swiftly hid his face against your shoulder.

“It’s just biology.” You shrugged. Daryl hummed, his lips then attached to your neck, sucking a bruise before soothing it with his tongue. Your knees nearly buckled, forcing him to hold your weight with an arm around the small of your back. Continuing his expedition across your skin, you focused on the pulse within the apex of your thighs.

With both hands now obtaining a tight hold on your waist, he pulled you fully against him in an almost rough, possessive manner, your hips slapping hard into his.

“Shit.” He hissed in your ear, his stubble scratching deliciously against your cheek. “Wanna touch ya.”

With a smirk, you pulled back your hips—even as he weakly tried to hold you still—and slammed them against his again, only just biting back a grimace at the cramp that radiated throughout your lower abdomen. “Then touch me.” His fingertips clasped your flesh. It was an almost painful display of restraint. Daryl pressed his back against the door, letting his head thump on the shirt-covered glass.

“Y’know what Hershel said.”

“I’m aware.” You tilted your head almost thoughtfully, letting your eyes follow your hand as it smoothed over his clothed chest and stomach, across his belt buckle, and finally came to rest against the bulge in his jeans. You caressed the area in short, slow circles before grabbing it firmly. “He said no intercourse.”

“Mhm.” His response was strained, the tendons pulled taut in his neck, his fingers maintaining a bruising hold on your hips.

“There’s still outercourse.” You suggested, back to massaging him through the denim.

“Huh?”

Maybe he really didn’t know, or maybe he was close to cumming in his pants. Either way, his head was pressed into the door and his eyes were closed, right eyebrow ticking rhythmically. “You know. I could give you head. You could—” you allowed the word to drag out while you used your free hand to station his between your legs. When his fingertips brushed your swollen clit, you stopped him from descending further. “Touch me there.”

Daryl was nearly panting. “Ain’t—ain’tcha still—”

“You afraid of a little blood?” You challenged boldly. When his eyes opened, the only blue that remained was a thin ring around dilated pupils.

“Nah.” His mouth was on yours in an instant, his fingers—abandoned by your guiding hand—now rubbing delicious circles over your clit. You were sore and the pull and give of the flesh at his whim did result in some discomfort, but holy shit, it felt too good to let that be a hindering factor.

“Oh, god.” You tilted back your head and opened the expanse of your throat for his mouth, your fingers sliding up his arm, across his shoulder, and up to his hair, twisting the digits in the slightly longer strands. Your hips were already rolling, grinding your clit down onto his fingers. “I’m—”

“Already?” Came the chuckle against your collarbone. You groaned, tugging his hair roughly. Your orgasm was building quickly, faster than you had anticipated, definitely faster than you wanted.

“Shut up and don’t stop.”

Your hand twisted loose when Daryl spun you, your back connecting with his broad chest, his fingers never missing a stroke. Even as your skin grew hotter and your breaths faster, the sudden shame of your body being on full display was quickly working against you.

“Wait. Wait, wait, stop.” You managed, whining when you felt the immediate absence of his hand.

“Well, which is it?” The archer asked breathlessly.

Folding inward, you crossed your arms over your stomach, your back still to Daryl. You were desperate to keep yourself shielded, terrified to witness his repulsion, to risk the grand step the two of you had taken. If he saw you now, what you hadn’t had a chance to correct—was it something you could even fix? Firm? Tighten?—then he wouldn’t want you anymore. Wait. Were you insinuating that Daryl was shallow? Hadn’t this been a conversation before?

“Ya think any louder an’ them walkers are gonna come back.”

“Sorry, I just—” You could feel his body heat against your back just before his arms wound around you, a palm flat against your sternum gently guiding you to straighten. Your hands remained on your stomach. “I don’t look like—”

“Told ya before that shit don’t matter to me.” His hand remained against your chest as he stepped to the side and maneuvered you back against the door. He was silent as he pulled your hands away from your body, unyielding when you tried to keep them in place.

“Daryl, it’s—”

“Hush.” His tone was stern, not unkind. Large hands took hold of your waist, his thumbs brushing up and down over the soft swell of your stomach. You watched his face as he took in the state of your midsection, his expression tender. “Ain’t understandin’ why you’re so worried ‘bout it.”

