#i seem to recall a very old mutual liking it

[papytonpropaganda]

genuinely papyton has been part of my life for so long now that I can't remember when exactly I started liking it. it was either early 2017 or sometime mid to late 2016. I know I started doing fanfic planning for it in like, April 2017 (just before the first chapter of Walls was posted) but I genuinely can't remember when I first saw it and thought "oh what a silly ship, ig I could get behind this."

incredible that it's literally just daily life for me now and yet I can't remember at all when it started or what caused it.

[sweetlemontart]

call me by his name | yoon jeonghan [M]

summary ⇾ to you, one of jeonghan's most admirable trait is his candid nature. he's straightforward with most people—if he's angry, they'll definitely know. but with you? he'd rather swim the ocean day and night than take his anger out on you. well, that is, of course, unless you ask him to.

PAIRING // yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

GENRE // explicit smut, established relationship, some fluff, mostly smut, sub!reader, jeonghan tries to be angry hard!dom but is actually a soft!dom cause he's too in love with mc, not much plot tbh mostly just smut

WARNING // 18+, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral sex and fingering (f receiving), degradation, choking, hair pulling, some spanking, creampie, slight dacryphilia, orgasm denial(?) ig, mentions of mc's past relationship with ex!seungcheol

WORD COUNT // 8.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE // me casually coming back on here and posting after almost 2 years of radio silence (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡ btw this is my very first svt fic hehe i started liking them like a month ago? watching going svt is the only thing keeping me sane during my second year of uni :') i love jeonghan and all his manipulating mind games & cheating ways, it's the most attractive thing to me !! might drop a wonwoo fic soon too bcs he's a cutie and his wip is coming along nicely. hope u guys have been doing good hehe do like and reblog if u enjoy reading this, song rec is blue foundation - eyes on fire (skeler remix)

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Jeonghan isn't a particularly placid man. He's not excessively ill-tempered per se, but he is remarkably patient when it comes to you. You know how he is when he's angry, and you can't recall a single time when you've been on the receiving end of his wrath. 

When something ticks him off, his eyes will darken and the heated stare he gives is shrouded beneath his lashes. When he is truly livid, he'll usually walk away from the situation, and there'll be no room for anyone to say something they'll end up regretting later on. 

It's incredible, really, that he possesses the ability to bottle his anger up when it involves you. Anger is an emotion that can rarely be suppressed, but Jeonghan does it with remarkable ease. 

On any other day, perhaps you'd appreciate his effort to control his anger, but not tonight. You've made a serious mistake, one that goes against the one thing Jeonghan had explicitly stated from the start of your relationship—keeping secrets is a recipe for a failed relationship, so if you have something important to say, just say it. Jeonghan is a great boyfriend. He gives you the freedom and privacy to do things you want to do, but this particular boundary was crystal clear, and you just crossed it.

It was your fault, really. You had broken up with Choi Seungcheol only a year prior to dating Jeonghan. The break-up had been a mutual agreement, and there were no hard feelings involved. Over time, you gradually drifted apart and had minimal to no contact until... well, two weeks ago. 

It had been at a dinner party hosted by one of your acquaintances, someone who just happened to be Seungcheol's cousin. Jeonghan hadn't been able to accompany you, so you hadn't been able to introduce him to Seungcheol. Meeting Seungcheol again after more than a year hadn't been awkward. It was like meeting up with an old friend. 

Tonight, however, the universe seems like it's conspiring against you. You had been preparing dinner when you heard a notification chime on your phone. You had haphazardly tossed your phone onto the living room couch before cooking, and your boyfriend just happened to be doing his Lego in the living room, so you called out to him to check the notification. 

There was shuffling in the living room as he stood. When he strolled into the kitchen, his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as he held your phone in one hand, eyes fixed on the screen. "Who's Choi Seungcheol and why is he asking to catch up over lunch?"

Fuck. 

To be fair, you really weren't expecting Seungcheol to contact you after the dinner party. You had gone without contacting each other for more than a year, so what changed now? You had told him that you found someone new, so he definitely knew there was no possibility of rekindling your relationship. He was most likely trying to be friendly, but you understand why it would seem questionable to Jeonghan. 

Contrary to what you expected, Jeonghan hadn't gotten angry at you. He simply listened to your explanation and nodded. He became quiet, a glazed look in his eyes that you couldn't interpret. Then, he sets your phone down on the kitchen counter and hummed. Oh, he was annoyed, that much was obvious. 

"Okay, well, I trust you. Just... don't do it again," Jeonghan spoke with a slight frown, then walked out of the kitchen as though you hadn't just violated the one, single rule that you had both agreed to abide by. 

Perhaps you've gone stupid, because as your boyfriend walked out of the kitchen, you found yourself trailing close behind him. A tinge of irritation slowly bubbled up in your chest as you watched him casually plop down onto the floor to continue doing the Lego set he had been doing since earlier. 

"Is that it?" you asked him. 

Jeonghan momentarily diverted his attention from his Lego to meet your gaze. He blinked a few times. "I'm sorry?"

"You just... you're not even getting angry at me?"

"Um, am I supposed to be angry at you?"

You were taken aback by his response because it suddenly occurred to you just how silly you sounded. Did you really want him to get angry at you?

"Yes?"

Jeonghan nodded wordlessly, seemingly mulling over something in his head. 

"I made a mistake, you should be mad at me."

There was a pregnant pause before he chuckled, but there was nothing humorous about it. If anything, it sounded a little... sinister. "You want me to get mad at you, baby? Want me to show you how I'm really feeling?"

You swallowed. Suddenly, you felt small under the weight of his unyielding stare. You shouldn't have nodded, shouldn't have ever said anything about it at all, because now, Jeonghan has you on the bed, doing the one thing you had practically begged him to do—take his anger out on you. 

"G-God, please..." You're not sure what it is you're begging for. It's hard to think straight when Jeonghan is between your legs, lapping at your dripping cunt with his tongue. He had warned you not to touch him, but after several attempts of burying your fingers into his silky hair, he decided to take matters into his own hand, grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to your heaving chest. 

Your fingers continuously curl and uncurl against your chest, desperately trying to grab at something to ground yourself. The pleasure coursing through you makes your head spin, your mouth feeling as dry as cotton as you continue to chant your boyfriend's name. 

Jeonghan hums against you, mouth suckling at your swollen bundle of nerves. Your jaw drops open at the feeling, eyes screwing shut as you let a moan slip past your lips. He repeats the cycle a few more times—kissing, sucking, licking—until you feel the familiar knot tightening in your stomach. 

To your disappointment, Jeonghan withdraws his mouth from you but is quick to replace it with his fingers. He's familiar with your body by now, knowing what gives you the most pleasure and which spots to press to have you coming undone in minutes. 

He's rubbing tight circles into your clit with his thumb, middle and ring fingers ghosting over your hole, not dipping in, only lingering there to serve as a reminder of the control he has over you. "Keep your hands there," he says, squeezing at your wrists once as a warning. Then he lets go of your hands and settles his palm on the inside of your thigh, spreading you open further. 

"Jeonghan..." you whimper, legs beginning to shake as the telltale sign of your climax begins to show. 

"I need you to cum on my fingers once before you can have my cock," he says, voice coming out huskier than normal. 

Straining your neck, you peer down at your boyfriend with half-lidded eyes, only to feel a rush of heat in your stomach when you see that he's already looking at you. In the dim light of your bedside lamp, you can just make out his blown-out pupils, almost obscured beneath the strands of dark hair falling over his forehead. His lips curl up into a wicked smirk, and your focus shifts from his eyes to the way his mouth glistens with your wetness. It feels so shameful, but the sight only makes you drip even more. 

"My angel wants me to be angry at her, right?" he asks you, pressing down harder on your clit, which makes you yelp with surprise, head dropping back onto your pillow. 

"Don't stop, please, I'm cumming... F-Fuck!" It's all you manage to say as you begin to writhe under Jeonghan's hold.

He clicks his teeth in disapproval when you shift your hands from your chest to your sides, fingers tightly grabbing at the bedsheet, twisting at it recklessly. He lets it slide, however, knowing you're trying your best not to touch him like he knows you so desperately want to. 

His ring finger dips into your hole just slightly, and the stretch isn't much, but it makes you keen anyway, breath catching in your throat as he plunges it deeper and deeper until it reaches his knuckle. He doesn't move it after that, keeping it buried there as he continues to play with your clit. 

"I've barely even started and you're already like this," he says in a mocking tone, teasingly biting down at your plush thigh. "Go ahead and cum for me, then. Show me how much you want my cock, baby..."

Your body caves to his words. The knot in your stomach snaps, and you cum with a loud moan that you don't even attempt to hide. Without warning, Jeonghan promptly replaces his thumb on your clit with his mouth, sucking hard, prolonging the pleasure. He doesn't mind the way your whole body is trembling or the way your thighs try to snap shut. 

"H-Hannie, fuck... fuck..."

The way you're mumbling out incoherent words only makes the blood rush down to his cock. He's painfully hard in his pants, wanting nothing more than to sink himself right into your tight pussy. It's getting increasingly difficult to think with his head than his dick. His self-restraint is starting to fray at the edge. 

"That's it, baby..." he mumbles, removing his ring finger from inside you, grinning when your hole tries to suck the digit back in. 

With his index and middle finger, Jeonghan spreads your pussy lips apart, ignoring your whine of protest as he continues to stare at your soaked cunt. It's humiliating to be so exposed and vulnerable like this, but why do you enjoy it so much? 

Jeonghan snickers, warm breath hitting your bare pussy. "Baby, I wish you could see yourself right now. Your cute pussy is clenching around nothing."

With a sheepish whine, you splay your hands over your face, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Hannie..." you grumble, hoping he would show you some compassion and stop teasing. But of course, Yoon Jeonghan wouldn't just stop there. You should know better by now that there is no one in the world more cunning and sly than your boyfriend. 

Jeonghan pushes himself up into a sitting position, sighing when he sees the way you've covered your face. He doesn't like it when you hide from him but surprisingly doesn't say anything about it. 

When you feel him shift on the bed, your curiosity gets the best of you. Peering cautiously through the gaps of your fingers, you're left dumbfounded at the sight of your boyfriend tugging his shirt over his head. The wisps of his dark hair that had been snagged by the shirt are left askew, and the view would be endearing if it wasn't for the devious look in his eyes as he looks at you. 

Then he stands, and for a second, you're afraid he might leave you there. It wouldn't be unlike Jeonghan to suddenly leave. He's unpredictable, always trying to be a step ahead of everyone. This time, however, all he does is stand by the end of the bed, eyes roaming over your exposed figure as if trying to determine the next course of action that will deliver the most favourable outcome for him. Damn him and his mind games.

With slow movement, you press your legs together, concealing your most intimate part from your boyfriend. He shakes his head in disapproval, but you make no move to rectify your mistake. It's impossible not to hide from him when he's looking down at you as though he wants to devour you inch by inch—like a lion ogling at a wounded deer. 

Very slowly, he begins to undo the string of his sweatpants. It aggravates you to see how composed he is, movements unhurried as if he doesn't see just how much you need him. Surely he notices how your eyes rove over his bare torso, committing to memory every little detail about his body even if you've seen it myriad times before. He's not particularly muscular; he's more lean than anything, elegant, and refined in all the right places. It only makes the waiting feel even more agonising. 

"Don't tease, Hannie, please," you plead, your pulse quickening when he finally steps out of his pants. 

"Don't tease? Aw, princess, you were the one getting all friendly with your ex, and now you want me to treat you like a good girl who hasn't been whoring around behind my back?" His tone is condescending, sending a surge of electricity up your spine.  

You're suddenly reminded of what landed you in the current predicament in the first place. You want to explain and justify yourself, but you're rendered speechless when Jeonghan sweeps a hand down over his torso, eventually wrapping around his hard cock. He tugs once, twice, hissing slightly at the much-needed contact, smearing pre-cum all over the tip and shaft, the ring on his pinky glinting in the low light. 

Sitting upright, you're about to speak and deny his previous statement, but the words die down in your throat when he suddenly climbs onto the bed, slowly crawling closer to you.

You squeak in surprise when he grabs at one of your legs, tugging you down just slightly so that your face is parallel to his. Then, he settles himself between your legs, cock pressed against your stomach. He has you right where he wants you. 

Jeonghan captures your lips in a kiss, wasting no time to slip his tongue into your mouth, tangling it with yours. You sigh into his mouth, tasting the remnants of your wetness on his tongue and lips. It's a pleasant mix of bitter and sweet, a combination that makes you feel dazed despite the fact that he hasn't done anything to you yet. 

Jeonghan sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, relishing the way you mewl. He starts pressing wet kisses onto your jaw, trailing down to your neck and collarbone. "You smell so good, pretty," he mumbles against your skin, licking at your sternum. 

Reaching a hand down, you grab at his hard cock, wanting nothing more than for him to slip himself inside. You're sure you're dripping down onto the bedsheet by now. Jeonghan, however, has other plans. You only get to pump him twice before he slaps your hand away, pinning your wrist to the bed. "Don't act like such an impatient whore..."

Your whine of protest trails out into a moan when Jeonghan suddenly wraps his mouth around your nipple. His mouth is hot against the sensitive bud, and the light grazes of his teeth against it makes you arch your back. 

Jeonghan's eyes suddenly meet yours, hooded with lust. He's suckling so noisily, hips grinding into yours. It's so obscene—the way he's looking at you, the sounds he's making, the way his balls press down on your clit whenever he grinds into you. Feeling overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensory, you turn your head to the side, burying your face into your pillow as you huff out a shaky breath. 

You should've known Jeonghan wouldn't be too pleased with this. He withdraws his mouth from your chest with a lewd pop. His hand leaves your wrist in favour of grabbing at your chin. His grip is harsh, but not enough to hurt. With a sharp yank, he forces you to face forward, where you have no other choice than to meet his eyes. 

He clicks his tongue disappointedly, and your eyes flick down to his lips, red and puffy from sucking. This doesn't help your case at all, because Jeonghan immediately starts vigorously shaking your face left and right, compelling you to look back into his eyes. Your head feels dizzy, but you don't miss the look in his eyes. There's irritation swirling in them now, imbued with desire and the hunger to ravage your body until you're left a broken, muddled mess. It makes you shudder, legs squeezing tight on each side of his hips. 

"You know better than to hide from me, right?" His thumb caresses the skin of your jaw. The touch is so soft, a stark contrast to the way he's glaring down at you. When you take a little too long to answer, Jeonghan taps at your cheek a few times, hard enough for you to feel the sting. 

"Y-Yes..."

He coos, stroking your stinging cheek. "Mhm, but you're not behaving very well tonight, are you?"

"I've been good, Hannie," you assert, trying to maintain your composed front even though you desperately need him to fill you to the brim. You're aching, and you need his cock to soothe the pain. Noticing his sceptical gaze, you decide to reword your sentence. "I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise."

Jeonghan is thinking about something, silently plotting something in his head. Fuck, you're screwed now. The intensity of his gaze tells you he's about to do something that's unlikely to be in your favour.

"You want to hide from me that bad, hm?"

You're quick to shake your head. "No, Hannie, I want you to see me."

Jeonghan scowls, pecking your lips once before sitting up on his knees. "On your stomach."

You frown, dread washing over you. He knows how much you loathe that position. "Jeonghan, please, no..."

Jeonghan's face remains impassive. "I won't ask you twice."

"You know I take a long time to cum when I can't see your face," you grumble, feeling your stomach churn, chest tightening. 

"Who said you were cumming tonight?"

The question sends you into a frenzy. "Please, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please, please..."

When Jeonghan has his mind set on something, no amount of begging or grovelling will sway him. He's glowering at you, and three seconds pass before you relent. Having his cock inside you is better than nothing at all. 

"There you go, baby," he says when you finally shift onto your stomach. He's quick to straddle your thighs. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" 

You say nothing, feeling sulky now that you can't look at your boyfriend's pretty face anymore. "Angh!" you yelp when you feel a spank on your ass. Jeonghan does it a few more times, rubbing the tender skin between each hit. The touch should be soothing, but it only makes your ass burn even more, raw from his smacking.

Gritting your teeth from the tantalizing sting, you bite back an apology, knowing it's probably the last thing Jeonghan wants from you. Saying sorry would only make it worst for you. He's testing you, pushing the boundaries to see how much you can endure before you break and plead for some semblance of his kindness. The longer you hold out, the better. 

You feel him dip his head down, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep inhale to breathe in your smell. The fragrance of your perfume and natural scent is exhilarating. He wants to stay there and breathe you in all day, fill his lungs with your sweet scent so that he can still smell you even when you're miles away from him. 

A groan rumbles in his chest, you can feel it on your upper back, can hear it right beside your ear. He starts pressing kisses down your shoulder blade, digging his teeth into the smooth flesh. 

"Keep your head down," he warns you, as though he knows about your urge to turn and look at him. He sits up, his knees on each side of your legs, willowy fingers kneading your hips. 

You whine into your pillow, eyes brimming with frustrated tears. Your whole body is trembling, yearning to see him, touch him, tug on the silken strands of his dark hair. God, just the thought of it has slick gushing out of your throbbing hole. 

"I'll be good," you promise him, voice coming out breathy, desperation bleeding through. "Just, please..." you beg, quietly moaning when you feel Jeonghan's hands on your inner thighs, spreading your legs just enough for him to comfortably press the tip of his leaking cock onto your cunt. 

You hear him chuckle when your whole body stiffens, anticipating the moment when he'll finally fuck you full. He sighs to himself, looking at the way your pussy is all coated in your wetness, slick gushing out onto his cockhead as he brushes it over your clit. 

"Hmm, but you only behave after you're caught doing something bad, isn't that right?"

You don't answer, unsure whether you should defend yourself or agree with his question. You gasp when you feel him slide in just slightly, stretching you out, tip prodding at your gummy walls just enough to make you feel the agonizing stretch. "More, Hannie," you mutter, practically drooling at the prospect that it would only take a roll of his hips for him to fill you up. 

However, the delicious stretch never comes, and you're left there feeling stupid, panting with only his tip buried inside of you. You whine once, lifting your head to look back at him. Big mistake. You've barely craned your neck before you feel his hand pushing down onto the crown of your head, fingers yanking at your mussed-up hair, shoving the side of your face back into the pillow. 

With a growl, Jeonghan leans down to press his lips against your ear. "What's with you today, princess? You've always been such a good girl for me, but you keep pushing my fucking buttons today. You want me angry, hm? Is that what you want?"

His crude words shouldn't make you feel the way you do, but when he speaks, his hot breath against your ear makes your eyes roll back, pussy clenching around the tip of his cock, desperate to suck more of him in. You respond with a quiet apology, voice quivering from the arousal wracking through your body. You crave him, ache for him like a desert thirsts for rain. "Need you..."

Then, as if he senses your distress, he decides to show you some mercy. Little by little, he slides into you, slipping in easily, aided by the wetness seeping out of your pulsating hole. He ignores the way you call out his name with a shattered gasp, slowly pressing forward until his hips are flush against your ass and his cock is snug in your heat, buried to the hilt. 

You can feel Jeonghan's groan rumbling in his chest, and the noise makes your pussy clamp down on him tighter. You're fisting at the bedsheet, feeling relieved, desperate, and frantic all at the same time. God, why isn't he moving? You want him to fuck you into the bed, want him to ruin you, use you until you can barely remember your name. 

Perhaps this is Jeonghan's way of taking his anger out on you—tormenting you until you're reduced to nothing but a sputtering, drooling wreck. Maybe he wants to see you plead, beg. Or maybe, he wants you to curse him out, chastise him, berate him for putting you through this torture.

Afraid of further repercussions, you decide to patiently wait, clenching your teeth to bite back from begging him to move. Seconds seem to drag on endlessly, and you resort to imagining the sight you'd be met with if you were to turn around. Would you see Jeonghan's face contorted into a mixture of frustration and hunger? Would his eyes be crazed and heated? Maybe he's enjoying the excruciating wait, peering down at you with an amused grin, tongue peeking out to rest against his lower lip just slightly. You're dying to know. 

Then, as if he is satisfied with your unwavering determination to remain still for him, he loosens his hold on your hair, gently brushing the dishevelled strands back. His thumb extends out to stroke at the tendrils of baby hair stuck to your temple, damp with perspiration. "You want me to move, baby?"

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you have half a mind to consider saying yes, but a nagging feeling tells you it might be a trick question. Jeonghan must've sensed your apprehension because you hear him chuckle. 

Without any warning, he draws his hips back, pulling out until only his tip remains inside before plunging in again. Your jaw slackens into a silent moan. The lack of stimulation has made your body feel so attuned to his, sensitive to every little movement. You feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, feel his breath on your neck, and the ridges of the veins on his cock against your pussy. 

"It's not a trick question, you know?"

You're quick to nod your head as best as you can. "Please move," you breathe out, feeling like you're on the verge of just turning around and demanding him to fuck you the way you both need it. 

His hand grapples onto the sheets by your head, delivering another thrust into your cunt. His movement is languid, as though he wants to take his time. It's driving you crazy, just how collected he seems compared to you. Your body feels as though it's burning, lit ablaze by his kisses, touches, and every single point of contact between his skin and yours. 

Your eyes zero in on his hand propped up on the bed, right in front of your eyes, honing in on the way the sheets bunch between his fingers and the way his ring sits snug on his pinky. Subconsciously, you reach out for it, fingertips digging into his knuckles, nails pinching into the skin when he thrusts again. The movement is more rushed this time, jostling you up on the bed just a little, which makes you gasp. 