Your throat worked to allow you to swallow. Why were you worried? Where was the confidence of the woman that had seduced the man in front of you in the woods all those months ago?

“Because—I don’t know.”

“Ya don’t know.” He repeated quietly. When his lips met yours, you weren’t expecting it. The kiss was unhurried, a warm ember in the cold, cold room. His hands never stopped moving, caressing your stomach, the curves of your breasts, your hips. Yet they always returned to your abdomen, gliding outwards to your sides and back again, feeling the stretched skin manipulate beneath his hands. He never stopped kissing you, mouth moving over your own in slow repetition, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip before dipping inside for the quickest taste. When he pulled away, it was by mere centimeters, his forehead against yours. He was once again breathless. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ya, y’hear me?”

There was a moment of hesitance, a split second need to argue your prerogative. In the end, under his steady gaze, the pale glow of the candle making his blue irises dance, you conceded with a nod.

“You’re perfect.” He whispered, nuzzling his cheek against your temple. The absolute softheartedness that man could display was unparalleled.

His right hand drifted down, leaving a tingle across your skin in its wake. He cupped your mound and used his ring and index fingers to part your folds, the heat of his middle digit warming your sensitive nub. With a kiss to your jaw, he pulled back, the intensity of his gaze begging one question:

Do you want this?

“Please.” Your voice came out deep with desire, a rekindled hunger for his touch that you weren’t sure could even be sated that night but you’d take what you could get.

Your hips jolted at the first touch, a delicate stroke before he moved away only to repeat the action. As he worked you toward orgasm, your hands smoothed over his chest and over his shoulders, your arms winding around his neck to pull him back to you, mouths crashing together. This kiss was fiery, setting your lips and tongue ablaze until you were being consumed by him.

Daryl used his hold on your waist to tilt your hips out and up, nearly forcing you to stand on the tips of your toes. It hardly mattered, you were too lost in the electricity spiderwebbing from the single finger, the current charging up into the pit of your stomach where it coiled tighter and tighter.

“Oh god, Daryl.” Each syllable played out against his mouth, his own breathing labored. For the briefest of moments, you wondered if he might cum just from touching you, from watching you make the climb toward the precipice. You could feel yourself—stiff and swollen—pulsing beneath his touch, begging for release that he had no viable reason to deny you.

“Just let go for me.” He whispered in turn, deep and raspy, his lips massaging yours. “I gotcha.”

That quiet reassurance was enough to snap the flaming cable within you, sending wave after wave of pleasure from where his finger massaged. Your eyes rolled back, your attempts at crying out muffled by his mouth slotting over yours. His hand left your hip to slide around to the small of your back, holding you steady through each surge of ecstasy until you were nothing but pliable limbs and twitching hips.

Between your legs—as well as Daryl’s hand—would surely be a mess of your desire and blood, but cleaning up was merely an afterthought behind the last waves of your orgasm, the warmth of his body, the strength of his muscles holding you in place, and the soft kisses he was peppering to the skin above your pulse. You were truly loathe to have him anywhere but right where he was.

With a hum, you pushed against his chest and caught his wrist when he tried to move further away than you were willing to allow. “Let’s get cleaned up, hmm?” You pulled him behind you, guiding him to the desk. He didn’t object when you used a fresh scrap of fabric to wash his hand and yet another to clean yourself. You had barely placed the cloth into the bowl of water before he was cupping your chin, bringing your face closer to his.

“Ain’t ever gotta worry ‘bout what’cha look like. Not with me. Not ever.” You opened your mouth, not even really sure what you were intending to say, but you achieved nothing more than a content sigh against his lips when he closed the distance between you. His thumb was tracing the line of your jaw, back and forth, when he pulled back and used the light hold on your chin to tilt your face down and kiss your forehead.

You were left blinking away tears while he traipsed to the door. “Wait.” He turned to regard you with an arched brow, his eyes following your movements as you sauntered toward him with a newfound confidence for which you had every intention of thanking him. Splayed fingers on his chest pushed him flush against the door before both hands began working at his belt. “Your turn.”

“Y’ain’t gotta—fuck.”

Your hand had already slipped into his jeans, past his underwear, and begun to stroke him. He was still half hard, making it easy to bring him to a state of fully aroused. “I wish we could.” You teased in a sultry tone, your lips against his neck.