He removes your hand from him, hurriedly pressing your palm into the bed, cradling your hand from behind, his fingers sliding through the spaces of yours to intertwine them. The gesture feels so intimate, and it leaves you feeling disoriented. "Fuck, Hannie, so good..."

Jeonghan chuckles, peppering kisses all over your bare shoulder, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake wherever his lips meet your skin. "I've barely even started, baby."

Jeonghan pushes himself up onto his knees, letting go of your hand to place both his hands on your hips. He doesn't miss the way you groan at the loss of his warmth on your back, but he dismisses it. He pushes in once, twice, his gaze fixed on the point where his cock keeps appearing and disappearing into your drenched cunt. 

You barely register it when Jeonghan hauls you up onto your hands and knees, lost in the thought of him, only comprehending the situation when he once again slides into your aching pussy. You make a strangled noise in the back of your throat, elbows buckling, almost sending your face flopping back into your pillow. 

Jeonghan doesn't feel the need to take it slow anymore. His thrusts are no longer feeble, and his pace is steady. The sound of skin meeting skin fills his ears, mixed with your broken moans. It sounds like an obscene euphony, a harmony that makes his head feel foggy and hazed.

 "Fuck, pretty, you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Jeonghan grunts, sneaking a glance down, only for his pace to falter when he sees the way your slick is coating your inner thighs. The view is so lewd, salacious, dirty, and messy. "My messy fucking baby," he mumbles, picking up his speed, eyes fluttering when he feels your walls tightening around him. 

"Jeonghan... Jeonghan..." You're chanting his name like a mantra, eyes pinched close, savouring the feeling of being pumped full. 

"Yeah... that's my name, baby," Jeonghan responds, restrain starting to slip, evident in the way his voice cracks just slightly at the last syllable. "Can you cum like this?"

You promptly shake your head. "N-No." It's not entirely a lie. You hate relying on your imagination like this. You want to be able to touch him, hold him, want to be able to look into his eyes as you let your orgasm crash down on you. You want to see the way his hair frames his pretty face, want to see his flushed cheeks and the sweat gathering at the dips of his collarbones. You want to see him, or you think you'll die on the spot.

"Good. Don't cum, princess." 

"W-What?" you squeak out. 

Jeonghan snorts out a laugh. "I told you before—you're not cumming tonight."

You gulp, stooping down low onto your elbow, too weak to support yourself up on your hands. "I wanna cum, H-Hannie... Please let me..."

Jeonghan only snickers, ramming into you harder, letting out a content sigh when your moans seem to escalate, becoming more wanton and desperate. You're squeezing him so tight, white ring of your milky slick forming a ring at the base of his cock, causing him to groan out loud. He'd like to think that he's in full control, but everything about you is making him feel delirious—your smell, your pussy, your moans. 

Ever the competitive man, Jeonghan feels like he's losing this game. He's supposed to be angry at you, but why does it feel like you have the upper hand? Feeling irked by this sudden revelation, he stretches a hand out, wrapping it around your neck. He hears the surprised gasp you let out when he pulls you upright into his chest. 

Your hands immediately fly up to circle around his wrist, taken aback by the sudden change of positions. His other arm slithers around your waist, keeping you balanced as he continues to fuck you from behind. "Fuck, Hannie, your cock feels so good," you can't help but murmur, arching your hips just slightly so he can reach deeper into you. 

He scoffs, burying his face into the crook of your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses on the spot underneath your ear, strands of his hair tickling your skin. As he expects, your head lolls the other way, granting him better access to your neck. "Of course it feels good, baby. I've fucked you so many times your pussy is used to me now. Wouldn't be able to take another cock without thinking of mine, would you? Wouldn't feel so good if it wasn't my cock, right?"

His fingers dig into the sides of your neck, constricting just enough for you to gradually feel the drowsiness from the lack of air. It's intoxicating, being able to surrender yourself to another person completely, knowing they have you in the palm of their hand.

You're too preoccupied with the feeling of his hand around your throat to realise his other hand sneaking down to settle between your legs, middle and ring fingers starting to draw gentle circles into your bundle of nerves. It's almost too much—the way his cock slides in and out of you, the way his lips skim over your neck, the chokehold he has on you, the breathy groans he murmurs against your skin. 

"Unghh! F-Fuck, Jeonghan, 'm gonna cum..."

He chuckles, delighted at the turn of events. He doesn't stop the motion of his fingers against your clit and instead presses down harder, making your head roll back onto his shoulder, a throaty moan spilling past your lips into the open air. 

"Oh?" he says in a sardonic tone. "You said you couldn't cum like this. Or were you just lying to me, baby?" His mocking shouldn't have such power over you, but it makes your heart pound with the intensity of a raging storm.

"N-No, it's because you're... your fingers—"

"Hmm, what's with my fingers, angel?" 

The fingers on your clit start moving faster, motions rushed and relentless, bringing you to the verge of your climax quicker than you would ever anticipate. The sudden shift in speed makes you cry out in shock, eyes pinching shut. You're quick to bring a hand down to his wrist, tugging, trying to yank his hand away from between your legs. 

He doesn't relent, slapping your hand away and briefly resuming his assault on your aching bud. "Don't try to stop me now. I thought you wanted to cum."

"You told me not to," you rush out, heat starting to swell in your stomach, ready to burst. 

Jeonghan lets out a chortle. "That's right, baby. Ah, you listen so well..." Stretching his tongue out, he licks a broad path up your neck, stopping right underneath your jaw, where he proceeds to suck the skin. He wants to mark you, claim you. What better way than to bruise your pretty skin, right? To show everyone only a sliver of what goes on between you and him behind closed doors. 

"Oh, god, let me cum, please, please..." You have no other option than to resort to begging. Cumming without his consent would be catastrophic now. Not being able to see his face is punishment already to you, you're terrified of just how far he'd be willing to go to take his anger out on you.

Jeonghan presses the tip of his nose into the plushness of your cheek, humming as though he's weighing his options. "I don't think so, princess," he mumbles, the snap of his hips not once faltering, maintaining its hasty rhythm. "I don't think you deserve to cum."

You don't have much time left. Simple begging won't work now. You're wracking your brain for anything, anything. Forcing him to cum before you would be close to impossible, noting just how composed he seems. He's breathing hard, gravelly groans bubbling up in his chest, but he's nowhere near how wrecked you are.

Through your haze, you suddenly grow aware of the hand still draped over your throat. He's not pressing or squeezing, simply just letting his hand rest there as a means to keep you balanced on your knees as he fucks you open from behind. 

Sheer desperation makes you reach both hands up to claw at the hand on your neck. You're clinging onto the last threads of your rationality, knowing if Jeonghan puts even the slightest amount of pressure on his grip, all your sanity will go out the window, and you'd be hurled face-first into your much-awaited orgasm. You're playing with fire, you know it, but you only have one chance. 

"Unghh, f-fuck, please, choke me... I've been a bad girl, H-Hannie, choke me as punishment, and let me cum..."

You feel his mouth stretch into a grin against your cheek. Your walls are clenching around him so tight, pulsing, so hot and tight. He knows he has won. It's this notion of winning that has him thinking about giving in, but one look at your face has him reeling back his words. The furrow of your eyebrows, your slack jaw, your scarlet cheeks... it makes him feel sadistic. You wanted him to be angry at you anyway, what boyfriend would he be if he didn't give you any reason to make him angry? 

Then, Jeonghan watches. He tightens the hand around your neck, and continues his assault on your clit with the other, all while he continues to ram his dick into you again and again. You start to babble out incoherent words, and that's when he finally strikes. 

"Don't cum."

Those are the two simple words that send you dissolving into a whirl of pleasure and euphoria. Your ears feel like they're ringing as pure, white heat consumes you whole, moaning out your boyfriend's name repeatedly as you go rigid in his embrace. It's like shockwaves, rippling through you so forcibly you have no choice but to succumb to the raging tides, riding it out until you can fully apprehend the situation again. 

Gradually, you begin to notice the way Jeonghan holds you tight to him, how both his hands wrap around your waist to keep your body pressed to his, how his hips have stilled, hard cock still sheathed in your throbbing heat. He's pressing soft kisses onto your shoulder, coaxing you down from your high. 

Jeonghan lets your tired figure collapse onto the bed before sitting back and propping himself up on his heels. The sight is so endearing to him—you, still huffing breathlessly, hushed whines slipping past your lips at every exhale, so spent after only one orgasm. Jeonghan feels like it's so perverse of him to reach a hand down to stroke at his still-hard cock, touching himself to the sight of your curled figure. From this angle, he can see the mess between your thighs, remnants of your juices and his pre-cum smeared all over your puffy pussy lips. Oh, he definitely isn't done with you just yet. 

He hears you mumble his name groggily. Jeonghan's not sure whether you're calling out to him or just saying meaningless things in your post-orgasm haze. He doesn't waste time thinking, though, immediately swooping down to cage you between his arms, kissing along your hairline. "Tired already?"

Your eyes flutter open, looking up at your boyfriend who hovers above you with a smirk that makes your heart skip a beat. Fuck, you're really in for it. 

He coos at you, but it sounds sarcastic. "I told you to hold it, didn't I?"

You puff out a breath, shifting onto your back, obediently parting your legs so Jeonghan can slot himself in between them. "But your fingers—"

"Good girls don't talk back, do they, pretty?"

"N-No..."

He nods, eyes wandering downward, not trying to hide the way they zero in on your breasts. "No, they don't... But you're not a good girl, are you?" he asks, lowering himself to blow cool air onto your nipple, earning a choked gasp from you. Without any warning, he latches his mouth onto the skin at the top of your breast, sucking earnestly, not letting up until he's finally satisfied with the reddening of the skin there. He always loved to see the reddish hue of your hickeys turn into delicate shades of blue and purple as they heal. 

"I can be your good girl..."

"No, no, baby, you're a lying whore who doesn't do as they're told."

"Hannie, I asked you so many times—"

Jeonghan doesn't give you a chance to object, immediately slanting his lips over yours. He pushes his tongue past your spit-coated lips, exploring every crevice of your mouth, letting his tongue tangle with yours lasciviously. He feels you sigh against his mouth, hands coming up to curl around the nape of his neck. 

Reaching a hand down, he positions his cock over your entrance, plunging himself into your sopping pussy without any notice. It's easy to sink back into you—you're still sopping wet and stretched open from before.

Shocked, you break away from the kiss to let out a sharp cry, nails digging into his shoulders, threatening to break the skin there. "God, J-Jeonghan!"

He doesn't give you any time to adjust, quickly finding a rhythm that makes you arch your chest, pebbled nipples brushing against his front. You finally have the chance to look at him, really look at him. Fuck, you wouldn't trade this sight for anything else. He's the most beautiful thing you've ever had the privilege of seeing. 

He notices your lovestruck eyes, cock twitching inside you as he pounds into you. He thinks you're so pretty, all splayed out underneath him, so pliant, letting him do whatever he pleases with you. Your hair fans out over the pillow under your head, thin tendrils of it clinging onto your dewy temple and neck. He understands why you love to see his face so much whenever you fuck—he thinks he could cum earlier than anticipated if you keep looking at him with that infatuated gaze.

"Fuck, baby..." he curses, and it's the first time you've seen him lose his composure. "Fuck, you're such a pretty little thing..."

Your body sings at the compliment, shuddering, legs pressing into his sides, wanting to close shut but unable to. You're light-headed, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but this feels too good to stop. With quivering hands, you slip your fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling carelessly. He's growing his hair out, so the length falls just shy of his shoulders, some strands curling over his neck like delicate tendrils of silk. 

Jeonghan's low groan pulls you out of your dazed thoughts. "Hannie..."

"Mhm, am I fucking you good, gorgeous? No one else can fuck you like I can, hm?"

You rake your nails across the nape of his neck, whimpering when he shifts just a little, hitching one of your legs up and hooking it around his slender waist. He thrusts a few more times, and his cock brushes against a spot that has you jolting, mewling as he grazes it repeatedly. 

"Oh? Right there?" Jeonghan noses at your cheekbone, listening to your gasps and whimpers, feeling his abdomen tighten at the obscene sounds you let out. 

"R-Right there..."

"That's it... You think Seungcheol can get you like this?"

At the mention of your ex's name, you whine loudly. A part of you hadn't expected Jeonghan to remember the earlier incident, but you should've known better. It seems stupid to think Yoon Jeonghan wouldn't remember an incident that occurred only an hour ago. 

"H-Hannie..."

"Hm, you gonna meet him for lunch? Gonna let him try to win you over? Gonna let him have what's mine?"

You shake your head, on the verge of sobbing, feeling your eyes fill with tears. "Wouldn't do that," you rasp. "I'm yours, Hannie..."

Jeonghan doesn't seem very convinced. "Yeah? You're mine?" he mutters against the apple of your cheek. His voice is low, any traces of anger or annoyance concealed. "You wanna say you're mine, with his contact still saved in your phone, baby? Don't be silly."

Your heel digs into Jeonghan's lower back, anchoring him to you as he continues to drill into you. "But I am yours—"

"Are you?"

"Y-Yes, always yours..." A hard thrust has you gasping, tears trickling down your temple, getting caught in your hair. 

Jeonghan's pace stutters, distracted by the way you blink up at him through your damp lashes. Tears gather at your lash line, and he can't help but want more. It's a sick thought, but Jeonghan doesn't care much. How could he care when he's balls deep inside of you, feeling like he's about to explode from the way your heat wraps around him so well? He wants to see you cry for him, sob, snivel, all because you can't get enough of his cock. He wants you to cum so hard you see stars and forget about everything but him, him, him. Choi Seungcheol will be the last thing on your mind. 

When Jeonghan lowers himself down onto his elbow, he seals his mouth to yours, kissing you fervently. It's a bruising kiss, teeth digging into lips, tongue rolling together in an alluring dance. After some time, Jeonghan reluctantly pulls back, taking a much-needed breath. He groans at the sight of your lips, all plump and damp with a mixture of his and your spit. "Fuck, baby... you're mine, aren't you?" 

 "Y-Yes, yes!" you babble, vision blurring as more tears fill your eyes. 

"You're gonna let me fill you up? Have your pussy dripping my cum for days so you don't forget who you belong to. You like the sound of that?"

"God, yes, yes..." 

Your thighs are starting to shake, Jeonghan can feel it on his hips. He brings his lips over yours again, not kissing you, just barely letting it brush over yours. He can feel every hot breath you release against his mouth. "Say his name, baby."

"Unghh... Hannie—" 

He snickers. "I said his name, not mine," he says darkly, pecking your lips once. 

You're confused and so goddamn frustrated. You're teetering on the precipice of your orgasm, and he wants to play mind games with you now? "No," you whine, shaking your head. 

"No? Why are you so scared?"

"F-Fuck, please!"

"I won't get mad at you for saying it, princess." His voice has dropped down an octave. It feels like it's seeping into your brain, turning it into mush. 

"C-Can't..." you murmur, drool gathering in your mouth the more Jeonghan splits you open. 

"You can't? Why? Scared you might cum if you say his name? Scared you'll think of him when you cum?"

Your eyes grow wide in alarm. "N-No! I wouldn't do that, oh god, f-fuck..."

"Then say it or you're not cumming," he threatens, grinding harder into you, angling his pelvis just slightly so that it brushes against your clit every time he thrusts in. He watches your eyes roll back, pleasure fogging up your brain. He feels your juices coat his pelvis, splashing over his lower abdomen. Whenever his cock dips in and out, the wet sounds resound throughout the room, and it makes him hiss. "Say it," he repeats, knowing he won't last much longer. 

You frantically shake your head, moans coming out stuttered. "N-No, please don't, I can't...Hannie—"

Jeonghan notes the way you're starting to sound distant. "Say it or I'm leaving you here to cum by yourself."

Your eyes meet his—frazzled, panicked, dazed. "Please, I can't!"

"You wanted me mad, right? This is it, princess. Show some gratitude and say his fucking name."

You're trying hard to read him, to possibly decipher his intentions, but it's so hard when you feel like you're on the verge of passing out from the onslaught of pleasure. You reach one hand down to rake at the skin of his lower back, earning a throaty groan from him, a sound that makes your skin prickle. Your other hand settles on his face, cupping his jaw softly, as if begging him. 

Your eyes roam over his face, taking in his exquisite beauty that always leaves you short of breath. His tousled hair hangs over his forehead, dangling in front of his eyes, dark like pools of obsidian, drawing you into their depth. There's a radiant flush that colours his cheeks, drawing your attention to the contour of his cheekbones and jaw, dusted lightly with sweat, highlighting the sharp features. Then his lips—so inviting and soft, parting with each breath. 

Jeonghan feels almost flattered under the weight of your affectionate stare. He briefly closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose, trying to pull himself together. He tries to push everything out of his mind—your delicious sounds, your intoxicating scent, your warm cunt around his cock. It's your sweet, quiet whine that pulls him out of his reverie. When he locks eyes with you again, he knows there's nothing he can do to delay his impending climax—not when you're looking up at him so tenderly, eyes fixated on him like a moth drawn to a mesmerizing flame.

"I c-cant... Don't make me say his name, p-please..."

Jeonghan swallows hard, one hand curving at the nape of your neck. With his grip he tilts your head up, letting your lips caress his. "Say my name, then. Say my name when you cum. Look at me and show me who you belong to..." 

You cum with a shout of Jeonghan's name, your whole body shaking at the sudden explosion. You squirm in your boyfriend's hold, toes curling over the back of his thighs as the pleasure ravages your whole body, surging through every nerve and every cell. It's numbing and so overwhelming at the same time, every inch of your skin humming with electricity, and every vein feeling like they've been set ablaze. For a moment, nothing else in the world matters except you and Jeonghan, entwined in each other as you lose yourself in the whirlwind of pleasure. 

"Fuck, fuck, should I fill you up, baby?" Jeonghan's voice quivers just slightly. 

The question sends another flood of ecstasy through you, cunt fluttering around his cock a second time. "Yes, yes—"

Your voice is like a siren's call to him, beckoning him, tempting him. Jeonghan is only a man, and he's not immune to a force as powerful as you. He sinks his teeth into your neck as he finally empties himself inside you with a drawn-out groan. Your tight cunt is pulsing so tightly around him, milking him, forcing every drop of cum to spill into you and coat your walls. A rather high-pitched whine escapes his lips as he slumps into you, hips flushed to yours, aching balls slick with the mixture of your release and his. 

You're panting heavily as you wrap your arms around Jeonghan, blinking up at the ceiling blearily, feeling filled to the brim with his cum still in you. Despite having the urge to clean yourself up and get rid of the stickiness between your legs, you lie there for another minute, feeling so content with Jeonghan's weight atop yours and his lips on your neck. Being with him is pure bliss. 

"Jeonghan," you say softly after some time, not wanting to ruin the peace and quiet.

He hums, rolling over to the side to lie on his back, letting his softening cock slip out of you. He pulls you into him with one arm, allowing you to settle half of your body on top of his. He lets out a pleased sigh, one hand grazing over your bare back, fingertips gliding down the dip of your spine. 

Placing a palm on his chest, you rest your chin on the back of your hand, gazing up at him tiredly. He seems to glow so prettily, eyes fluttered shut and a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Despite the heaviness of your eyelids, you gather your resolve, knowing that you still have something to clarify with him.

Without thinking too much, you mumble Jeonghan's name again and smile when his eyes flutter open to peer down at you drowsily. His free hand comes up to brush back the hair from your eyes. 

"I'm sorry for not letting you know," you mutter, the weight of your guilt just now settling in your heart. If you don't apologise now, the feeling might devour you whole. "I should've told you..."

The hand on your back ceases moving, palm splaying on your upper back, warm against your skin. "Baby, I wasn't really—you know—angry about it. I was a little stumped, sure, but... I trust you. I always trust you."

You shake your head, pulling yourself up slightly to look at him better. "You deserve to be angry. Jeonghan, you should be so angry at me. I should've told you as soon as I got home from that dinner party."

Jeonghan chuckles, much to your dismay. "Okay, then why didn't you?"

"I just... didn't think it was important. I felt like it wasn't anything worth telling you. It's not a good excuse, I know."

"Is Seungcheol important to you?"

Your eyes widen in disbelief, unable to fully grasp what you just heard. "What! No, of course not!"

"Then what's there to apologise about?" Jeonghan says with a snicker. "Did you kiss him at the party? Did he try to make any move on you? Did he seem interested in you?"

"No to all of those. I... I told him I already found someone else," you admit in a quiet voice. 

When Jeonghan smiles at you, it looks somewhat smug. "That's my girl... Besides, it wasn't his face that you were sitting on when you got back home from that party, was it?"

Appalled by Jeonghan's words, you bring your palm down on his chest, smacking him. "You're disgusting, Yoon Jeonghan."

He only laughs, eyes crinkling as he pulls you even closer. "Don't act like you don't love it."

You say nothing, only bringing your head down to rest it on his chest again. His heartbeat is strong against your ear, and his skin feels warm under your cheek. 

"So..." Jeonghan begins. "Round two in the shower?"

He doesn't have to ask twice—you're already off the bed and sauntering towards the bathroom. 

© sweetlemontart — all rights reserved.

[hypewinter]

Prev

Tim came down the stairs with an empty mug in hand. As he entered the dinning room he found a kid happily eating pancakes. Ah this must be the new adoptee, he thought to himself as he recalled last night's group chat.

"This is not a new adoptee," Bruce said looking up from the boy. Man, Tim hated when the old man guessed their thoughts like that.

"Say whatever you need to convince yourself B," Tim replied with a shrug as he went into the kitchen.

Bruce shouted after him, "He already has a family!"

The boy immediately interjected, "She's not my family silly! She's my friend."

Tim chuckled to himself as he filled his mug and came back into the dining room. "Aw B," he said smugly, "he doesn't even have a family. You're not saying we're gonna leave him on the streets are you?"

Bruce for his part, glared halfheartedly at Tim before turning back to the little boy. Tim also took this time to observe the boy. He believed Oracle had said his name was Danny. Danny was currently happily kicking his legs as he stabbed at his pancakes. Tim couldn't help but note how the pancakes had already been cut into bite sized pieces. Other than that, he seemed perfectly fine. No apparent injuries or adverse reactions to sudden movements. His clothes were also nice and clean. Probably Alfred's doing. Speaking of the old butler, he came in and set a plate down in front of Tim.

"Oh I'm not-" One eyebrow raise was enough for the young man to shut his mouth. He looked down at his plate only to immediately turn back to Alfred with an eyebrow raise of his own. "Mister Danny claimed it was not fair he was the only one to receive such special pancakes. He was rather insistent that everyone experiences such happiness this fine morning," Alfred informed.

Ah, that explains why Tim had gotten star shaped pancakes. He looked over at Danny who was smiling giddily at him. As Tim took his first bite of pancake, he couldn't help but agree with that assessment.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Danny?" the boy looked up at him. "As you know our... mutual friend left you in my care. As such after you're finished with your pancakes, what do you say I take you back home?"

"Ok!" the boy replied before shoveling more pancakes into his mouth.

"I think I'll tag along too," Tim said. There was no way this little "drop off" was going to go as planned and he wanted to be there to see it. After all, someone had to keep the group chat updated. Besides, he took great joy in Bruce's half perplexed half annoyed expression.

"Don't you have some meetings to attend today?" Bruce asked through gritted teeth, guessing his son's angle. "Nope," Tim answered sweetly. "My schedule's all clear today."

"Fine," Bruce relented. "If you want to come along on this very quick drop off, I won't stop you."

Tim smiled into his mug. This was gonna be fun.

-----

"We're here!" Danny exclaimed as they pulled up to an abandoned looking apartment building.

"Are you sure this is your home?" Bruce asked cautiously. Tim couldn't blame him, this place was on the outskirts of the Bowery and looked like nobody had lived there in years.

Danny opened the door and hopped out. "Yep!" he said. "I know because I'm a big boy and big boys know how to get home." He puffed out his chest proudly.

"Right," Bruce muttered pensively as he examined the building.

They all entered the building and began ascending the questionable stairs with Danny taking them two steps at a time. As they climbed, both Bruce and Tim noted how rundown the building looked. Walls were peeling and there was rubble and trash all over the floors. The railing on the stairs looked so rusted that a gust of wind could probably knock them over. Most of the lights didn't work because of one thing or another which luckily wasn't a problem considering it was daytime. But none of that was even the most concerning part. No, the most concerning part was how silent it was.

As they walked down the hall, it was simply too silent. Even taking into account that most people would already be at work right now, it was still too quiet. There was no hint of people coming back from work the night shift. No sound of those staying home sick or someone with a day off. No dogs barked, no cats made any noise. It was an eerie silence that seemed to blanket the whole building. It was unnerving.

Danny stopped in front of a door and opened it with ease. There was no lock or anything. Once again adding to the list of concerning evidence. They entered after Danny to discover a shabby looking flat past the door. There was barely any furniture, and the furniture that was there looked like it should have been thrown out years ago. The floor boards seemed as if they would give way at any moment too. The windows to the far side allowed lighted in but that only served to illuminated the mountain of dust everywhere. The apartment didn't even look lived in. There were no clothes anywhere, no dishes, no sort of decorations, nothing.

Danny seemed undeterred by any of this and happily pranced into a room off to the right. Tim followed him as Bruce stayed behind to look around more.

As he entered, Tim was relieved to find that at least this space looked lived in albeit barely. The bed had Superman themed sheets on it and there was a backpack leaning against the closet. The bed also had a blanket laying on top of it which Danny ran to and grabbed. He came back over to show Tim.

"This is my most precious thing!" he explained excitedly. "My friend gave it to me. Feel it! It's super soft."

Tim knelt down and felt the blanket which was black and had stars all over it. "You're right," he said. "It really is soft." Danny beamed. "Told ya!"

Tim smiled at the boy's obvious excitement despite his less than stellar living arrangements. Just then, Bruce called for him. Tim returned to the main room with Danny in tow, still clutching onto his blanket.

Bruce turned to him and handed him a piece of paper with an unreadable expression. The paper had cursive scrall on it that simply read, Take care of him my knights.

Danny looked up at them both curiously and Tim just sighed. So much for this being a quick drop off.

[totalswag]

what if Drew invites Reader to Italy, like to accompany him to the shooting of his movie QUEER and have a good time visiting, meet the film crew, watch him working, ect... at the same time, Drew and Reader express their feelings towards each other, not directly a confirmation being a couple but a kind of dating for the moment, softly romantic and fun 💯🌹🇮🇹

italy trip — DREW STARKEY

authors note i made one very similar with baby tatum involved when she was a a few months old (dad!drew content btw) however, thank you anon for this beautiful request, i had a fun time writing it. i hope this is what you were looking for!! i spent a lot of time on this request going back an forth making sure it was just right.

summary drew inviting you to accompany him in Italy while he films his new movie, queer, for a month. little down the road feelings towards each other unfold.

requests open

warnings traveling, filming, mentions of drinking, confessing feelings,

Drew flew to Italy last month to film his new movie, Queer. This is an important role for him, and you could not be more proud of him. You recall him being ecstatic when his manager called to inform him that he had been offered the position.

Drew bought you a plane ticket to Italy a week ago, and you spent a month with him. It threw you off surprise, but you couldn't wait to spend a month in Italy with him. He wanted you to come out and see what Italy was like, see him work, wander about, and so on.

You've been close friends for a long time. You met through mutual friends and have remained close ever since. Those closest to you are waiting for you to get together. There’s been little moments between you that show the attraction you have towards each other.

Reaching Italy was like entering a dream. There was beauty to be found everywhere they turned, and the air was fragrant with the aroma of fresh pasta and blossoming flowers.

You have spent the last three days in Italy so far. First two days consisted of you relaxing because jet lag really got to you – you aren’t used to traveling across the world.

You were gushing about the gorgeous country the entire time. It was spectacular in every way. The number of times you thanked Drew for inviting him on this vacation was too many for him to count on his fingers. 

Drew gave you a tour of the set, introduced you to the actors, and allowed you to watch him film a few scenes on your third day in Italy. It was impossible to look away from Drew as he was filming a scene. It was too good to pass up the chance to be at his side as he developed his art and saw the magic of filmmaking come to life.

He introduced you to the cast, all very sweet. Had good conversations with them too.

“The way he goes into character instantly, Y/N, is so amazing,” Drew’s manager whispered, “He loves what he does and it shows.” you respond still keeping your eyes on him film a scene.

Having the chance to speak with Dainel Greg was a dream come true. You spent your childhood watching his movies whenever you could with your father. He maintained the conversation and was quite kind. You told him about his movies as James Bond and watching them with your dad.

“We should go out tonight, what do you think?” Drew asked, wrapping his arm over your shoulder as you walked off set.

"Are you taking me around like a tour guide?" Jokingly hip-checking him and giggling, "It seems like a plan to me."

Your comment made him laugh, "You are such a dork, you know that right," as he looked down at you and a small smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.

“We’ll go out to the bars, grab food, and explore” shrugging his shoulders.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” smiling.

Drew and you found time to relax and enjoy one other's company. Your chats were effortless, full of laughter, common interests, and unconscious connection. There was a faint undercurrent of something deeper between you, a subtle but obvious spark that lasted whenever you were together.

When you and Drew stepped outside as the sun started to set, the music was playing softly in the background and a gentle breeze caressed your skin. It was just breathtaking. Drew couldn't help but notice how you were living in the moment.

Drew ushered you in front of him as he entered the bar and showed you where the drinks were. Leaning forward against the counter, you crossed your arms and looked over the menu. Drew was standing close to you, examining the menu.

He lifted his beer with his right hand and took a long sip, saying, "See, I told you this bar is good."

Pushing your finished plate to the side and lifting your beer in your palm, "I'm just glad you brought me here. I think I might need to take some home," sarcastically completing your statement, Drew grins.

For the next thirty minutes, you two stayed at the bar sipping more beer and discussing your garden you started at home. You've always enjoyed gardening, especially when it comes to adding color to your house with flowers.

Drew chuckles, "It's been going great and you should come by and take a look. I've been waking up early in the morning to get it all done before the sun comes out, and I'm looking like a sweaty pig the entire time." He nods.

"What's the reason behind your laughter? It's true that when I initially started working in the garden in the afternoon, it appeared as though I had just gotten out of the shower. You sigh, slumping your shoulder, and then giggle when you give it some more thought.

"I'm glad to hear it's almost finished; I know how much you wanted to grow your own garden when you bought your house," he said softly, looking at you with piercing blue eyes.

His response made you feel warm and fuzzy. Your cheeks reddened and you buried your face in your shoulder. You don’t know why you’re feeling this way all sudden.

It's almost the end of your trip, sad. Three more days till you leave the beautiful country, Italy.

The last few weeks have been a dream come true for your book. Being alongside Drew made the experience a lot more fun. When he wasn't filming, you two spent your days and nights in Italy. You two had lots of flirtatious encounters that left you both flustered.

Earlier today, Drew and you went down to a museum. Drew brought his digital camera to take pictures of art you looked at.

There was something Drew said that stuck with you for the rest of the day,

“C'mon you look beautiful, Y/N, please.” 

He had complimented you before, but this time felt different. He's been more loving during the trip, making tiny comments that make the butterflies in your stomach run crazy.

Now you're sitting on the balcony couch, a blanket wrapped over your body, watching the sun set fully. A chilly air struck your face. It felt great. Music can be heard in houses or around town.

Drew's footsteps approach the balcony, and he holds two glasses of wine in his hands. You peek over your shoulder, a smile spreading across your face. He places them on the coasters in front of you and takes a seat next to you.

"Thank you, kind sir," you say before taking a sip of the wine you bought earlier today.

"Anytime, let me know what you think" he says casually, his gaze fixed on you the entire time.

You go on to tell him how excellent the wine is and that he should bring the entire bottle back here because you might as well drink it all. 

Drew couldn't help but giggle at your choice of words, but he was also careful because he knew how you got drunk on wine.

He feels the same way, so if you both get drunk on wine, you'll win.

"What's been your favorite experience this trip?" Drew asks, sliding his right arm around your shoulder, and you respond by leaning into his warm touch.

"Everything," you say as you wander off into the distance, "and being here with you." You lean your head back and jab your pointer finger at his cheek. flirtatiously but playfully.

You can notice a change in Drew's physical sensation. You would rather hear what he has to say in return than say anything more. It's clear that he didn't anticipate your final statement.

"I've had a lot of fun with you too, and I was hoping we would do more stuff like this with me and you when our schedules aren't so busy?" His voice sounds unsteady and nervous but he maintains it steady.

“Like a couple?” you question.

“Mhm yes, like a couple” his cheeks are getting red, can’t tell if it's the wine or his cheeks.

He turns his body to face you and places both hands on your lap. "Look, Y/N." I brought you on the trip to confirm my feelings for you, which proved to be genuine.What I am trying to get across is that I view you as more than a friend, Y/N. When I'm around you, you bring me so much joy and happiness that I could go on and on about how I feel.

Your brain is going in circles as you hear the words come out Drew’s mouth. Paying attention by the way he expresses how he feels, genuine and honest. You can’t help but smile when he brings up how you make him feel. All you can do is wrap your arms around him.

"I feel the same way, Drew. I was too terrified to tell you; I had no idea how you felt," you say, moving away from him and peering into those blue eyes that make you feel like you're on cloud nine.

You saw Drew's repeated stares at your eyes and lips. He leans in to give you a short kiss, then pulls away to watch how you react. You grin. He smiles before crashing his lips back against yours, lips moving in unison.

For the next few days, you two took it slow. Not making it formal right away, but rather enjoying the process of dating while remaining casual.

The next three days passed quickly. The second to last day consisted of you taking a day trip to the beach, walking through market after market, stopping for ice cream, taking lots of pictures, grabbing pizza to go to the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore with the sky looking beautiful, music playing in the background, and sharing a few kisses.

This trip was definitely something to remember.

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[bloodsoeur]

the kitchen two 18+, 2.7k

nobody pining over the potwasher with the pretty face and snide tongue, and it feels like such a damn shame.

-

this started as a joke and now you're touching astarion up out back of a pizza express/olive garden/insert generic chain restaurant you both work at.

part one here.

cw: fem!reader x astarion, 18+, astarion is a potwasher, sex, reader smokes, astarion vapes, fingering, frottage, workplace copulation, not beta read, porn without plot pretty much, oh no, not gn reader as tags initially stated because im awful and copy pasted them over

FATTEST THANK YOU TO @bhaalism AND @lipstickghoulie for DEALING WITH ME as always <3

-

“You need to get laid.”

You take the vape from a waiting hand and hold it in your teeth. Feel the ridges where his own have left small indents in the plastic and nestle yours in the shiny crooks. 

“Hm?” 

“You. You’re practically drooling.” He blinks slowly as you look up to the clouds.

“I’m afraid my harem of devastatingly beautiful lovers are all indisposed. On the yacht, obviously.” You pull a face, huffing a long inhale and releasing the smoke in soft stutters. He snorts. 

“Ah. That’s why you reek of hormones, then?”

You smile.

“Probably. New schedule has done little for any conquests, I’ll be honest.”

Astarion takes a moment as you pass him back his vape, flipping it absentmindedly between deft fingers and scrunching his face.

“Unfortunate.”

You playfully slap his arm and he recoils in a brief snarling laughter, ending on some churlish half-smile as he leans back on the wall.

Those fingers. Slender, pale; always moving to some comment or chore with a slight flourish. You note how surprisingly unblemished they seem for his line of work, and the fact you’ve never seen him with hand balm. Even in the low light spilled scarce from the doorway they have a certain sparkle to them. Poise. 

He knows you’re looking, and you’re a little surprised it seems to matter. Coy as he inhales something deep. 

Obviously, it’s a possibility. It happens.

The nature of your work leads to frequent hookups amongst you, as it always has - some incestuous tangle of ex-lovers and yearning hopefuls all weaving the same sticky tables and navigating the age-old sore break-room banter when it inevitably cools between the sheets. Word travels fast, and not one of your workmates has escaped the hated minimum-wage service tradition of copulating with your colleagues in some drunken fumble after a particularly awful shift - but him, though. You can’t say that you’ve put out feelers per se, but his name has never been mentioned - either positively or negatively - on the grapevine, not that you can recall. Nobody pining over the potwasher with the pretty face and snide tongue, and it feels like such a damn shame.

In all fairness, he doesn’t lend himself to open fawning. He doesn’t mingle like the rest do. Never attends the seasonal socials thrown by upper management nor stays after hours drinking with the rest of the kitchen, as if he’d opted out of the greasy workplace ham-slamming ecosystem entirely. 

Above it all. Godlike. You can’t have that. 

You could invite him in, you think, as his head tilts ever-so-slightly toward you in the cool smoke. His nails tap mindless against gaudy green plastic and you picture little but those now-familiar obscene vignettes of him, those very same fingers taking the warm fat of your flesh by the fistful, bending you - pliable in the desperate chase of wanton heat - over the stainless steel of the chef’s station, with a forceful hand to the waist; smushing your face sideways on the counter as he humps you to visceral burning delight over and over, the relentless piston of hungry hips as he pounds into your drooling hole, and;- 

“At least they have each other, I suppose. Aboard that gorgeous yacht.”

Your eyes meet his, a mutual hum. Silence as the rain smatters on gravel.

It’d be easy. Sidle past him through the walk-in door left slightly ajar - vaping, of course; why else would the pot washer be in the cooler? - and feel the looming hope of flesh so close. A crooked smile in silent greeting. Take your time in bending for the lemons, apron ties bowed over your rear as some awful present. He’d never slap your ass so crudely. The lingering want for a tap of flesh, for him to feel the soft jiggle of solid fat on a quick palm; never to move to touch you until you’d made your intentions abundantly clear.

Your intentions.

You could accidentally back up against him whilst still bent and oh-so lost in search for whatever perfect fucking lemon takes this long to find, ass smacking onto his crotch, mouth shaped as an ‘o’ where sudden realisation takes hold, through layers of standard-issue service garb - a barely-there cant of your hips at the surprise friction of his cock. 

He’s been watching. Ogling. Angling himself toward you, as if having pictured how best to bury himself inside you should the opportunity arise. 

Would he grab you by the hips? Take rough handfuls of heated skin and flesh, pull you in to rub over his growing erection with an obscene snarl and heavy lids in a sharp frenzy? Snaking a deft hand down the front of your apron and under the waistband of your trousers, unhurried but firm; searching for the evidence he can practically smell; proof that you’ve been melting, the pool of slick in your panties growing gummy between stolen moments of fantasization on the floor and the molten rumble of low-laughter as he bends you over the mesh shelving, his lower abdomen being thoroughly stickied with a liberal helping of your arousal.

“What are you doing tonight?”

You turn to him with a nonchalant smile and he groans, upper lip curling toward his nose.

“I’ll be here. Same as you, I presume?”

“Not for too much longer, though - how about after?”

Astarion runs a hand through his hair coolly, vape returning to his pocket as he stands off the wall. 

“Not there yet. Who knows?”

The slight of a fox-wink as he twirls back through the door, jacket flaring out behind him before disappearing into the back-of-house once more.

-

Time passes as if stuck stiff under a violent gutter-sun.

The softest visions of him lit by the dented metal of the big old dishwasher, shifting to adjust himself under linens; and after much thought you decide he’d be so very pretty, touching himself something mad. Even more so than usual. Leaky and hot and gasping in mindless carnality under the blacklight of the back bathroom with penis in hand, wincing at the fevered paw moving dumb to offer any relief in his plight. A delicious sigh whilst rolling the hot skin back, bit-by-bit from the tip, working the gathering glisten ever-so-softly over his aching slit in delicate strokes. 

A stolen glance through the service window, through the bumbling hordes in their whites; a shock of silver hair, short sleeves cuffed, brows furrowed as he scrubs at some porcelain bowl with a strange blase determination. 

It’s effortless. He’s not posing, wholly unaware that you’re watching. Scalding from the heat lamps as your fingertips press into the ledge, waiting for plates for one of your tables and teetering back and forth into the gap. He picks another bowl from the crate with a practised hand, tossing it gently into the other and dunking it in the water with finesse. Scrubs. Holds the curving gloss to the light for a moment and narrows his eyes before repeating the process, then loading it onto the dishwasher crate. 

Mindless. 

God. All mindless. You could offer to help him after a busy evening, perhaps; take charge of the pre-wash as he loads the machine, well oiled in your steps as they grow ever closer to one another - surprisingly so, with your lack of practice. Let the hose spray free down your front in a fumble with the pressure lever on the side, and the moment of shock as you gasp; the warm water turning ice cool on your chest, no disguising the quick pebbling of your nipples underneath your sodden underclothes. 

Maybe it’s panic that compels him to dab at your chest with a dry towel as opposed to throwing it to you in a tight-scrunched ball and continuing to load the washer - but maybe it isn’t. 

Maybe it’s something else altogether. Those red eyes darken to a plush carnal smoulder and he tilts his head, begging you to close the gap, to give him permission; to stretch a palm just a little further over to the swell of your breast and cup the soft, heavy flesh through the thin layer of wet cloth.

He’s right, of course. Desperately so.

You do need to get laid.

-

Black sky overhead, speckled with pinpoint stars and laced with the twinge of cold that makes your nose feel funny - and you suspect he’s one of the last to leave this evening, so you wait a minute or two for management to finish their final walkthrough.

He appears with a flourish. Your lean-back on the wall remains as composed as it can as he barrels through the doors, bag high on his shoulder; and begins to fish in his back pocket for his vape.

“Astarion!”

He spins and meets your gaze with a fantastic grin, incisors sharp as his vape meets his lips. You can do this. A quick fuck. Everyone here does it, christ. 

“Yes, love?”

“Have you got a minute?”

“For you? Always.”

Purring. He’s purring.

You wave management farewell as they lock the doors - a small smile, yet you can’t let him slide from you. You can’t let the moment falter. The wet patch in your pants becomes horrifically apparent as you shift from side to side in the cool air, and you surmise that this needs resolving before your humility suppresses the want to have him between your legs - so you extend a hand. You reach for the vape between his lips and you bring it to your own, ever so slowly; holding it between your teeth in a coy stand-off.

“Bold.”

“I’m feeling bold.”

“Oh?”

“Walk with me.”

He offers you an arm in an exuberant display of mock-chivalry, bowing almost; and you take it to pull him closer to your side. 

“You’re in a good mood.” You muse, steering him down the dark alley and toward the main street whilst he sighs a laugh.

“I presume you’re about to buy me a drink, which is always most welcome.”

“I’ve never bought you a drink?”

“The pleasure is more in the receiving of the drink, not whoever’s buying it.’

He turns to look at you while you walk, tugging you closer. 

‘Unless you’d like me to find pleasure in you, my generous benefactor?’

You stop in your tracks, and he grins in place.

‘Because that’s what this is about; isn’t it, little lamb?’

Time stops, signalled by the slow stutter of your heart as his voice drops silken, taking both of your wrists in hand.