He was tense beneath your mouth, stressed and more than a little riled up, something you hoped to remedy. Dropping to your knees, you didn’t allow him time to think, even a second to protest, before freeing him only to draw his cock into your mouth.

The sound he made was dangerously close to a whimper. His right hand came to rest on the back of your head, heavy but immobile. With half of his length weighing on your tongue, you swirled the muscle around his shaft, placing pressure on the vein running beneath while pushing your head forward to draw him fully inside. Your nose met the skin above the base, the impulse to gag strong and forcing you to pull back while still keeping him engulfed within the wet heat of your mouth.

“Jesus fuck.” His fingers curled into your hair, hand trembling in denial of the need to guide you. The wet sounds of debauchery filled the small office as you repeated the action, slowly edging him toward an orgasm that—if the already present twitch and pulse of his cock was any indication—wouldn’t take long to achieve.

With fluid and deliberate movements, your hand slipped beneath his shirt and slid over his stomach—his muscles twitching—and up to his chest. When your nails scraped downward, he moaned, low and deep. His hips jerked on reflex, causing you to gag which only ended in the same reaction. Your hand stopped when you felt the raised skin of a scar, fingers straightening so that your touch was gentle over marks left gifted out of anger and malice. You had long ago vowed to never grant those areas anything less than tenderness.

Lifting your hand away from his skin, you used both to grip his denim clad thighs and slid them around to squeeze his buttocks, using that hold to push him toward you and draw him back, directing him to use your mouth for his pleasure.

And still he didn’t.

You should have known he wouldn’t, always afraid of hurting you, of pushing you past your limits. Had your mouth not been full of him, you would have smiled. Instead, you kept one hand on his ass while the other wrapped around what you could not easily take. Your lips chased your fingers back and forth, your head bobbing.

“Y/N.” He growled from above, his grip in your hair tightening enough to make your scalp sing. Still, he merely held on while his other hand joined the first. Between wet slurps and quiet grunts, the room was filled with filth and sin and the scent of sweat and sex.

Daryl was hanging on by a thread.

Your efforts doubled, your cheeks hollowed and pace quickened. His breaths were heavy, near wheezing, with barely contained moans, his head pressed back into the door, eyes tightly closed and lips minisculary parted.

“M’—m’gonna—”

You hummed around him, the only warning you received before he spilled against the back of your throat was the tensing of his muscles beneath your hand. A string of expletives left his mouth in a rush of breath, his body bowing over you while he finally allowed his hands a purpose of holding you in place while his hips thrust to prolong the intense waves of pleasure.

As he came back to himself, he quickly released you, watching you pull yourself off of him with a hard swallow and deep inhale. Daryl was trembling, his knees slightly bent. Sensing he was barely maintaining his footing, you rose and wiggled your arms around his torso, providing him support while simultaneously laying your head against his chest to hear his heart gallop.

After a moment, you felt his cheek rest against your temple, a deep breath shuddering beneath your cheek.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me.”

“Nah,” you laughed. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d use a knife.” He straightened, forcing you to pull back and look at him. He was sweating while you were growing colder in your bare state, your chilled hands tucking him away and doing up his pants.

He opened his mouth, likely a retort on his tongue, when there came a knock on the door. Dear god, had someone heard?

“Someone’s getting cranky out here.” Carol’s voice was quiet, amused, and close to the door.

Daryl gulped, his eyes wide before he settled into stoicism and jerked his chin toward the desk. “Finish up, I got ‘er.”

You offered him a nod and stepped back enough for him to open the door and slip out. You grabbed your sweater and went back to the door, listening for what you could possibly hear on the other side.

“Can’t let’cha mama an’ ol’ man have a break, kid?” Daryl asked quietly, still close to the door. You could hear Birdie’s little squeaks as she likely settled into her father’s arms.

“She wants to be an only child for at least a year, Daryl.” Carol’s voice was further away.

“Th’fuck? How’d—” The archer exclaimed.

“I hear everything. I mean everything.”

Your face reddened and you stepped away from the door, knowing full well that a teasing was awaiting upon your return. Pulling on your bra, you situated the pads and then continued to dress. The mess of cloths and water were dumped into the trashcan. With an indignant pout, you reached for the doorknob.

“I swear that woman has a built in sex alert system.” You grumbled on your way out, closing the door behind you.

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