‘I can practically smell it, you know.”

“What makes you so sure?”

He pulls a face. Looks at you softly.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Sorry.”

“I won’t pretend it’s not been on my mind, though.”

“Hm?”

Astarion sidles closer, toes touching; breath cool on your cheeks. Mint. 

“Burying myself inside you. All kinds of-’

His hands gesture lightly around his head, controlled as they close in on your face.

‘Wicked images. The things we could do.”

Your eyes flutter closed as he cups your face, lips grazing the edge of his palm.

“I watch you too, you know - oh, it makes me hard just thinking about it. Humping the sink counter like some wanton… bitch;- whenever can I get a moment, just to get some friction, clothes ruined time and time again over obscene visions of myself buried deep inside-’

Takes your chin between pointer finger and thumb.

‘Your. Desperate. Cunt.’

He breathes a giggle.

‘Just as I assume yours are now, hm? Ruined? Oh, the sheer debauchery.”

Tuts. The breeze fades and he comes impossibly closer, hands ghosting the broad of your shoulders then cutting across to the dip of your waist and you inhale and that smell of him. The scent of by-your-side and beleaguered evenings, laced with something heady. Salt. You whimper when you eke the words out.

“You smell so good.” Practically whining, metaphorical drool linking the two of you as if invisible string. A deep beat of laughter.

“Sweet one. So do you.”

His nose buried in your hair, fingers grasping at the warmth of your hips through layers of sweaty workwear. Your core blazes white hot, legs failing you - he’s here. He wants you. God, you’d never thought it’d feel this good, even in your wildest fantasies; and yet you’re standing out in the bitter cold locked tight in by his hands and it exceeds every conceivable outcome for this conversation, ever, despite his cock not yet prodding you once. 

He takes the vape from where your fingers hang frozen and puts it into his pocket, guiding your fingers to the front of his trousers in your obscured embrace and pressing your palm to the front.

Hard. He’s ridiculously hard. Warm and pulsing with strong hips writhing as your hand gives him something to push against. 

“Fuck.”

“Nicely, now.”

His hand moves under your coat and to the front of your own trousers as you feel him through his, scrunching your fingers around his length; whilst he slides deft under the fixings just as you’d imagined he would. Ice to a fire. Moves quickly in the search for your slick like a moth mindless toward a flame, when he finds your slit and takes a single finger to press between your folds. 

“Ah. There she is.’

Your breath catches on his words,  

‘My darling girl, you’re soaking. How long have you been like this?”

“Just today, or on the whole? I can’t remember a time where I’ve not wanted you, not since that first day outside.”

He groans quietly, eyes rolling back into his skull as he coaxes more of your spill forth onto the flat of his palm with a skilled finger toying at the hood of your clit. It feels incredible. Like a warm bath or fresh pizza times a thousand. 

“Did you like the idea of my spit in your mouth, love? Forgetting your smokes on purpose, buying me treats just so you could share? So you could… take me, in your mouth, and wallow in having me there in secret? Bad girl.” A sordid whisper. Heady. Love. Bad girl. You’re struggling for air, newly weakened flesh bowled completely over by his brutal advances, and it’s heaven. You could die here in this alley and you’d be wholly satisfied with life knowing he touched you. He was hard for you, his cock desperately seeking solace in the warmth of your core, to christen your cunt with lashings of himself inside you. Yours. You. 

You thought your resolve was stronger than this. That you could match him in whatever game he potentially wanted to play and do it with flair - but as he stands in front of you, hand crudely down your trousers round the back of your shared workplace; you have no desire to play coy any longer. He’s giving himself to you. 

“Kiss me?”

And he does. A heady drawl as his lips stoop to meet yours, a string of yes-yes-yeses whispered flush into your open mouth as he moves with you, fingering with reverent strokes whilst your hand fiddles hungrily with his underclothes and he laughs with a satisfied ease as if a Roman Emperor, hosting a banquet on the eve of some grand resounding victory. 

Right here, by the bins under the watchful eyes of the CCTV cameras dotted along the brick - it doesn’t work. It can’t happen here. Your brain fizzes all shades of yellow and orange as you take his arm, breaking the open-mouthed kiss with urgency and tugging his head down until his ear hangs dazed a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“Yours or mine?”

“Where’s closer?”

Gravel. Cheeks flushed, hands frisking your waistband once more as you swat him off.

“Yours, probably.”

“You checked the staff files, didn’t you? Naughty thing.”

You huff into a slight hunchback, bemused by his deduction.

“Maybe. Are you mad about it?”

Your hand grabs at his cock through his trousers once more and offers a hard squeeze, a stuttered moan from his mouth.

“Meh. So long as you make it up to me, yes?”

He pauses to press a chaste kiss to your mouth as you both rebutton and fumbles to take your hand in his. 

“God. Yes. I promise.”

“Come along then, temptress. Mine -’

Another to the back of your hand, soft and deep.

‘- it is.”

-

[acapelladitty]

Captain Boomerang/Female Reader - Unexpected Visit

Summary - Digger interrupts a 'private' moment and the fallout is more fun that you could have anticipated.

It wasn’t the fact that you were two fingers deep in your cunt - curled digits stroking along those sensitive parts within your walls that made your breath stutter as your toes curled against the sheets. It wasn’t even the fact that your bed directly faced the door which Digger was currently filling like he owned the place.

No.

The issue was the headshot of Digger which lay clenched in your free hand and the fact that the shit-eating grin on his face told you that he had heard you moaning his name as you stroked frantically along your aching clit.

“Thinking about old Digger, eh?” Digger announced, his laughter somewhere between a growl and a giggle as he palmed his rapidly-stiffening cock with his left hand. “Maybe, if ya ask nicely, I’ll see fit to replace those fingers with something almost twice as big and throbbin’ for a quick root.”

Shame burning across your face, the heat in your cheeks as your fingers pull free of your hole with an obscenely wet noise flares in an instant; your throat tightening across the moan which threatened to break free as he pulled his fat cock from his jeans and gave it a quick tug, readying it for a chance at your willing hole.

x-x-x-x-x

Not that he was bad at it. Far from it. What he lacked in practised technique he more than made up for in enthusiasm as he quickly read the signs of what movements made your thighs tighten around his ears as your lips moaned and vibrated around his fat cock. His beard and muttonchops even provided a wonderful sensation as the graze of the coarse hair on your thighs and soaked cunt added a layer of burning discomfort that made you writhe all the more desperately in place.

Following your embarrassing little impromptu show, Digger seemed determined to experiment with various positions and it had been his stellar idea to indulge in some mutual oral sex. His appetite was ravenous and even the very thorough fucking he had only just finished delivering didn't seem enough to appease him.

But still, even you had to admit that the man had a talent for suggesting amazing ideas which very quickly went awry.

So, no.

He wasn’t bad at it.

However, this did not prove to be the issue either.

But where Digger’s good idea went to die was in his decision to take the ‘below’ position in your sixty-nine adventure. A surprisingly gentlemanly choice given that he seemed to enjoy the sensation of you pinned beneath him, held in place by his thick frame while he railed you with a messy ferocity.

Being on top had suited you to begin with, the freedom of movement allowing you to set the pace as you hollowed out your cheeks and worked slowly around his pulsing shaft. His cock wasn’t the longest but the sheer girth of the thing made it a difficult task as any attempt at taking further into your mouth essentially plugged your throat entirely.

What Digger had failed to consider, when proposing this little game, was the impressive strength which you could muster with your inner thigh muscles and how tightly you were able to hold him – his face buried deep within your cunt as you rode your orgasm out on his thick features. In that wonderful moment, his natural need to breath was long disregarded and it wasn’t until his blunted nails dug bloodied crescents into your outer thighs that you recalled that little facet of the human condition and pulled yourself free of his face with a panting gasp.

“Not the worst way to go.” Digger exclaimed cheerily as he sucked in huge, desperate inhales of air. His lower face was a mess, glistening and visibly wet with your juices as his pink tongue lapped at his own lips like a particularly thirsty dog. “But I don’t think me old mum would appreciate a retellin' of the story at my eulogy.”

[cooliestghouliest]

PUTTY, chapter three

(chapter one), (chapter two), (chapter three)

PAIRING: virgin!Eddie/former cheerleader!Reader

SUMMARY: You and Eddie go to a party.

SERIES TAGS and C/W’s: mutual pining, experienced!Reader, inexperienced!Eddie but he’s eager to learn, mostly sub!Eddie, insecurities and self doubt, narcissistic and/or absent parents, jealousy, mean basketball players, hurt/comfort, they smoke weed, eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), uniform kink, dirty talk, foot jobs, hand jobs, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), public sex, sex toys, unprotected PiV. more to be added as this progresses!!!

WORD COUNT: 5.4k+

TAG LIST: @emma77645, @aliciabb17, @gracieluvthemoon, @kellsck, @figmentofquinn, @mediocredreams

—

Parked on the crowded street a block away from Chrissy Cunningham’s massive Loch Nora home, Eddie sat fidgeting with his hands in his lap. The van was idled. He made no attempts to unbuckle himself, so you turned in your seat to assess him.

Down the road, the yard was full of teenagers, the party seemingly having spilled over from the house to the entire property. Eddie was observing the attendants with a narrowed gaze, almost suspiciously.

You were starting to feel bad for dragging him along.

“Eddie, you don’t have to come in. I’ll just go say hi to Chrissy, and then we can go do something else, if you want,” you suggested, voice soft.

He very much wanted that.

But he knew you were hoping to spend some time around your best friend, and with how often you babysat for Olly nowadays, Eddie assumed you hadn’t had much availability for a social life lately.

He didn’t want to be the reason you missed an opportunity to have fun.

He briefly thought of telling you he was just going to head back to the trailer and for you to enjoy your time at the party, but you’d invited him, and you’d seemed so ecstatic when he’d agreed.

And truthfully, the idea of ditching you there gave him the same uneasy feelings that going inside the party gave him.

It seemed to be a lose/lose situation.

Tired of battling with himself, Eddie decided he was going to go with the option that allowed him to spend more time with you. Otherwise, he’d have to sulk back to Forest Hills and spend the night overthinking about what you were up to. And who you were talking to.

Eddie wasn’t used to the feeling of possession that curled in his stomach at the thought of other guys trying to get with you.

For a brief moment, he let his doubts swirl freely in his mind, his badgering inner voice reminding him that he was no rich jock with a full ride to an Ivy League and was instead just a drug dealing super, super senior who did nothing for his professional future except dream of one day making it big with his music.

But from the fervid patience you were awaiting his answer with, Eddie had to shake his head clear of self-deprecation, recalling your earlier conversation where you had said you actually liked spending time with him, and had told him you wanted to attend the party with him – not Andy or Patrick or any of Jason Carver’s other rich boy cronies.

Who was he to deny you your wildest, most incomprehensible wishes?

“No, no, let’s go,” Eddie finally said, turning off the van. He shot you a grin, full of false bravado. “Really, I wanna go.” He didn’t, but he was going to fake it ‘till he make’d it.

You returned the grin without hesitation, eyes filling with relief. For a moment there, you’d half expected Eddie to bail on you. And really, you wouldn't have blamed him, considering being put in this social situation was clearly wreaking havoc in his brain.

Eddie clicked the van locked and pocketed the keys as you tried to sweeten the deal for him, wanting to ease as much worry as you could. You didn’t bring him here to stress him out, you brought him here so you could both have a good time, drinking and laughing without the obligation of watching a six-year-old.

“I think Steve might be here,” you offered, knowing the pair had become quite close.

If Eddie were to be honest, hearing Harrington might also be there did make him feel better.

Dustin had introduced them to one another the year prior. While they didn’t mesh at first, essentially polar opposites, the two bonded when they’d both impromptu taken edibles together.

It happened one movie night at Nancy Wheeler’s.

Eddie brought his own brownie stash and had accidentally left them out on the kitchen counter. Steve, thinking Mrs. Wheeler had baked the goods for the get-together, had eaten two before Eddie caught him. He spent the first part of the night talking Steve down out of a panic attack, and then they spent the second part of the night laughing their asses off, laying in Nancy’s pool fully clothed, floating on almost airless rafts.

They’d been friends ever since.

Something else also made Eddie feel better about heading into the party.

You had grabbed his hand in yours at some point as you made your way up the driveway, your warm fingers interlocking with his own.

For the second time that night, you made him feel invincible.

Like nothing could go wrong.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You hadn’t been inside the house two minutes before Chrissy’s voice rang out in the midst of the crowd.

“You made it!” the girl practically yelled, weaving her small frame through the sea of bodies that packed the usually spacious foyer. When she finally made her way to you and Eddie, she wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, drunkenly swaying side to side and giggling. When Chrissy pulled away, she looked to your side, spotting your companion. “And Eddie! Hi, Eddie!”

Eddie couldn’t help but crack a smile at the bubbly blonde’s welcome. She, like you, had been a rarity at Hawkins High School.

Whereas most of the popular students had either avidly avoided the likes of Eddie or chose to interact with him solely to make his life a living hell, you and Chrissy never negatively singled anyone out. Instead, the two of you would do things like volunteer to be partners with the quietest kids in class for a project, or you’d both sit with new students during lunch until they found their own cliques.

Eddie never understood why either of you willingly chose to spend your free time with the likes of Jason and the rest of the Hawkins sports roster. He chalked it up to you both just playing your predestined roles. Once you fit a certain mold or stereotype in Hawkins, it was pretty hard to branch out from it. Eddie of all people could understand that.

“Hey, Chris,” he greeted, happy she didn’t go to hug him as well. The last thing Eddie needed was Carver thinking he was making moves on his girlfriend.

Actually, the quicker he got away from her, the better. He liked Chrissy, he truly did, but wherever she was, her loverboy was soon to follow, and Eddie didn’t feel like being instigated into a fight right now.

His eyes flitted around the expanse of the house, eventually spotting Steve by the sliding glass back door, standing with Nancy and Jonathan.

Your gaze followed Eddie’s. You hadn’t been totally sure Steve would be there, so you inwardly thanked the universe for small miracles. Now that Eddie could relax in like-minded company, you didn’t feel so bad parting ways with him for a little while. Of course, you wouldn’t have minded if Eddie tagged along by your side the whole night, but you knew he’d dread every minute of having to be around Jason and his buddies, who unfortunately came with the Chrissy package.

“Why don’t you go say hi?” you lightly nudged Eddie’s shoulder with yours, smiling up at him. “I’ll come find you in a little bit.”

Eddie’s chocolate hues dropped to you, a grateful expression on his face at your suggestion. “Don’t leave me hangin’ for too long, sweetheart,” he teased, although he really wasn’t joking at all. “I dunno how long I’ll last around all these big, scary basketball players without my Princess to protect me.” After a dramatic bow, Eddie vanished into the crowd.

Chrissy, beyond inebriated, hadn’t paid much attention to the exchange. With Eddie gone, she pulled on your arm, tugging you away, slurring, “C’mon! Y’have so many shots to drink t’catch up with me!”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You really had not planned on getting drunk.

Tipsy, yeah, sure. A few beers, maybe a shot or two of some expensive spirit Mrs. Cunningham had imported from Europe.

But glassy-eyed and giggly, your skin flushed warm, an alcohol-induced pink blush sprouted over the apples of your cheeks?

No, that was not in tonight’s itinerary.

But Chrissy knew you’d been slaving away with work the past few months, hardly finding time in your busy schedule to come see your best friend cheer or link up and spend too much money at Starcourt Mall like you both used to.

You, although the same age as Chrissy, had gotten your diploma a year early, and hadn’t stopped working toward your goal of getting the hell out of Hawkins from the moment you walked across the stage at graduation. At job after job, you would often work overtime and weekends, trying to save up as much as you could.

It was admirable, but there had to be balance, something you were never good at finding on your own.

Damn Chrissy Cunningham for being so persuasive and persistent, wanting her best friend to let loose again and join her on a drunken tirade, similar to those you’d indulged in throughout your time together in high school.

Chrissy had begrudgingly disappeared several minutes earlier after Jason had swept her away. She didn’t want to leave you yet, wanted to spend as much time with you as she could, but she didn’t want to disappoint Jason either. You could see the struggle in her eyes, so you made the decision for her, promising you’d catch up more later in the week.

Plus, while you loved your best friend dearly, right now you felt a drumming deep within you – a desperate sensation. The tequila you’d downed urged you to find Eddie. You wanted to curl up into his side and breathe him in, wanted the aroma of his strawberry blunt wraps and tea-tree mint shampoo to fill your senses.

The party had dwindled down some, but there was still an impressive amount of people stationed all over the house, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where your long-haired target was hiding out. There was no double vision yet, but you blinked a few times and took a breath to stabilize yourself anyway, not wanting to stumble drunkenly as you walked.

You’d made it as far as the kitchen when two arms branched out around either side of you, a letterman jacket coming into view as your lower back was pressed against the marble of the island counter. A tall male with dark hair and dark eyes smirked down at you, a predator satisfied he’d cornered his prey.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi, Chance,” you answered, not appreciating the personal space he was impeding on. You attempted to move out of his barrier, but he just repositioned his weight, keeping you caged in between his arms.

His breath was hot on your cheek, the smell of beer wafting from him strongly. Everything about him was making your stomach turn. “What’re you doin’ all by yourself?” he asked. “Heard you came with Munson,” pause for a scoff, “but I knew that must’ve been a fucking joke.”

“Why would that be a joke?” you countered, brows furrowed. “I did come here with him.” You moved your gaze from the annoying presence in front of you to scan the room, trying again to find Eddie. “Actually, d’you know where he is?”

“Oh yeah, saw him drawing a pentagram on the sidewalk out front. Think it was in virgin’s blood. He was speaking some other language, too.”

You rolled your eyes, your patience running very thin. You were so sick of people making assumptions and passing judgments just because someone else was different than they were.

You had half a mind to make a snide remark about how the whole town knew Chance Deely’s mom had an affair on his dad with the pastor from the Presbyterian church, and did that mean she must have been worshiping demons too since she did something so immoral and uncouth?

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned, trying again to duck away from his arms.

You took in a sharp breath when you felt Chance’s hand move to grip your waist, pulling your body to his.

“Come on, babe,” he said, the pads of his fingers digging uncomfortably into your clothed skin. “Lemme take you home. I know your daddy likes me. I’m sure I can convince him to let me stay the night…”

What a clueless moron. He didn’t even know you hadn’t lived with your parents for the past year now. But you’d let him keep thinking that, finding solace in the fact that he didn’t know where to find you if the creep ever decided to try and stalk you out one night.

“And do what?” you asked, now emboldened both by your intoxication and the nerve this idiot had cornering you like this. “Have a sleepover with him? I don’t want you, Chance.”

His jaw ticked, his features hardening, undoubtedly in an attempt to make you feel small and scared. You felt neither.

“Get off of me, Deely. I mean it.”

“Or what, huh? You gonna sic your vampire boyfriend on me?”

“No, I’ll fucking bite you myself.”

His eyes flashed and his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he considered you, humming in approval.

“Yeah, I’d like to get that mouth on me…”

You rolled her eyes again, so hard this time you wondered if they’d stick. “In your wet dreams, douchebag. Now get. Off.” You tried prying yourself away from him once more, swatting at the hand he had on your waist.

It just made Chance double down, pressing his center against you crudely. “I’m trying to get off, baby,” he said, giving a disgusting pout. “You won’t let me.”

“Do you not know what ‘no’ means, Deely?” a familiar voice interjected from behind Chance.

Your heart swelled as you raised your gaze to find Eddie’s dark eyes glaring daggers at the boy who’d had you cornered. You smiled wide at him, an odd juxtaposition when mixed with Eddie’s beyond irritated expression and Chance’s feeble attempts at seduction (which were more harassments than anything else).

You were so relieved to have this Bambi-eyed boy come to your rescue.

“What I do know is that nobody asked you, Munson,” Chance countered. He still kept his body turned towards yours, much to your dismay. “Why don’t you go and fuck a corpse or something, freak? Leave me –”

But his words were cut off when you brought your knee up to budge as hard as you could in between his legs.

Chance whined loudly, falling to the ground, clutching his hopefully bruised balls in his hands.

The partygoers had been distracted with their own conversations up until that point, but with Chance Deely crying out on the floor, writhing around pathetically, everyone’s attention was on you and Eddie.

“The fuck’s going on in here?” came Jason Carver’s voice over the other loud mumblings in the crowd.

“That's our cue to leave, Princess,” Eddie alerted, grasping your wrist in his hand as he pulled you from the Cunningham residence with haste.

You tossed your head back and laughed, hurriedly following Eddie out.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

The ride from Chrissy’s place to yours wasn’t long at all. Five minutes, tops.

While Eddie was focused on the road ahead of him, fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel at the thought of Chance Deely’s roaming hands, you were staring intently at your getaway driver.

You watched as his jaw clenched and relaxed, then clenched and relaxed again. He wasn’t doing anything special, just sitting there stewing in inner turmoil, but he was still so, so handsome. Handsome and heroic.

Although you were the one to administer the knee to Chance’s most prized possessions, you knew Eddie wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same and maybe even more to defend you. You thought back to the hateful look in his eyes as he stared the back of Chance’s head down, fists ready to make contact with the stupid fuck’s face if need be.

Eddie’s eagerness to be of service to you, for you, turned you on more than you thought it would. The fuzzy feelings from the alcohol helped loosen your inhibitions, and you found yourself squeezing your thighs together for some sort of friction as Eddie pulled up in front of your apartment.

You watched as he took a deep breath in, eyes shutting momentarily before exhaling and turning his attention to you.

He softened his face, forcing his mouth to curve into a smile. Underneath it all, you could tell he was still buzzing with anger and adrenaline.

“Would you please walk me inside?” you asked, your fingers toying with the hem of your dress. You were trying to appear inconspicuous. “They might know where I live. I’d feel safer if you came up with me.”

‘They’ meant Jason and his friends.

It maybe was a bit of overkill on your part to pull the damsel in distress card. You weren’t afraid of Carver or Deely. For the most part, they were all talk.

It also helped your sense of security that your neighbor across the hall was a police officer, something which Jason was aware of. He’d almost gotten arrested for banging on your door at one in the morning to try to get to Chrissy after the couple had one of their explosive arguments.

Chrissy had found refuge at your apartment a handful of times over the past year, leading Jason to look your address up so he always knew where to find his girlfriend when she ran off.

Each time he came pounding, Officer Hammond would swing open his door and dangle a pair of cuffs in Jason’s direction. It had the blonde boy scurrying away, the fear of an arrest that would hurt his chances at a basketball scholarship dominating his caveman impulse to steal Chrissy away.

Technically, you weren’t lying to Eddie. Although you weren’t scared of Carver and his friends, you would feel safer with Eddie around. Just because.

And fortunately for you, Eddie would never pass up the chance to play protector, especially when it was you who was asking him so nicely.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

“I can’t believe you kneed him in the nuts, that was fucking hilarious,” Eddie laughed, following you up the stairs to your third-floor apartment.

“I should have twisted them off, but then I would’ve had to touch him.” As an afterthought, you added, “Which, gross.”

“So gross,” Eddie agreed.

Stepping inside your apartment, you immediately kicked off your shoes. Eddie’s eyes dropped to the ground, following your movements, and he noted that you were wearing those cute white ankle socks with the pretty lace ruffle at the top. Those were the kind he remembered you wearing all the time at school, complete with your green, white, and yellow cheer outfit.

The memory of you in that uniform, bouncing up at down at one of the school rallies, had Eddie trying to secretly adjust himself in his jeans.

He he hung back in the doorway, ready to leave.

Eddie’d noticed the rousing stare you’d been giving him in the van. It was a look he’d often shot your way, when he was sure you weren’t paying attention. Full of want and yearning. He hadn’t missed the sight of your thighs pressing together either.

But you’d been drinking. That probably explained away the actions. You just weren’t thinking straight.

Eddie didn’t want to overstep or take advantage, so his plan was to be a gentleman and escort you up, then head back to his van and jerk off to the thought of you begging him to touch you.

You had other ideas.

You reached your hand out and bunched your fingers into his black Iron Maiden band tee, trying to tug him toward you. It wasn’t enough to physically move him, but enough so that he’d get the gist of what you wanted.

“What’re you still doing out there?” you asked, tilting your head down to look up at him through your lashes. Your expression was coy. “You can come inside, Eddie.”

A double entendre if he’d ever heard one. He had to force back a groan as his imagination went wild.

“I shouldn’t,” he tried, hand moving down to grasp yours in an attempt to loosen your grip. Eddie didn’t really want you to let go, though. He wished you’d grab him harder, not give him a choice, pull him inside and have your way with him. Gentleman, gentleman, gentleman, he had to remind himself in his head. “I was just making sure you got up here safe. I should, uh, probably get going… it’s kinda late…”

The pretty pout you shot at him further loosened his resolve to leave, and he felt glued to the spot in your entranceway. “I’m a big girl, Eddie, I don’t have a bedtime. You don’t wanna hang out more?” you asked, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “Y’know, I wasn’t serious about being afraid of Jason and his boyfriends… it was just a big ploy to get you to come up here with me.” You bit at your lip in an effort to hide a grin, trying to keep the innocent facade playing on your face. “Thought maybe I could show you where I live, since I’m always at yours… and I just rented the new Texas Chainsaw movie. Haven’t watched it yet.”

Eddie found it was getting increasingly harder to say no to you, with your hands on him, pulling him gently toward you. Each word you spoke sounded like it was being sung by a siren.

A movie seemed… safe.

His eyes drifted past you to your living room, where he assumed you’d want to watch it. He was satisfied with the size of the couch. He’d be able to put enough space between the two of you to keep it friendly, because that’s probably what you really wanted, just to be friendly, but the buzz you were still feeling maybe had you thinking you wanted to be a little more than just friendly.

In the morning, Eddie figured you’d probably regret anything you may have ended up trying to do. He promised himself he wouldn’t let you get that far. He figured he’d be able to limit any physical contact by positioning himself at whatever far end of the couch you weren’t on.

He really, really did want to be around you. He just couldn’t for the life of him believe or understand why you were saying you wanted the same thing. Must’ve been the booze.

But he could take advantage of this moment, couldn’t he? Without taking advantage of you? He would just make sure things stayed PG.

“You drive a hard bargain, Princess,” he conceded, giving in and walking inside. He clicked the door shut behind him, happy to have your hand still clinging needy to his shirt. “I can’t say no to a pretty girl who wants to watch Tobe Hooper with me. There’s just one thing that’d make this night even better…”

You rose an inquisitive brow at him. You could think of many, many things that would make this night better, and they all ended with you so fucked out that you couldn’t remember your name and could only remember Eddie’s.

Maybe he was about to finally give you both what you wanted – or, well, what you wanted, and what you had only hoped Eddie wanted, too.

You leaned closer to him, waiting for his suggestion.

“Got any popcorn?”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You’d been on the couch with Texas Chainsaw Massacre playing in the background for the past half hour.

While you had ulterior motives and didn’t plan on strictly watching the entire time, Eddie was acting as if this was the greatest movie to have ever been written, his wide eyes almost unblinking as he focused on nothing but the television.

And even though he was also seated on the couch, he still seemed far away, having chosen to sit at the end furthest from you.

You didn’t want to encroach on his personal space, fearful maybe you’d been reading every sign you’d ever thought he’d given you wrong and he in fact wasn’t interested. Had you known for certain he wanted you like you wanted him, you would have been in his lap the second he sat down.

You had to play it a little safer first. Test the waters.

This is how your socked foot ended up in Eddie’s lap.

Totally safe.

The empty bowl of popcorn, which had been resting on one of Eddie’s knees, clattered to the floor when he felt your heel weighed down on his thigh.

Eddie had been forcing his attention to stay focused on the movie, not daring to drift his eyesight to you sprawled out beside him, your tight sundress so far up your legs he knew he’d be able to see your panties if he looked.

His gaze finally shot over to you when you’d made the contact, but you were now the one pretending to be engrossed in the gory horror movie. Eddie could have sworn he saw an uptick in the corner of your mouth when the bowl clattered to the ground, but it was dark and he couldn’t be sure.

Swallowing hard, his eyes dropped down to his lap, watching as your foot flexed and relaxed repeatedly.

The crotch of his jeans felt tight, his heartbeat picking up pace at the thought of you possibly feeling how hard he was growing right now. If you’d just move your foot over one or two more inches, he’d feel the solid warmth of you where he wanted to feel you the most.

How would you react? Would you freak out? You wouldn’t, right? You were playing footsies with his fucking lap, for Christ’s sake. This wasn’t innocent, was it? It couldn’t have been.

“You don’t mind, right?” you asked him, attention still on the TV, forcing nonchalance into your tone. “Feels good to stretch like this. And you’re so warm.”

He was about to respond, was about to say he didn’t mind, not at all; fuck, he’d be anything for you — a footrest, a heater, a guard dog, a servant, a total fucking fool. But when your foot finally met with the bulge forming under his denim, Eddie inhaled harshly, a hand coming up to wrap around your ankle, stopping you.

When he turned to look at you this time, you were staring right back at him.

You were propped up on your elbows now and he could feel you trying to wiggle your foot free.

“Let me, Eddie,” you urged. “Please.”

His grip faltered on your ankle at your pleading, and you took the chance to weasel it out of his hand. You wasted no time tracing the thick outline of him over his jeans with the ball of your foot, the bite of the zipper pressing into his sensitive length causing him to hiss.

You brought your other foot up to join in, using your toes to curl around the girth of him, kneading back and forth.

Those fucking socks, fuck. Eddie already had his fair share of dirty fantasies of you in your cheer uniform – the whole ensemble, head to toe – and he knew he’d now never be able to look at a pair of lacy frilled socks normally ever again.

Eddie groaned, his head falling back against the couch. His eyes fluttered shut but only momentarily before they found you again. You didn’t bother containing your wide grin, your teeth sunk into the softness at the center of your bottom lip.

“Put your hands on them, pet,” he gave another groan at the nickname, “so you can make yourself feel good.”

Eddie’s brain was clouded with desire, and he could feel his face warming at your request.

“I don’t – I mean, um… you’re drunk…” he was stumbling over his words because your feet wouldn’t stop, rubbing and pressing in all the right places.

Your head dipped back with a little laugh. “Not really,” you lied. You were definitely still feeling the effects of a forgotten number of mixed drinks, but that didn’t change the fact that you’d been hoping this was where the night would lead five hours ago. Or even five months ago. Very pre-drunkenness. “And even if I was…” you trailed off momentarily, giving your heel another ground down against his lap. “Was I drunk when I held your hand at the party? Or when I told you earlier how much I liked being around you?”

Eddie thought for a moment before shaking his head. No, you weren’t. Holy shit, so he had read all your signs right. You were interested in him. He wasn’t just imagining all of it.

Okay, fuck. He could work with that. He probably shouldn’t, probably should have stuck to his guns and told you to wait until tomorrow when you were for sure sobered up.

But Eddie was typically an act now, deal with it later type of guy. And right now, he was finding it very hard to be any different.

He’d never done anything like this before, had never even gotten much further than just making out, but Eddie didn’t let his self-doubt rule at the forefront of his mind for once.

Not tonight.

Not with your feet in his lap and your voice telling him the dirty things you wanted him to do. Not when his upstairs brain was closing up shop, tossing the keys to his confined cock.

“Wanna make you feel good, too,” he said, hands finding your ankles again. He didn’t halt their movements this time. Now he encouraged them to move, slowly beginning to rock his hips up into the soles of your feet.

With that admission, you realized you weren’t just projecting your own desires when you’d catch him staring at you through the kitchen window while you played with Olly out front; when he’d put his hands on your waist as he passed by you in the trailer’s cramped hallway; when he’d lick his lips and watch your own as you talked to him about some minor detail from your day.

Eddie wanted you, too.

And with how fucking hard he was, you realized he wanted you bad.

Your head lolled to one side as you observed him. “I wanna watch you use me ‘till you’re about to come.” The TV wasn’t too far away, and with the relatively bright scene on the screen at the moment, you could tell he was hanging off of your every word. You could feel him tightening his grip around the width of your feet, pulling them down harder against him. “If you’re a good boy and stop before you get all messy, then maybe I’ll let you make me feel good, too.”

Eddie’s brows furrowed in equal parts desire and disbelief at your words, his parted lips forming the shape of an ‘O’. It was all he could do to nod wordlessly, feeling dumb in the best kind of way, his eyes not wavering from yours once as he got to work.

[aemondsbabe]

Two Souls, Entwined

summary: dreams & dirty talk || helaena has been plagued with visions; things between her and her lady in waiting finally reach a boiling point

pairing: helaena targaryen x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, mutual pining, angst but happy ending, dry humping, breast/nipple play, dirty talk but make it poetic and loving, slight aegon slander i broke my own heart, i love helaena sm, there needs to be more content for her i love her, let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 4.1k

a/n: happy day ten of 12 days of smuff!! i'm actually very excited/proud of this one, it got a lot more personal than i was expecting! really feeding that scared bi girl i was in middle school idk. i hope y'all enjoy it!!!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @merrypembertons

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Helaena sighs when she opens her eyes and blinks, disoriented by the early morning light, her head still clouded with sleep. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe…” She whispers to the emptiness of her chambers, the cryptic phrase a familiar one now as it had been making its home in her head for the past few weeks. 

Sitting up with a groan, she pauses at the edge of her bed, staring blankly ahead as the cloudy figures from her dream seem to swirl around her still. She was growing frustrated with the shadowy shapes, as much as she hated to admit it – she did not often enjoy her dreams, they often brought news of unpleasant tidings, secrets that she alone seemed expected to bear, but for the past few weeks her dreams had been… pleasant. Joyous, in fact. Yet they seemed much further away than the others, only revealing small slivers of information to her night after night. 

She smiles softly as she gives one last glance out the window before padding over to the vanity in her chambers, determined to brush out her hair before the maids have the chance, they were always too rushed and hurried. Her mind drifts back to her dream as she runs a comb through her fair hair; lately, this mysterious dream seemed to be the only thing she could focus on for very long. 

The figure in it seemed so familiar, moving around her as if it was an old friend, someone safe. She sighed again as she thought, blushing despite herself as she recalled her latest vision, remembering how the shadow had moved about her, as if in a courting dance, before it leaned in closely, though if it were for a kiss or to whisper a secret she didn’t know. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe.” She repeats, as if the repeating will somehow reveal more. 

It puzzles her greatly, the feelings of safety mixed with distinct romantic desire, a deep wanting from somewhere within her. There aren’t many people she even feels safe around, and even less so those she’d ever felt romantic longing for, and a much shorter list followed of people who had ever felt romantic longing for her. She feels secure around her mother, of course, and grandsire and her precious younger brothers, but she cannot help but wrinkle her nose with disgust at the thought of romantic intent with any of them.

She blinks, setting her hairbrush down and biting her lip as she thinks. I feel safe with Aegon, she ponders, brows knitting together, He’s never given me a reason to not feel safe but… She sighs, not bothering to finish the thought. She was well aware her marriage was one of politics, not of love. She remembers there had been whispers of many suitors when she’d finally come of age; everyone from Aegon and Aemond to her half-sister’s bastard sons had been considered, and though Helaena appreciated some more than others… she didn’t desire any of them. 

Before she can help herself, her blue eyes flit over her own curves as she gazes at herself in the mirror, wishing, as she had so many times before, that she could reach out and feel her own reflection – feel a mirrored twin with similar soft skin and supple flesh. She wishes that soft, delicate fingers could touch her as well; she had grown tired of rough, battle worn touches long ago. 

Someone I feel safe with and feel romantic longing for, she thinks again, blinking rapidly as a familiar face immediately springs to mind yet again, just as it had every time she’d pondered this mystery for the last few weeks, only growing more frustrated. It can’t be, she’d decided that long ago, long before this vision began. 

But...

The Gods only ever seemed to show her visions that were assured, that would come to fruition, one way or another. Maybe… maybe that meant that y–

No, she thought, locking eyes with her reflection, Don’t be ridiculous. 

She smiles as she hears her chamber doors opening, at the same time they do every morning, and turns around on the ornate, cushioned chair at her vanity, her eyes locking with your familiar ones as you waltz it. 

“Good morning, Princess,” her heart beats a mite faster at the sound of your voice, at the bright smile that graces your lips as you stride to her, “I trust you slept well?”

“Good morning, sweet friend,” she greets you brightly, standing and pulling you into a hug as she did every day, “I did, quite peacefully, actually. And you?” She asked, trying to ignore the small voice that longed to hold you more closely, as she did everyday. 

“I did as well,” your hand lingers in hers for a moment as she steps away, sitting back at her vanity as the maids arrive, instantly fluttering around the two of you like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, “After we break fast, would you like to come to the gardens with me?”

Helaena merely nods, though inside she buzzes, her heart fluttering like a bird’s wings. 

I would follow you into the Seven Hells, she longs to say. 

You wake with a small start, your hand instantly flying to your lips. You could swear they still tingle for a second from when she’d kissed you, just before you’d woken up. Blushing, you glance around your chambers, as if there would be anyone else there, and finding them empty leaves you both relieved and disappointed all at once. 

Sighing, you slide off of your plush bed and walk over to your small vanity and use the small wash basin to splash water on your face. A small thrill shoots up your spine as you glance over your shoulder in the mirror, knowing from the position of the light filtering through your windows that it’s nearly time to go find your friend. 

Friend.

It’s a funny word, you think, not one you would have imagined assigning to the princess all the many years ago when you’d arrived at King’s Landing, young and eager to be a lady in waiting for Helaena. You can’t help the smile that blooms on your lips each time you think of her, your quiet, captivating princess. You meet your own gaze in the mirror and frown, looking at yourself in the way a disappointed parent would look at a child. 

Not yours, you chide, like repeating it over and over would make it hurt any less, Not yours, not yours, not yours. 

Sighing yet again, you rise from your spot at the vanity and quickly grab your robes, eager to escape your own thoughts. 

“This one is the iphiclides podalirius,” Helaena says, her voice soft as she marvels at the delicate butterfly perched on the back of her hand, “More commonly called the scarce swallowtail, I believe. It’s truly remarkable, normally they don’t travel this far north, though I’m told they’re a common sight in the gardens of Sunspear.”

“Then we are quite lucky to see it,” you smile, setting your embroidery hoop on the bench beside you as you study the yellow and black striped insect, though your eyes seem to drift to the princess on their own; you can’t help but smile as you see the way her beautiful sapphire eyes light up as she examines the small creature, “It’s very beautiful.”

Like you, you think, swallowing down the words. 

“Would you like to hold her?” Helaena asks, looking at you hopefully. 

As always, you nod, aware that you were the only one who seemed to entertain her fascination with insects and plants. Selfishly, you liked that. 

Slowly and carefully, Helaena guides the butterfly onto the back of your hand; the two of you sitting close together, close enough for your shoulders to press together. A giggle leaves you at the feel of the insect's feet on your skin, so small and light, like tiny, faint kisses.  

“Perhaps she was drawn to the hydrangeas,” the princess muses, “Those are new this year, though I suppose any of the other very colorful plants would spark her fancy as well, like the lilac or poppies or…”

It takes you a second to notice that she’s gone quiet next to you and you finally tear your gaze away from the butterfly, frowning slightly when you see the look on her face, her blue eyes hazy and unfocused as they flit back and forth like she’s watching figures you cannot see. 

“Princess?” You ask softly, reaching out to take her hand, only halfway aware of the butterfly fluttering away, “Helaena?” You ask again, a bit louder, gripping her hand tighter. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe…” She whispers, so faintly that the words scarcely leave her lips. Your frown only deepens, your eyebrows knitting together as you shake your head, trying to make sense of her words. 

“What?” You ask softly, used to hearing her mutter odd phrases but seeing her in a trance was something altogether different, “Helaena? Should I go fetch the maester?” You don’t know why you ask her, not expecting a response. 

The figure danced in front of her again, clouded in darkness, though instead of feeling cold and empty like the dark so often did to her, these shadows hugged Helaena like a blanket. 

She blinked, and suddenly everything changed, becoming clear as if she’d blinked away tears. The clarity was startling for a second as the edges of the figure sharpened before her, still leaning toward her as if it meant to whisper an amorous secret.

Finally, her eyes focused and in that moment, she felt as if she could be knocked over by the air current made from the flittery wings of a butterfly. 

You. 

It was you, just as she’d always suspected, standing before her as if you’d always been there. 

Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe. The phrase repeats in her mind like a mantra as she stares at you, marveling at the way you stare at her. 

Like she’s precious, something to be fawned over. Something to be… loved? 

Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as she reaches out, her fingers finally skimming over your cheek. 

She could cry, perhaps she is crying, she doesn’t know. The only thing she’s sure of is that this feels so right, like a puzzle piece within her has finally shifted and slotted into place. 

Just as it crosses her mind to lean in and kiss you, the vision falls away, words echoing in her mind as the gardens come back into focus.

Not a friend. 

Not a friend.

Not a friend.

Yet...

Not a foe. 

“Helaena, please!” You beg, urgency coating your voice as you lean in closer, closer than you’d ever dared before, praying to see some spark of recognition in the princess’s eyes. 

Suddenly, she seems to come back to herself, gasping as you jump back away from her, startled. 

“Oh!” She breathes, blinking a couple times before her blue eyes finally fix themselves on you, “I’m so sorry, I don’t… I don’t know what came over me.”

You shake your head quickly, moving back toward her and taking her hands in yours once more, your heart twisting as you notice them trembling slightly. “There’s no need to apologize, I’m just happy you’re alright.” 

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, Helaena staring at you in a way that makes your cheeks heat up, as if she’s seeing you for the first time, before she seems to catch herself and look away, much to your disappointment. 

“Was that one of your dreams?” You ask softly, looking down to where her hand rests within yours. 

“Yes.” She says simply, her eyes locked on the way your fingers overlap hers as she desperately tries to ignore the voice in her head telling her to enterwine them. 

“What did you see?” You ask, catching her gaze again. There’s a fire in her eyes now that makes you shiver. 

She’s quiet for a moment, neither of you so much as breathing as you stare at each other – the princess looking at you so intently you wonder if she’s trying to hear your thoughts. You pray she can’t. 

“Nothing of importance,” she says finally, pulling her hands away and standing from the bench suddenly, “They’re just shapes, really. Fuzzy things.”

“Alright,” you smile as you stand with her, picking up your embroidery hoop from where it had been abandoned at your side, “If you ever wish to discuss them, I would be more than happy to listen.” You tell her, desperately wanting to hold on to whatever moment you had just shared with her. 

She merely nods with a small, soft smile and holds her arm out for you to take, “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late for supper.” 

The fire warming your skin from the hearth in Helaena’s chambers normally felt cozy and inviting, but tonight the heat of it was stifling as the two of you sit in silence. Each of you is presumably working on an embroidery piece, although the atmosphere feels more like that of a stalemate with each passing moment. 

You can feel her looking at you, sneaking glances every minute or so. You imagine she can probably feel the same, perhaps that’s why she keeps looking your way, because you can’t seem to keep your eyes off her either. 

Finally, the tension in the room seems to boil over and you can’t take it anymore; your fingers dig into the wood of your embroidery hoop as you gather the courage to speak. 

“Have I… Are you cross with me?” 

“Pardon?” The princess asks, jumping a bit before laying her hoop at her side, her eyes wide as she looks at you unabashedly now. 

“You, well, you keep looking at me. I just, I’m hoping I haven’t offended you in some way.” You chance a glance at Helaena and quickly do a double take, heart clenching in your chest when you see that she looks as if she’s about to cry. 

“You haven’t,” she breathes, shaking her head emphatically, locks of pale hair cascading down her shoulders as she does, “I simply… I was considering the dreams I’ve been having, the one I had earlier today.” 

“But what does that have to do with me?” 

“You’ve been in them!” She says suddenly, loudly, like she has to force out the words. 

“What?” You blink. 

She sighs heavily and swallows, wringing her hands on her lap. “You were in them. You have been for weeks.” 

You wonder if the princess can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you blink, silently praying to whichever of the Gods may be listening that Helaena’s dreams and your dreams were not somehow intertwined. In the back of your mind, you knew your pleas were useless. 

Your mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish that’s been plucked from the water before you finally find your voice, “What… what am I doing in them?” Your whole body buzzes, fearing the answer and desperately needing it all at once. 

The princess hesitates, you want to scream as you can all but see her weighing her options in her mind before she finally, finally speaks. 

“Courting me, kissing me.” 

A small withering, wounded noise passes your lips at her words. You feel dizzy, the room spinning as you feel as though the entire world is crashing down around you while at the same time, it’s as if a mountain’s worth of weight has been lifted from your shoulders. 

“And your visions… they only show things already fated to occur?” You feel frozen as you ask, not a muscle in your body moving. You know the answer even as the question leaves your lips, but you need to hear her say it. 

Helaena sighs and shakes her head, a frown cutting across her pretty face, “That’s why it’s frustrating,” she bites, spitting the words like the mere act of explaining is painful, “This one cannot come to pass, I do not understand why I see it…”

She keeps speaking, talking through her annoyance, but the sound of your own blood pumping wildly through your veins blocks out her words. 

No, your head pounds as you silently scream, No, no, no! Please, just let me explain, give me a chance, I’ll do any—

A loud sob cuts through your thoughts; the world seems to wrench its way back to you as you look at the princess, eyes widening when you see the tears flowing down her flushed cheeks. 

“You could never truly wish to…” She says slowly, brokenly, words fading like she can’t even bear to say them. 

“I do.” The words feel punched from your chest like you’re holding your heart out to the open air.

Helaena’s ocean eyes cut to yours as her breath hitches, the both of you not daring to move a muscle as you sit together on the small sofa in her chambers; the fire crackling in the hearth is the only indication that time has not ceased to exist. 

You aren’t sure who moves first, maybe the Gods have threaded the two of you together so tightly that you move as one, you can’t be sure. 

But her lips are on yours. 

And her hands cup your cheeks as yours scramble to fit around her waist, four hands poised on a knife’s edge. 

You sigh against each other, pulled together like a knot in a thread, and you gasp as you find yourselves pressed together, chest to chest.

Finally, you part for air, panting together as you stare, foreheads pressed together. 

“Princess—“

“You love me?” She asks, swiping a thumb over your cheek; it’s only then you realize you’re crying. 

“Yes,” you breathe, your hands grip her tighter, pulling her impossibly closer to you, “And you?” 

“Yes,” she echos, her thighs slotting over one of yours as she climbs atop your lap, “You are my heart beating out of my body.” 

Her words zap through you and your heart twists in your chest as your hands clamber against her, your lips press against hers again urgently. Twin moans, muffled into each other's mouths, sound between you as your hands cup her rear, pressing her more urgently against you. 

“You are beautiful,” you sigh, hands grabbing at her plush curves through the silk fabric of her skirts, “You’re so soft and —“ 

“Warm,” she breathes, moaning into the column of your neck as her lips move against your skin, “You’re so warm, my love, like the sun.” 

My love. The pet name sends a shiver down your spine as the two of you move together, pressing kisses against whatever patches of skin you can find, rocking together instinctually. The firmness of her thigh presses deliciously against your center, your skirts rucked up enough to bare your smallclothes, which press welty against your core. 

You gasp, pressing a kiss to the princess’s collarbone as her hips move tantalizingly on your thigh, the warmth between her legs nearly suffocating as you whimper and sign against each other’s soft skin. 

“I have always loved you,” you confess, nearly coming undone as she begins tugging at the ties at the bosom of your gown, her hands shaking as she pulls them loose, “Always, from the first moment I saw you.”

She makes a noise between a moan and sob as she finally tugs your bodice loose, and you whimper as her lithe fingers ghost over your breasts, causing your back to arch into her touch. “I’ve always loved you too,” she sighs as her soft hands cup your chest, kneading the flesh in her palms, “I always wanted to court you, marry you, I,” her voice breaks off in a faint, high-pitched whine as you finally manage to unbutton the bodice of her gown, she savors the feel of your lips and hands against her breasts for a moment more before continuing, “Gods, I wished to bed you, I’ve always longed to know what you would feel like, how sweet you’d taste.”

Her confessions nearly make you weep as you kiss over the fat of her breasts, keening into her supple skin as she delicately pinches at your nipples, “I have only ever thought of you, my sweet princess,” your chest heaves as you speak, your words muffled as you lick over her nipple, “When I sleep, when I wake, when I–” The words stick in your throat as you freeze, peering up at her through your lashes, somehow still impossibly afraid of going too far, or too fast, or too anything. 

“When you what?” She asks, her voice so soft and sweet as she stares down at you, her fingers digging into your breast and side as her sapphire eyes flit between yours, “Tell me, my love, when you what?” She urges, her hips moving somehow more desperately against yours, only serving to fuel the fire slowly building within you. 

“Gods, when I touch myself,” you whisper, shuddering as she lets out a breathy moan above you, “When I peak, sweet princess, I think only of you.” Your confession ends in a sharp gasp as she angles you backwards, anchoring you to her with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Her lips trail down your neck and collarbone before finally, she presses firm, fiery kisses to your breast, panting as she wraps her petal pink lips around your nipple and sucks, pressing her thigh more firmly against your center as she does. 

“I think only of you too,” she breathes, blue eyes fluttering up to yours as your hands tangle in her pale locks, “Every time I touch myself, I dream of you,” she mumbles around your breast, her touch all but burning into you as she kisses across your chest before mouthing at the other side, “When my brother beds me, it is you I see, my precious lady.”

You practically sob as her admission sends you reeling, each cell in your body bursting like lightning from a stormcloud as you peak. You’re useless to do much else other than tremble in her hold as shivers travel in currents down your spine, your smallclothes no doubt ruined as your center clenches frantically at nothing, your pearl so taut and achy as it twitches against the princess’s thigh. 

You don’t waste a second when your high subsides, moving frantically as you push Helaena back, slotting yourself perfectly atop her, pressing your thigh between her legs like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Your skirts fan out around your bodies, blanketing your forms in a soft sea of silk, your bare chests pressed tightly together as you rut against her, needing to see her awash with pleasure more than you need breath in your lungs. 

“My love, my sweet princess,” you sigh into her mouth, your tongues swirling together as she all but cries beneath you, her hands digging possessively into your waist, “I am yours, my love, until the end of my days.” You swear, pressing your thigh tightly against her center, and your heart soars as she finally shatters in your grasp.

You watch, enraptured, as she peaks; mesmerized at the blush that blooms on her skin, at the way her blue eyes roll back as her eyes flutter closed, at how her breasts heave as she sucks in desperate breaths. The sounds she makes seem to pierce into your soul, each whimper and moan and cry ripping away parts of you until your heart is stripped bare, beating only for her. 

The two of you lay in a heady silence for many moments, the only sounds being your soft, panting breaths as you each come down and the ever-present crackle sounding from the hearth. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe.” Helaena whispers, her voice raspy as she speaks.

“Pardon?” You ask, pulling back from her embrace just enough to meet her gaze.

“That phrase,” she explains, her eyes glimmering in the firelight as a smile steadily blossoms on her pink lips, “I kept hearing it, in my dreams about you.”

You stay silent, tracing soft circles on her soft skin, leaving room for her to continue.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but now I see.”

“Hm?”

You aren’t my friend, the Gods spoke truthfully,” she beams, radiating joy as she studies your face, “You’re my love.”

Her statement is simple, but it makes you smile all the same as you press a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Yes,” you nod, pulling back to meet her eyes as you lay a hand over her heart, “Always.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux @grsveeth0m

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ WHY IS THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER PUBLISHED ON DECEMBER IDK IM SLOW, also politics yay ig— MENTIONS OF MY COUNTRY! 🇵🇭💥🇵🇭💥💪💪 Also uh VERY long chapter

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @adorefavv @l0starl @depresssedcowboy

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎: 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭

Summary ೃ⁀➷ You and Montrell seem to share a few qualities. In the midst of talks of politics with Miles, you find yourself parted from the reality you were raised in, instead finding a new world in Spirit Halloween.

This chapter is not sponsored.

FIC MASTERLIST

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".. You should've definitely worn a coat over that."

You fiddled with your sleeve, staring comfortably past the window and out into the shining streets of Brooklyn. The comment was unnecessary , but it didn't entirely fly past your ears— in fact you swallowed it like a bad egg, making your stomach churn. As you turned your head away from the window, you're brought back to acknowledge your brother, Montrell, sitting beside you with his hand over the wheel.

"I like it as it is." You answered. "It's soft, fluffy, and big. Fragrant too." Because it belongs to Miles.

"It's the first time I've seen you wear something so.." His words trace away, but even without finishing the sentence, you knew what he meant. Unsophisticated— a little too boyish in comparison to your usual, refined clothes. The classic sort of unrefined your dearest mother taught you not to embody.

"What? It's comfortable." Was your attempt of a justification. Montrell shrugs, and you catch a twitch in his eye.

Your family had similar, refined tastes. Montrell, like you, was taught to imbue stylishness in every aspect of his life. He was often Armani-clad. Brunello Cucinelli, Hermes— and every other European household name you could recall. But in special events, he usually sported suits specially tailored to his tastes. His palette was consistently ashen, monochrome, with hints of cherry red. Like his car, which had been only recently cleaned after the staff was updated with his upcoming arrival, a slick, grey Aston Martin. It was likely the peak symbolism of his tastes.

You were never really fond of vehicles, particularly their strong, Italian leather scents (Or stench, as you called it). It was because of your sensitive nose that you often requested the seats to be replaced with anything but leather. Scentless polyester was your more preferred option. Leather alone was enough to urge your stomach to clear out your last meal, by ascending to your esophagus.

"I'm not insulting your tastes. I'm glad you're exploring new aesthetics." He manages to lure out his teeth, a compliment— a not-so-good one at that. "What is this?.. Like, street style? Grunge?.. What's that other one— e-girl, I believe? Or was it Emo?"

"You sound not twenty-five years old."

"Don't be mean. The idea of it is new to me, okay?" He clears. "I haven't seen you in three years. The last time I saw you, mom was the one in charge of your wardrobe. I only ever saw your pictures and you seemed more high-end. Saint Laurent, Dior, Dolce Gabbana."

"Those are my brands, I'm just taking a break. I'm not a walking advertisement. I don't want to get robbed in the middle of Brooklyn either."

With a three-second pause, Montrell looks at you and queried.

"Does that jacket belong to a boy?"

You sit right up, ready to defend yourself when Antonne adds. "You would have to introduce him to me immediately— I won't stand aside while some boy prances around your presence. You're sixteen, and that's a prey-able age for stupid and good-for-nothing men… Unless,” He pauses. “You’re gay.”

"What— What are you talking about!?” You feigned ignorance. “I'm not g— this is— it doesn't belong to a.. Well, it does belong to a boy, but it's my friend's jacket okay?"

Oh, the way Miles would glare at you had he been there.

"Don't try to outsmart me." He shot back. "You’ve got little to no friends.”

You parted your lips. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m only stating the truth.” He sighs. “You’re too condescending, and you hate people.”

“And your sources are what? A small interaction I had when I was twelve?”

Montrell grows uneasy a bit, tapping his nails over the thinly veiled compartment. ".. So who is he?" He starts. "From which family? Who are his parents? And how did the both of you meet?"

"That's none of your business, Mon." You sighed, running a hand across your face. "I'm not seeing him, I'm simply hanging out with another friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, it surely wouldn't hurt for me to meet this friend of yours, then? If he's not a boyfriend."

Your mouth hung open, a steady sigh escaping your lips while you sink a little deeper into your seat. As a hand runs across your cheek, you looked at Montrell as he eases the car down to a red light.

"He doesn't know that I'm a Chávez."

ＢＥＥＰ

Suddenly, you're jolted to a sudden halt— nearly flying out of your seat upon Montrell's way of hitting the brakes. You grabbed onto the board before you with widened eyes and a curse in your mouth.

He remains calm, but slightly irked.

At that moment, he pulls a finger to his lips as if to hush you. He signals with another finger as it leads up to boost the music from the radio. The song blasts, and swiftly, he takes his jug hidden by the side of his seat, unscrewing the top before pouring some of the water onto his palm, flicking at the air conditioner.

Oh, he was checking if the car was bugged.

You hold out your hand, gesturing him to give you some of the water. Together, the both of you took care of the recording devices, from the front of the wheel to the back of the car. Upon gathering all of them, you stuffed it all inside the water bottle, permanently eradicating its usage.

Finally, Montrell places his hands on the wheel and speaks.

“I want you to be honest with me, [Y/n], and cut out any of the bullshittery.”

You feared that at that moment, you and Montrell weren’t brother and sister, but rivals in a battle for power.

ＳＨＯＵＬＤ ＷＥ ＥＡＴ ＹＯＵＲ ＢＲＯＴＨＥＲ？

Your finger twitches.

Wait.

“Does he make you happy?”

The question comes off a little too similar to tasteless poison. It’s a gamble in itself— and it leaves you sitting upright and crossing your legs.

“He makes me feel alive,” Was your starter. “That’s a power no other boy could do, and it’s a rarity, since I’ve always lived for other people, but he makes me feel like I’m living for myself.”

A short hum exits his lips. “And your happiness? Does he make you happy?”

You harshly swallowed. “What difference would it make if I tell you that he does make me happy?”

Montrell’s gaze narrows a bit, the heel of his boots pressing against the gas as the green light shone. “… I ought to applaud you for your sneakiness if by now, dad still doesn’t know anything about his existence.. Unless,” Gulp. “He ordered you to spy on him.”

“And for what reason?”

“It could be anything,” His grip on the wheel tightens like the coil of a noose. “Hostage, information, any of the latter. I’m not sure why father would send you off to spy on a fifteen-year-old boy, but I’m sure the truth’s far deeper than petty business rival bullshit.”

Your mind blanks.

“It’s nothing like that. I just.. Like him, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie to you about how much he means to me?”

“Because we’re not just siblings, [Y/n],” He whispered. “If anything, we’re not a normal family, but, I’m here for you because I think you’re a good kid, even if everyone else says you’re not.”

“Cease the speech, Mon. I’m not a good person. Stop romanticizing me.”

“But why?” He adds. “Is it because you managed the media and the hotel?”

And hearing those words, you come to face the fact that there was a reason Montrell was your father’s favorite. The effortless way he’s able to read every situation, the effortless way he managed to read through your emotions. It was a talent you could only wish for.

“It was so obvious, you know.” He chuckled. “I knew— I already knew before I came home.”

“Why?”

“Because Antonne handles things messily. He makes decisions without thinking about the consequences, and he despises planning things on the long run. Dad wouldn’t trust anyone outside the family after what happened with Mom, nor would he allow just anyone to handle such shaky affairs. It’s not like it’s beyond father’s morality to hire his own children and calling it practice.”

“What evidence do you have?”

Montrell took one look at you. “The Warehouse. It’s said that it was recently burnt, and that Antonne had to fight the Prowler, but Antonne wouldn’t have had the time to take care of all that because he was investigating you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You spat.

“Also, no one but family takes care of the Warehouses.”

“No— I know that, fuck that. You were going to find out one way or another, but what the fuck was Antonne investigating me for?”

Your brother simply shrugs, his shoulders dropping comically.

“It was about that boy.”

“What!?” Your voice breaks a little. “Jesus fuck, what is wrong with him!?”

“Evidently, he’s worried about you.”

You snorted. “Worried!? Worried my ass!” The vulgar way you spoke caught Montrell so off-guard that he had to look at you twice to check if you were still the same person. “I’d rather believe the world’s ending. Antonne and I stopped being siblings the moment he dropped responsibility for all those who were killed, forcing me to step up and do damage control because Dad stopped trusting everyone else.”

“Well, that’s understandable.”

“Plus, there’s nothing to be worried about. The boy I’m meeting he’s.. He’s just.. I like him. That’s it. I know it’s hard to believe since most of the time I’m a conniving bitch, but I genuinely, wholeheartedly like him. Like how a normal teenage girl ought to like a boy.”

Montrell hums. “… Alright, I’ll believe you. It’s not too far off from unusual, when I’m also facing a similar issue.”

You blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“… You see, [Y/n], I’ve got also got a girl for myself.” He announced so suddenly. “Met her at Oxford. Like your boy, she bore no idea of who I was.. Who I am, and understandably, and I know you know about this too— but it’s a refreshing feeling to not be recognized as the potential inheritor of a business empire.”

You part your lips, processing the information with confusion all over your expression. “But— there were no reports of you being in a relationship.”

“Of course there weren’t,” He laughs. “I had her carefully hidden from everyone’s sights.”

And that could mean two things. You didn’t want to think of the latter.

“Maybe it’s genetic,” Montrell added, turning the wheel. “Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance. It’s frightening to think how Malachi’s going to inherit our tendencies.”

“I’m not,” Your heart raged within the cage of your ribs. “I’m not like that to him. I can never allow myself to trap him.”

“You can either be one of them.” Montrell sighed. “Mom or dad, I mean.”

The good ol’ bird or the cage.

“But I won’t be able to stand by and watch when that does happen,” He straightens his lips. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

You can hear the voice whisper back in your mind.

“Which is why I’ve got to meet.. [Y/n]?”

Your hands slithered up against your ears in an attempt to block out the voice.

“[Y/n], are you okay?”

You gasped for air, a familiar voice taunting you like the one from your dreams. Except, this one didn’t speak like the voice of the symbiote, rather, it endowed this sweet allure as though it could sing you a lullaby to sleep.

Before the symbiote, there was someone else who plagued your thoughts and mind and actions.

Before the symbiote, there was your mother.

“Stop the car.” You croaked, palms still over your ears. Montrell speaks, but his words were blurred out into the void of nothingness. The more he speaks, the more your mind shreds itself into pieces. After a long second of thinking, Montrell finally pulls up by the sidewalk, taking his hands off the wheel and pulling one in front of you. He waves it hesitantly, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Breathe, [Y/n], breathe.”

“I-I,” You lengthily stammered. “Mon, I’m sorry, but can I go?” As he’s about to answer, you add. “I’ll introduce you another day, I promise, I just, I need to be alone right now.”

“But isn’t it unsafe? We’re in the slums, you’ll never know how—“

“Mon, I can fight.” You ended the conversation with that alone. Hesitantly, he nods and unlocks the door. You reach for the handle, moving along with the click as you turned to leave.

“Can you at least message me when I can pick you up?”

You looked over to Montrell.

“… Okay.”

ＳＬＡＭ.

“Miles!”

And he could already hear you from a block away, jogging with steady and loud steps.

Without even looking up from his phone, he unconsciously opened his arms to welcome you with an embrace— closing in immediately upon your arrival. You felt like you were going to stain his jacket with your glossed lips, but you barely managed to care anymore at this point, as this hug was beyond a need. You clung onto his neck, burying your aching head into the nape of his collar, taking in this familiar scent of spice and wood. A subtle homage, or a reminder of your older brother, Montrell.

What was it about men and their perfume?

It felt like you hadn’t seen Miles in such a long, long time. It was like you were a child who’d parted from their favorite blanket for a little too long that it made you uneasy. You liked the world and space you had between his arms— it was your warmth, your only true home, and it was yours.

All yours.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed, simpering around with you in his arms.

“I just want to stay like this for a moment.” You whispered. “I need to steal the warmth off of you.”

“Well, nena, why are you only wearing my hoodie? It’s so cold out.”

“It’s not that.”

Miles’ ears metaphorically perked up upon hearing you sniffle.

“Who the fuck hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em.”

Your lips curved into a smile.

Oh, Miles, you can’t possibly kill off a multi-million dollar industry.

“Can you kill a car, then? My brother drove me here and his car’s smell made me age twenty years,” You grumbled. “I’m boutta die at thirty-seven, I swear.”

“Your brother?” He lightly jolts away, eyes journeying from road to road in search of him. “God, where is he? Is he here?”

And at that moment, Miles subsequently fixes his posture, his words suddenly endowing some strange sort of politeness. You nudge at his shoulder, “I told him to drop me off somewhere else. I didn’t want him to meet you yet.”

“Awe,” He pouted. “Well, that’s aight. I’m gonna dress up real nice when I meet your family.”

“Uhuh,” You laughed. “And what are you going to be wearing?”

“I’m gonna borrow my unc’s suit, and I’ll talk business with yo father.”

“Only business you’ll be discussing with my father is your damn funeral, Miles. My papa don’t want me out here dating, that’s why he put me in private school.”

“With a face like yours?” He smugly grinned. “Your daddy’s kinda underestimating the power of your pretty face.”

“Oh, so you like me ‘cause I’m pretty?”

“Pretty fucking unbearable, that’s what you is.” The boy joked. “M’just kidding. I like you because you’re pretty much everything to me.”

Despite the fluttering of your stomach, you persevered with your little game. “Doesn’t answer anything— what do you like about me? Did you like my face or my personality?”

“I liked you ‘cause of your pretty face, and stayed for your amazing personality.” He answered as though he’d been preparing for the question his whole life.

“Amazing personality?”

“Extravaganza bonanza personality.”

“I’m not a banana split sundae, Miles.”

“Might as well should be with yo damn split personality.”

Your hands dangle away, Miles unconsciously attempts to reach for it but instead accepts defeat when you held his hand. “So where are we going for halloween spirit, exactly?”

“Halloween spirit?” He queried.

“Yeah, didn’t ya mention something about being in halloween spirit?”

Miles paused, holding back a loud laugh in the middle of the street. “My girl, I said I was in Spirit Halloween.”

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween?”

“Holy shit,” He verbalized. “You’re in for a scare, nena.”

And he meant those words a little too literally.

Growing up, it wasn’t within your household to make halloween one of your yearly traditions. Your father deemed it unnecessary, while your mother was anything but fun (Same difference, really). Your brothers have celebrated halloween, one way or another, but since you were the child closest to your mother, you were anything but free of her beliefs.

So being greeted with a large, bloodied skeleton first-thing upon entering the building was a first for you.

“WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN THAT!?”

Miles simply explodes into laughter, holding his phone up just to record your reaction. You fall right back, hand still holding onto his. “Come on, nena, you can do it, let’s get past the entrance.”

“Miles, what in THE FUCK is that!?”

“Don’t be mean to your brother, ma.” He attempts to drag you inside as you sat down by the floor with petrification scribbled all over your face. “[Y/n], come on, introduce me to the rest of your family.”

“FUCK YOU!” You whisper-yelled.

“It’s not even moving yet, come on, [Y/n].”

“THAT’S SUPPOSED TO MOVE!?”

After managing to drag you past the animatronics (Which Miles described was a work out in itself), the both of you marveled at the isle where all the costumes were, skimming through the racks and looking at each and every picture. “Oh, Miles— look at this,” You pluck one out, the hanger dangling from your fingers. “It’s Emily from the corpse bride! Shit, I haven’t seen the movie since I was eight.”

“Look at this one, Ma, this shit’s so you.”

He pulls out an Elsa costume.

“Even got the white ass wig and everythin’.” He giggles as you playfully smacked his arm. “Let it go. Let it go.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t hold this shit anymore!~”

“MILES.”

“LET IT GO!”

You tried to hush out his horrible singing, but the way he giggled was so infectious that you couldn’t help but giggle yourself. When bystanders started walking past the both of you with weird ogles in their gazes, you couldn’t help but put your hand over your mouth to muffle your laughing.

“Puñeta,” Miles added, pulling out a fucking teenage mutant ninja turtles costume. “You’ve got to fucking try this, ma.”

“Miles—“ You couldn’t even continue a sentence without wheezing.

You did eventually find a costume— unlike the original plan, the both of you couldn’t find a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague, but Miles did manage to find a dark priestess costume along with a plague doctor costume.

“We’re like business partners. The patients go to me, and when they die, you send them off.” Was what he said.

“Wouldn’t that make you a really horrible doctor?”

“Doctor’s still a doctor, ma. I mean, it’s the police’s job to protect all of us but if that’s really the case, they’re doing a pretty fucking horrible job at it, but hey, we still call them the police.”

You looked at the mirror, watching the confusion materialize over your face as you heard Miles’ rant behind the curtain. As you clumsily tried on your costume inside the changing room, you couldn’t help but ask. “What makes you say that? That they’re doing a horrible job at protecting y’all?”

As you zipped up the bolero, you hear Miles’ curtain open.

“Well, Ma, brutality’s been upper than hell compared to the last few decades, so’s poverty. For the last four years, the economy’s been going downhill, which made us have a recession. ‘Cause of that, a lot of the cops had to kiss up some of the wealthy folks’ asses to keep their jobs.”

“So that makes them corrupt?”

“That makes them desperate,” He alluded. “No one wants to die of starvation, and they all have families to feed. It’s divide and conquer, really.”

“Divide and conquer?— oops,” You pick up the fallen headdress from the floor. “Expand on that.”

Miles hums a bit. “Imagine the crab mentality. I’ve read about it before for a philosophy research, and it’s a term used in the Philippines. Put a fuck ton of crabs in a bucket. You’re gonna see the crabs drag each other down in order to pull themselves up, but in the end, none of them ain’t gonna reach the top.

Because the true problem was never the crabs, it was the person who put those crabs inside the bucket in the first place. Same goes for us, the poor. We all have to fend for ourselves so we put others down— because if we’re too busy surviving, we don’t have to pay no attention to the rich who put us all inside the damn bucket in the first place.”

The way he described it was so familiar.

It was like he was describing you with your siblings.

ＨＥ’Ｓ ＳＭＡＲＴ. Ｉ ＬＩＫＥ ＨＩＭ.

Hearing the symbiote’s approval echo in your mind, you couldn’t help but smirk.

He’s not just smart. He’s a genius.

ＤＯＮ’Ｔ　ＯＶＥＲＰＲＡＩＳＥ　 ＨＩＭ,

ＳＷＥＥＴＨＥＡＲＴ

Don’t call me that, ever.

His experiences and your experiences were similar despite being so contradictory, and it didn’t make sense. You were rich, so extraordinarily wealthy that the recession was never a part of your problem, hell, the decline of the economy was never your problem— and Miles was struggling along with his family to keep themselves afloat.

And you could never put yourself in his shoes, as you knew nothing of the loss he felt.

But the both of you were kids in line to shape the future, and if the generational trauma ever continued, you’d only end up the oppressor, but you knew, Miles was going to tear himself apart from the title of ‘victim’, and he was going to stand up against you— maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow,

But soon, as villain versus hero.

You pushed the curtain away, unveiling the costume to Miles.

But rather than seeing him, he was nowhere to be found.

You lifted the veil, stepping out of the dressing room to take a peek at him, but you couldn’t find any trace of his broad-shouldered figure anywhere. You softly called out for his name, head spinning from constantly turning. Your feet took you forward. You try ignore the giggly and bloodily-clad animatronics whose haunting stares scared you far worse than any unwanted confrontation with any of your family members.

And there he was, talking to a girl.

That sort of closeness— the way they spoke. Laughing, catching up, or something like that. Acquaintances? Friends, maybe?

Something ugly pricked at your skin from within.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

Montrell’s words began to spiral inside your mind. ‘Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance.’

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

The feeling seared your veins, making you dig your nails into the bed of your palm. Your knuckles quivered from the intensity, like a sort of anger you felt when you saw any of your elder brothers being praised for the bare minimum, except.. This one felt different.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

You watched the way her braids fell, wondering if you could pull it off with such grace. High society’s always been too picky, which forced you to drown out most of your interests, but now you couldn’t help but feel a little envious. You wanted to wear the clothes you wanted to wear, try out the makeup you wanted to try.

It felt like your mother’s shadow was being cast on you, making you embody the very phase you feared, your mother’s daughter—

and like your mother, you were quick to get jealous.

And it devoured you, whole.

You faltered, taking a step back before fully pivoting your heel and running off back to the dressing room. You shut the curtain behind you, only now finding the symbiote staring right at you through the mirror— its grotesque body mirroring your move.

“For a girl who knows how to handle most of her emotions, you can’t seem to handle jealousy well.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just tired.”

“And I’m Sofia Vergara.“

“How the fuck do you know who Sofia Vergara is?”

“Memories, my dear.”

You felt a surge of panic take course of you.

“This is unhealthy. I can’t be like this, I don’t even know who she is.” You exasperatedly murmured. “I need to calm down— Miles and I aren’t even official yet.”

“Exactly, so be the lady that you are and introduce yourself, damn it. You have no friends.”

“I have friends.” You seethed. “I’m popular as hell in Acadia.”

“If I had a dollar for every friend you have, I’d be the one giving you a poverty rant.”

“[Y/n]?” Miles pulled you out of your thoughts yet again.

“Y-Yeah?” You called out, whipping your head back. “You done?” He asks, shuffling a bit. You hesitantly open the curtain to reveal yourself, your sights eventually welcoming the image of Miles dressed in all black— with a long, beak-like mask over his head. As you were too busy trying to find his little acquaintance, Miles gawks at you from behind his heavy façade.

The faux black silk draped over your curves seamlessly, the crimson of the bolero gleaming beneath the light as it contrasted against the dress. You lifted the veil past the dark crown like a bride, lashes fanning up to meet him by his gaze.

“Oh, wow.” He sighed. “Wow, you— the woman that you are.”

There was something about the way he looked at you.

It was like you were all that consumed his mind and being. Nonetheless, it was the truth.

But even now, as Miles held out his hand for you to hold, you couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’ll look at you like this until it manifests from love into something else.

“It’s a halloween costume, Miles, not a wedding dress. I can’t possibly be lookin’ all that great.” You took his hand, drawing closer to the mask. “God, you look like a big bird.”

Lost in the way you looked, Miles’ hands unconsciously trailed around your waist, looking down on you with a dumb stare that you couldn’t fathom. Suddenly, the both of you were disrupted by an abrupt cough. You both turn your heads, finding the same girl you’d seen him talking to just a few minutes ago.

“Hey,” She beamed, waving her hand at you. “Hope I ain’t disturbing anything?”

“You definitely were.” Miles’ gaze narrowed. The girl laughed, her white grin wide like a crescent moon. You couldn’t help but think, she’s got such a pretty smile.

“Mind introducing me, Miles?”

With a hand still on your waist, Miles gestures towards you. “This is my lady,”

“[Y/n],” You held out your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Both Miles and the girl stared at your open palm.

“Wow, ain’t she prim and proper? Like a princess.” She teased, accepting your hand. “I’m Amadi, nice to meet you too.”

Her palm was warm and smooth, decorated by the lacey sleeve of her periwinkle sweater. She stood in heeled boots, a couple inches taller than you— an inch or two off of Miles’ height. As she shook your hand, the girl couldn’t help but helplessly marvel at you as though you were a statue carved from marble.

“God, how in the hell did you land on Miles? You’re just,” Amadi’s hands airily traced your figure. “You’re just wow. I-Is Miles keeping you hostage or sum? You don’t look nuthin like human. You look outta this world.”

“Thank,” You stifled a laugh. “Thank you?”

“I can hear you, Madi.” Miles churned.

“M’just stating truths ‘cause—“ She clicks her long, acrylic nails. “Why she be lookin’ outta this world while you’s lookin like you snuck onto earth?”

You placed a hand over your mouth, trying your hardest, you very hardest, not to laugh. Miles pulled you back away from her with a disintegrating glare.

“Tu puta madre,” He spat. “.. Go back to Monique.”

“Monique?”

“Mi novia— love of my life, we’re off halloween shopping too. Gotta big date tomorrow, we gon be watching horror movies n shi.” Amadi added, decisively looking around. “Speaking of which, Ionno where she went.”

“She might be with Voshon.” Miles piqued.

“Voshon?” Your head started to spin with the amount of new names you were processing. “That’s a.. Interesting name.”

“Mama was gonna name him Joshua, but my dad wanted to combine or grandparents’ names together, so— Vaughn and Shontelle.. Voila, Voshon.”

“Oh, he’s your brother?” You queried. Amadi hums. “Unfortunately. I mean, I’d always preferred being an only child but we all don’t get what we want most of the time.“

“Oh, I definitely get that.”

“No way, you got brothers too?”

“Yeah, I’m the only girl.”

“Can’t imagine the mess in your house, damn.. Hey!”

Amadi soon joins a pair, one with a much brighter and pinker style and the other satisfied with a mere hoodie for marking a fashion statement. You fiddled with the skirt of your dress, evidently nervous as a million thoughts flooded your mind. You weren’t the friendliest person out there, nor were you the most likable out of all your siblings.

It was never easy for you to make friends. Too many found you overbearing, the rest condescending. Your position was overwhelming enough for any other person your age, and those who knew about you were ambitious to make connections and forge deals.

What if they won’t like me?

What if I mess up?

What if I come off as too condescending?

But Miles took your hand, grabbing your attention from the spur of your overthinking. He took off his mask, easing you with the familiarity. One look at him and home found its way back to you.

“You wanna meet ‘em, ma?” He asks.

With an anxious smile, you nodded.

“Of course.”

And like a whirlwind into the night, you were off.

For the first time, you part yourself entirely from the world you knew and entered Miles’ world.

“Oh, hello!” Bubbly and sweet, Monique greeted you with such warmth that it melted away all your previous worries. “Oh my god— don’t tell me,” She glances over to Amadi for confirmation. “Are you the [Y/n] Miles always talks about!?“

“Nica— please—“

“You ARE!”

She spoke of you as though you’d been a legend told to the latter, like a tooth fairy. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! We’ve been dying to meet you and– wow, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Your cheeks were bound to be flushed. “I think you’re very pretty too. I-I really like your hair and your makeup, it’s super well done.”

“Awe, thank you so much!” She placed a hand over your heart, wholeheartedly touched by your compliment. Monique looks at Miles with a pout.

“… Miles, can you fight?”

“Fuck you mean ‘Can you fight?’, I will square you the fuck up r’now.”

His friends were sweet— welcoming without the need of a surname. Monique, with her free and silk-like curls, was a firecracker who liked glitter on her lids and her nails and her clothes. Amadi was ever-so loving of her, despite preferring black and chains for her aesthetic. The two girls were a stark contrast of one another— and unsurprisingly, Monique already had her mermaid costume prepared and was just helping out Amadi pick her Dracula ensemble.

Voshon, although quieter, was one you recognized as similarly withdrawn and reserved like Miles when the both of you first met. Amadi described him to be a total nerd, and quirky— later proven when he and Miles chased each other with fake swords, running across the aisles while exchanging hits.

When Voshon tosses over the sword to you, however, chaos truly ensued.

“GO GET HIM!” The girls cheered as you and Miles managed to create a questionable chase scene of a Priestess holding a Minecraft sword chasing after a Plague Doctor with a scythe. Onlookers couldn’t help but watch on as the both of you squabbled.

Like a livid cat and its cheesy mouse.

“Esto en un mamey. You too fuckin’ slow!” He teased in between a heave. “Can’t catch me for shit!”

Shit went down as you bent over to take off your boots.

“That ain’t changing, nun— aye puta.” Miles narrowly avoids one of the shoes that came flying at his direction. He looks over like a child in awe, head following the direction of wherever it went.

“I never knew you were Latina, mam– MIERDA LOCO, CEBOLLA COÑO!” And a couple other curses exit his tongue as you tackled him to the ground with a loud crash.

You let a hearty, chesty giggle escape your lips. The adrenaline got you cackling like a comical villain, that even Miles couldn’t help but laugh helplessly along with you. Seeing you like that, with your hair all wild and your smile at its wildest, it softened his whole being.

“… You’re so pretty, mami.” He airily sighed with a cough to the side.

“.. Sure.” Was all you could answer.

And of course, after getting an earful from the staff, you and Miles finally ended your tiny sword-fighting sequence. After changing out of the costumes, all five of you prompted to test out the animatronics.

It was about taking turns.

“AYE, MAMAHUEVO.”

And it was also when you realized, Amadi was Dominican.

You learned a lot of Spanish that day, especially from one step of a button to activate an animatronic.

Everyone’s mouths were.. Extraordinarily filthy.

But you liked it— from watching bursting and spinning animatronics screaming bloody murder at you, to going around talking about all kinds of things with his friends.

“God, I’ve always wanted one of those.” Amadi points at the lace parasol one of the mannequins were holding. “It’s so Morticia Addams.”

“Well, maybe you should get it.” You suggest. “It’d look great with your vampire costume.”

Amadi sighed. “I only got money for the costume, can’t buy sum like that. Maybe I’ll just DIY it with my nana’s old umbrella.”

You squinted a tiny bit, eyeing the sign that announced in bold lettering: $16.99.

And for privileged little you, the sixteen was just change for a hundred dollar bill, which made you inadvertently blurt out. “I can pay.”

“Nah, girlie, it’s gon’ take me whole two to three months ‘fore I can afford to pay you back.”

“I mean, it’s fine—“ You realized just how spoiled you were sounding. “I recently got my paycheck so I guess I can buy you something.”

“Where do you work, though?” Monique added, clinging onto your other hand as the left one was occupied by Miles. “Like do you work at a café or a restaurant?”

“Family business,” You vaguely replied. “Boring stuff. But my dad pays me well enough, so I guess I can live with it— so maybe I can pay for that.”

“No, no, no.” Amadi answered, accent thick. “Really, we can pay for it ourselves.”

But you couldn’t ignore it. Not when you could see Miles openly contemplating on buying the costume or not— as he’s been fiddling with the price tag the whole time you two were walking. And you’ve seen the way Voshon’s been eyeing the diamond sword for a while now.

So you made up your mind.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a moment— can you hold this for me, Miles?” You gently nudged your costume towards him before walking away without another word. As you did so, the group gawked in confusion.

“… Where’s she going? The bathroom’s that way.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello, this is Mr. Chávez’s office, how may I help you?”

A simple, roundabout greeting, said over and over for the last few years. Usually followed by a “No, he’s not available at the moment” or a “I’ll take word”, but for the first time, the secretary stammers in embarrassment with her nails clutching onto the phone for dear life. The old man behind the wide, glass doors took note of his poor assistant’s sudden faltering, yet he maintains naturally unfazed.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll put him on the phone with you right this instant.”

Stumbling in her high heels, the secretary staggers inside the man’s office with the whole telephone in her hand.

“Sir, you’ve got an important call.”

“I’m busy, Nicole.”

“It’s your daughter— Miss [Y/n]?” She uttered your name as though you’d materialize out of thin air after chanting it three times. She was horrified of you.

With a click of his tongue, your father picks up the phone.

“What do you want?” He instantly asks of you.

“Dad, remember how you’ve always claimed that the celebration of halloween is unnecessary?”

Without even uttering an answer, you decisively went on.

“Well, in November, there is a tremendously large spike of sales when it comes to anything horror-related. It’s always been capitalist to clad November as a scary month in order to convince people to buy into scary things—“ He hears something tumble in the background. “— and since late October to early November is usually one of the hotel’s lowest months, I figured my proposal would be a perfect proxy for my apology for the way I acted during dinner.”

You didn’t even know what you were talking about at this point, but you were willing to try.

“.. What are you talking about?” He snaps.

“Well, I—“ You hesitated a bit. “I researched a bit, and I’ve come with an unsure solution.”

“What is it?”

“… Can we buy Spirit Halloween?”

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 7: Stuck In Wall

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7468

Warnings: Afab! Reader, master/servant dynamic, stuck in wall, age difference, dubcon, reader is a rabbit illuminated beast, vaginal fingering, bareback, no protection lol no gendered terms but he does call us “little one” because that is what I am personally weak for

A/N: alright so I definitely got a little carried away with this one but in my defense … in my defense Zhongli is my favorite character. I started playing specifically FOR him. So I think my bias was going to show no matter what 😂

⭐

Peering out from your hiding place behind a wide, red painted column, you secretly observe your lord and master while he sips his afternoon tea in the sprawling manor garden. The Lord of Geo is a sight to behold even when at ease, and you can’t quite seem to decide what it was you were feeling flitter about inside your chest when you looked at him. Was it excitement, pure and headstrong adrenaline at the prospect of challenging him in the way the young test themselves against the old? Or was it something more personal and intimate — a crush, you’d heard human adolescents call it before. This strange feeling wasn’t exactly new but it was still as much of an unknown as it had been the first time you’d realized Morax was the cause of it. 

You think you’re just eager to try out what you’ve learned since the last time you came here and sparred with him though. Had even spent some time with the five Yaksha between then and now, most notably with Alatus who had (begrudgingly) helped you work on your speed. Bonanus had even teased you about biting off more than you could chew when you’d told her why you were so keen on training like this, but she didn’t understand. None of them did. For as much as you looked up to and admired the Yaksha for their strength and commitment to Morax’s nation, nothing was held in quite so high regard as earning his approval the same way they had. 

All you wanted was to prove yourself to him. To be looked at with the same fondness and mutual respect that he gave the others rather than the doting, indulgent smiles he always gave you. It was undeniably frustrating, the way he never seemed to take you seriously. It wasn’t your fault you were a bit too young to have stood beside him during the Archon War but you were determined to win his favor no matter the cost. 

So you very quietly sneak out into the open, recalling what Alatus had told you about the importance of concealing your presence until you were ready to actually deliver the killing blow. Not that you were trying to kill him or anything — as if you even could. But considering that all of your previous encounters with the Geo Archon had ended in resounding failure, with you slinking off with your tail tucked between your legs and licking your wounds, it seemed like it was worth a shot. Somehow, you’d almost managed to convince yourself that sneaking up on him instead of clashing head on would net you a different result. 

But of course it is not meant to be, and you barely make it within twenty feet of the powerful god when the earth abruptly shudders and gives way, exploding outward from the force of a glowing geo construct erupting out of nothing. You give a startled jerk and immediately fall into a defensive crouch, but they just keep appearing around you; one by one, tall, imposing monoliths springing up out of the ground to entrap you where you stood. 

Realizing you have fallen for a trap and Alatus’ advice was no good against someone like the Lord of Geo, you make a hasty attempt to escape. Try to utilize his training to your advantage even though it’s done you little good up til’ now, but you don’t make it very far. 

You’re hyper aware of the moment that a construct of Morax’s making bursts up underneath you, shooting right towards your middle. You lurch, too surprised to even breathe as you see it spearing straight through you and up into the very heavens themselves. For a split second you actually think he’s going to kill you — but to your great surprise it suddenly splits down the middle and branches off into two separate halves that fly up past you only to reconvene and become one at the top. 

It’s like you’re watching it all happen in slow motion, painfully aware of what’s happening as it seals around you and stops your momentum mid fall. You jerk to a sudden, screeching halt that rattles your teeth, and you suck in a harsh gasp that seems to tear at your throat. You’re stuck. Just like that. In the blink of an eye you’ve been left dangling there, trapped inside the unrelenting prison of one of his geo spires, and you had no way out. 

You’re still desperately clawing and kicking at the solid stone when he steps up beside you, long dark robes swaying softly as he comes into view. You go stock still, heart hammering wildly inside your chest even as you bring your head up to look at him. To your gobsmacked, stuttering surprise, he was smiling at you. 

“M - m - my lord!” 

“Hello, little one. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. A very grumpy bird told me you’ve been training with the Yaksha recently and I assumed that would continue to take up a significant amount of your time for at least a while longer.” 

Heat floods your face in a sudden rush that leaves you sputtering, trying to work out what to say to that. Dammit, Alatus! He wasn’t supposed to go behind your back and tell Morax what you’ve been doing! No wonder his advice hadn’t worked. 

“Forgive me, master.” You finally manage to say. “It was not my intention to displease you. I only wanted to - -“ 

“Oh, I’m well aware what it is you wanted. My attention, isn’t that right?” He tips his head to one side, ever so, his expression still serene and gentle, but that doesn’t stop you from flushing even hotter than before. Quickly, you avert your gaze and try not to look so guilty even though that seemed to be a losing battle in this situation. You felt so stupid, and all the more when Morax draws a patient breath at your continued silence. “Honestly, I'm a little surprised with you. I didn’t take you for the sort to sneak around like that. At first I assumed you were merely working up the courage to come over and ask to spar with me, but that was not the case … was it?” 

You sorely wished you could wither away, right then and there, but the unrelenting geo construct made it impossible to even turn from him and hide your shame, let alone beat a hasty retreat. “No, master. It wasn’t.” 

“Then why?” 

His gloved fingers suddenly brush your chin and you jolt, choking on a very unbecoming squawk of surprise as he tips your face up. Left with no choice but to look at him, you make a desperate attempt to school your expression and hide your fluster from the piercing intensity of his gaze only to fail miserably on all fronts. You couldn’t even remember a time you’d embarrassed yourself so badly in front of him. 

“W - well, I just — I thought …” You trail off in uncertainty, but he just nudges your chin with a soft little hum of encouragement. Whimpering faintly, you squeeze your eyes shut so you won’t have to see him looking at you, patient and expectant, while you’re forced to admit to your wrongdoings. “I’m sorry, master! I thought if I took you by surprise I might fare better this time. Alatus said - -“

“Alatus?” Morax’s fingers abruptly slip away. Blinking back the sting of humiliated tears, you cautiously glance up to find him lost in his own thoughts and a tiny little spark of hope flares to life inside you. Perhaps he would let you go and direct his displeasure at the one who had given you that bad advice in the first place! 

“I see,” He says at last. “I wouldn’t say he was necessarily wrong to tell you that. Given your size and strength, it certainly does make sense to rely on concealment when approaching a potential threat. However,” The deep timber inflected in just that one word sends shivers racing down your spine as much as the hard edge in his golden eyes does. “You had to have known such tricks would not work against me, little one, and I very much doubt Alatus intended for you to utilize that particular strategy in such a way. If I was so easily taken by surprise then surely I would not be standing before you as I am now, would I? Frankly, I'm not sure if I find your underestimation of me cute or insulting.” 

Your chest wrenches violently at that. “No … no, no, I'm sorry, master! Please don’t be displeased with me, I didn’t mean to offend you! I would never! I promise!” 

Evidently unmoved by your pleas, Morax makes a casual show of folding his arms behind his back before shifting into motion. Slowly, he walks around the side of the monolith he’d conjured to trap you where he disappears from your line of sight. Even trying to twist around is useless and all you can make out is the hard column of stone and a thin, sideways glimpse of the lush garden foliage. You squirm and brace your hands on the faintly glowing rock, making an attempt to wriggle your way out, but then he appears on the other side and you go still again. 

You realize, in a far off, distant kind of way, that he’s circling you like a predator and with that knowledge comes a silent reminder of who he is. What he is. You’d never been lucky or privileged enough to see Morax in his truest form, nor had you ever caught so much as a glimpse of it until now, but you’d heard tales of it. Whispers of his magnificent size and strength. How he was just as big, if not bigger, than most of the gods he fought in the war and equally deadly too. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that the kind and gentle individual before you now, with his doting smiles and easy company, was in fact hiding a beast under that disarming facade. A monstrous dragon. 

And you, little more than a rabbit, were trapped in his lethal claws. 

“You must forgive my mood today. It isn’t exactly that I am unhappy with you, or Alatus for that matter.” He says quietly. Much too quietly to do anything except further rattle your nerves and make you more anxious. “But I think there is something to be said for these times of peace, don’t you? Not only do the years wear away at the memory of the people but even my beloved adepti too, and it seems that everyone is slowly forgetting what this land looked like not that long ago.” 

Pausing in front of you, Morax sends you a slow, unreadable look of consideration. 

“The same cannot be said of me though. I can’t forget it. I won’t forget.” 

With that, he resumes his pacing around the monolith and you just hang there, having no choice but to attentively listen in even when you want nothing more than to crawl inside a hole and bury yourself alive. 

“I’ve not faced a real challenge in many, many centuries now,” He continues, sedate and almost leisurely. “Most save a select few don’t even bother to spar with me now, whether because they hold me in too high regard to even take up their weapons or because they already know what the outcome will be. I must confess though, I miss it sometimes. That is why I have enjoyed our little sessions so much. Even if you cannot truly stand against me, it was still nice … refreshing to see someone standing on the side of opposition with neither hesitation nor reverence on their face. You just wanted to prove yourself, isn’t that right,” His hand abruptly caresses over your leg, starting at the knee and trailing a sensuous path up the back of your thigh, over your buttocks and higher still to finally flick at your small, curved tail. “My helpless rabbit?” 

Yelping and blushing profusely, you quickly slap your hands over your mouth to stop yourself from making any further noise. You had no idea what was happening, what he was talking about, and you knew even less how you felt about any of it. Your heart slams a wild, continuous beat against your chest, feeling like it was likely to explode out of you at any given moment, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or … excitement? 

Either oblivious or unconcerned with your current predicament, Morax just keeps pacing around you at a steady canter. “That is also why I’m so disappointed in your behavior today. I thought you were better than that. I expected better from you than that. Using such strategy against a lesser foe would have been another matter entirely but me?” He barks a quick, mirthless laugh that seems to set your guts to vibrate. “The only ones foolish enough to use such a shameless tactic against me in the Archon War were beings so far beneath my concern that I didn’t even bother learning their name before I destroyed them. Any warrior with even an ounce of pride would never stoop to such a low, for both his own integrity as well as that of his opponents. Is it possible that I have been much too lenient with you?” 

You suck in such a sharp, painful breath that it claws at your throat on the way down. “Master, please! That’s not it at all! I - I just thought … I thought you would be impressed with me if I could implement what I learned from the Yaksha and show you I’m serious. I d - didn’t …” 

You trail off, not sure what else to say to defend yourself or your actions, and Morax halts in front of you again. Eyeing you for a moment longer, he finally reaches up to touch fingers to his chin in thought. “You were still small during the war, weren’t you? Only just ascended, if I remember correctly.” You give a miserable little nod, prompting him to slowly exhale through his nose. “I see. It’s not that you’ve forgotten, nor did you intentionally mean any disrespect. It’s just that you don’t know any better. All you’ve ever truly lived is peace, so a warrior's sense of pride is likely just some fanciful concept rather than a tangible thing to you. Still, there is something … a part of me doesn’t want to let it go even knowing this. I want — no, I need to show you that I am not someone such petty tricks will work on.” 

“Wha - -“ 

His hand is suddenly under your chin again, nudging you to look up even as he bends close to put his face in yours. Veins turning to ice, you just stare at him in speechless disbelief. If you could have backed up at that moment you would have gone skittering in the opposite direction, but the geo construct keeps you rooted to the spot. All you can do is take it when he carefully curls those long, blocky fingers over your jaw and gives them a brief squeeze to make you wince. It was only a very small fraction of his power, you knew this, but you still issue a quiet whimper anyway, more from your bruised ego than any physical pain he was causing you. 

“Do not misunderstand, little one. You are young and naive, while I am willing to forgive and as patient as the tallest mountain.” Morax intones, his voice dropped to such a low register it almost seems to carry with it a … growl. “But I am also still the Archon of this land. It is my duty to soundly guide all who inhabit Liyue, whether they be human or adepti, and that very much includes you. Forgive me for saying so, but I think it’s high time I teach you an important lesson. One that appears to be long overdue.” 

“… my lord?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“Oh, don’t look at me with such fear in your eyes.” Cooing softly, Morax releases your jaw in favor of reaching up to carefully brush some of the hair back from your face. Just like that, his mood seems to have returned to the calm you were used to and it only leaves you even more unnerved. Confused to see him acting like this. But if he notices any of the disconcert in your expression he doesn’t acknowledge it, instead dragging his hand lower to tenderly cup your cheek in his gloved palm. “I have no intention of harming you today, nor do I wish to scare you. But I think it’s important for you to understand what I am.”

You swallow your nerves. Almost choke on them. “What are you?” You prod, wanting to hear him say it out loud with his own voice, in his own words. 

With a slow, almost unsettling blink of his eyes, Morax puts his head to one side. “A very territorial god.” 

The shudder that tears through you is so powerful it leaves you outright gasping in shock. He merely smiles though, that same soft, vague smile he usually wears, except … there’s an edge in the gilted amber of his eyes that makes you run hot. Hotter than any bath or spring, or teakettle, and you can’t quite seem to get your breathing under control now as he straightens up, letting his hand fall away, and then moves to step behind you again. 

Panicking, you slap your clammy palms against the lower half of the geo construct and desperately try to find some amount of leverage you could use to shimmy free but it is resoundingly useless. His control over the element was so great, so fine tuned and honed that there was barely even a seam between your midsection and the cool stone you were imprisoned in. You’d never be able to squeeze your hips through such a narrow opening, nor your shoulders — not without dislocating them and causing irreparable damage in the process. The reality of that truth slams into you mere seconds before you feel his fingers brush against your tiny tail again, and you can’t quite stop yourself from letting out a frightened squeak. 

“Now, now,” He chides, a heavy note of laughter dancing in his voice. “You needn’t rile yourself so. I already told you I’ll be gentle … but there are things you need to understand about this world. The way you came here today was so lacking in manners and propriety that you’ve struck an old chord in me, I’m afraid. But I won’t treat you as I did those who tried such petty, simple tricks in the past,” His hand abandons your twitching tail in favor of skimming down lower to pet over the seat of your form-fitted shorts, startling another gasp out of you at the static jolts that race through your body. “But I think we can come up with an appropriate substitute that will get the point across just as well. I will show you what it truly means to bend the knee to a god and impart upon you the significance of not underestimating one’s elders.” 

Your mouth drops open in shock but nothing comes out, every single hair on your body immediately standing on end. The thought that this was really happening seemed so distant, so implausible, that you almost don’t even believe it. Morax had never touched you like this, usually much too polite and proud to lay hands on you (or anyone, for that matter) more than what was strictly necessary, but he doesn’t hesitate to do it now. The glide of his fingers along the seam of your cunt is sure and confident, like he’s done this a million times before. 

The weight of it slams into you all at once and you finally give a delayed little jerk as your stomach violently seizes. “M - master! Thats - -“ 

“Mine, is it not?” 

You go stock still, halfway through the motion of trying to push against the stone again. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. “I … I don't understand.” 

With a soft, vaguely condescending click of his tongue, Morax adjusts his hand to rub over the apex of your slit with a greater sense of purpose to make you twitch and seethe through your teeth. “Which is precisely why I would be remiss not to educate you, little one. You have truly lived a largely comfortable life and you do not grasp what would be apparent to you had you endured any of the hardships of the past. Respect, decorum, integrity … these are not just words without meaning. You must learn to maintain these principles even in your youth, or you won’t live to see the same old age I enjoy.” 

Biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the embarrassing sounds trying to slip out, you frantically turn that over in your head. It was exceedingly hard to do when he was caressing you like that, gradually coaxing your body to bend to his will which it does with a horrifying lack of compulsion, but you desperately wanted to figure out what had set him off and why he was acting this way. You wanted to understand him … easier said than done, of course, when he always spoke in such a complicated and enigmatic manner. Yet a thought starts to slowly dawn on you, alighting inside your mind like the morning sun appearing over the horizon. 

Was it possible that the lesson he wanted you to take from this boiled down to something as simple as a reestablishment of his dominance? Had you really stoked the mighty dragon in him enough that he now felt compelled to dominate you like he would any lesser foe who dared to disrespect his position and authority? He said you’d approached him without respect … had opined about the past and how he missed partaking in true battles, establishing his own superiority over others with fists rather than words. Said he’d enjoyed your sparring matches because of the way you’d looked at him with neither awe or reverence — but by sneaking around like an assassin you’d overstepped that understanding between you and your lord? 

A sudden groan bursts out of you when your pussy eagerly flutters against the ministration of his hand, growing wet for him, and it quickly becomes that much harder for you to concentrate. But you frantically try to hold onto that string of thought, panting slightly where you hang from the geo construct. It felt like you were right on the brink of a solid idea … an epiphany. 

You almost write it off completely when it finally comes to you, so absurd and implausible at first glance. But the longer he pets your cunt with sure, steady motions of his hand, as if he already knew exactly how to toy with you, the more you found yourself faltering. Could it really be that you had simply offended his greater sense of pride, his monstrous instincts, by suggesting (intentionally or not) that you didn’t consider him worth the effort of meeting face to face in the sparring ring anymore? 

It’s not lost on you that Morax was well within his right to do as he pleased, however he so pleased, and he normally chose kind smiles, a soft hand to guide, friendly company and the grace to only show you a very small fraction of his great strength. The goodwill to let you think you ever stood any kind of fighting chance against him if you just trained enough, just stuck with it long enough. But now it seemed he was set on reminding you of your place in his world, bring you to heel, and let it be known in no uncertain terms where you stood. He had been nothing but tenderhearted and indulgent towards you until now, doting the way a father figure would be. Infinitely lenient, or so it had seemed. 

That was not who was standing behind you any longer though. He’d been replaced by a king, a war general, a fierce draconian lord. Someone who took without asking and who claimed what was his by right, and that very much included you and your body, evidently. 

Sucking in a sharp, wavering breath, you abruptly snap back into the moment when you feel him pinch at your clit through the thin fabric of your pants to get your attention again. His motions are self assured and confident as he gently teases the sensitive nub with a slow, rolling motion of his fingers before squarely pressing down on it. Your legs weakly kick out behind you at a series of awkward angles, torn between either balancing the distribution of your weight so there wasn’t quite so much pressure on your middle where the stone was holding you up or trying to close your thighs and keep him out. The latter was useless though. You were completely defenseless like this without even the privilege of being able to twist away, and you soon realize all you can do is accept your fate. 

So you hang there, whimpering softly as he grinds mean little circles into your clit. He doesn’t stop until your hips start to judder and buck against the stimulation, a startling amount of sticky slick already bleeding into the fabric plastered to your cunt. You can’t help groaning in frazzled disappointment when he finally withdraws his hand some moments later, leaving your body thrumming with unspent kinetic energy, but he’s quick to smooth his hand over the curve of your ass and give it a brief, reassuring squeeze. 

“There. That’s better isn’t it?” He rumbles behind you, that same hint of amusement making you tremble again. “Rest assured, little one. I will not be unfair or cruel to you. I’ll make sure this is as pleasant for you as myself, but I trust my greater intention will not be lost either. This is a symbolic act, so do pay attention.”

“M - master —!” Your voice warbles and catches, breaking off with a stilted little gasp when Morax redirects his hand to grasp at the material and tug at it. It takes him a prolonged beat to inch it down enough, between all your squirming and the position he’s got you stuck in, trapped within one of his monoliths, but soon he can slip his fingers inside the waist. Tugging your shorts down, pausing to untangle them from your twisting legs, he finally gets them pulled over your ankles and tossed aside. 

You’re left naked from the waist down with only your socks and shoes allotted to you, and you’d never felt more exposed or vulnerable in all your life. Try as you might, you just couldn’t seem to find enough leverage to curl your legs up and it has you awkwardly writhing against either side of the stone spire. No matter what you do though you can still feel the waft of cool, pristine air against your bared cunt and, much to your mounting horror, even the clenched pucker of your ass. You were completely on display like this. He could see everything — and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it! 

Was this how helpless his enemies had felt against him in the past? How weak, pathetic and unequivocally at his mercy they’d been? 

“My,” He seems to pur, gently touching a fingertip to the meat of your cunt to make you jolt. “What a sweet little thing you are. Already so wet for me … I’m flattered.” 

You momentarily forget how to breathe when he spreads your lips with a deliberate, savory slowness, and lets out a quiet huff at what he sees. Flushed so hot you think you might just pass out from the sharp, debilitating stabs of humiliation that slice into you, your hands blindly reach down to brace against the lower half of the construct and lift your weight up off your stomach a bit. You couldn’t process this. Couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he was not only touching you but even looking right at your most intimate of spots, completely unheeded.  

The sting of burning, deeply embarrassed tears floods your eyes and you whimper, mewling a plaintive plea as he idly draws smooth, glove encased fingers through folds and petal-soft creases to further spread your slick around. Emphasizing how copious it is, and how very sticky you were. You try to brace yourself for what will come next — unsure what that would be, exactly, but knowing in some primal, animal part of your brain that your trial was far from over — but it still shocks you a great deal when Morax finds your entrance and applies just enough pressure to dip a finger inside. 

Your whole body jerks with the sensation of him reaching into you, the sinuously smooth texture of his glove slipping and sliding indecently against your guts. Even when your pussy squeezes around the unexpected intrusion, even when your body aches in protest at being suddenly stretched, it does nothing to stop him from gliding in straight down to the knuckle. Heaving a gutted little noise, you lurch and almost lose your hold on the geo construct. 

“Oh!” 

“A tight fit.” He murmurs, more to himself than you. Which is good, because your head is spinning so fast you really aren’t confident in your ability to respond coherently right now. “I suppose I will have to take the time to properly prepare you first, then … I don’t think you’ll be able to take me like this.” 

Take him? 

The powerful god behind you doesn’t give you a chance to linger on that thought, gradually withdrawing his finger and then pushing back in to send you scrabbling at the surface of the stone. Slow and steady, he takes his time massaging along your inner sleeve with a level of patience you’d long since come to recognize in him but it drives you absolutely insane in this situation. Your pussy thrums eagerly around him, already so keen and sensitized from his earlier petting that it doesn’t take long at all for you to start feeling the muscles lock up in vibrating tension. Seething through your teeth, you try once again to bring your legs up even if only to brace against the sensation wracking through your lower body, but it’s futile. All you do is uselessly squirm in place, hips bucking slightly every time he reaches deep inside you. 

But then — you choke on a haggard, frantic sound when he introduces a second finger to your soaked cunt, sliding in just as easily as before but the stretch was so much more intense this time that your eyes start to roll back. Hissing through your teeth, you can do nothing but endure it while he takes a moment to rub along your interior, caressing over every bump and ridge as if in careful consideration before he finally angles his fingertips down. Down. He curls them, crooks them in a come hither motion, and presses right into something that makes your heart catch in your throat. You start to wheeze, gasping and choking on the blinding pressure as he teases that spongy spot for a just moment and then sedately jabs into it again. Once, twice, and on the third time you shatter, falling into uncontrollable tremors while you wail in distress. 

But no matter how hard you shake or judder your hips, he just keeps moving his fingers. Alternating between teasing at that insidious nerve cluster and casually working those long digits in and out of you at a tortuously slow, stilted pace. In a matter of moments he seems to milk your orgasm for everything it’s worth, leaving your cunt soft and pliant around the intrusion, and then immediately starts to build into the next. Your sensitive, post-climax twitching is very quickly replaced by the eager, needy roll of your shaking hips as you instinctively grind back on him, seeking out more like you were already addicted to it. 

Your cheeks burn in excitement and shame alike, and another faltering groan slips out of you, unbidden, when you realize how stiff your nipples have become under your shirt. They seem to jut out in stiff, fine points, as if seeking out that same source of friction your cunt was getting, and that only humiliates you even further. You’d never felt like this before. Never known your body to turn on you so completely that your tits felt heavy with arousal where they were swaying softly each time you moved, nor had your pussy ever been so very responsive … either Morax was a very talented individual when it came to stroking another’s body to vibrating fever pitch or you were far weaker for him than you’d first thought. 

Somehow you got the feeling it was a potent combination of the two. You also can’t quite shake the sense of being even more outmatched against him in this situation than you ever were in any of your martial sparring bouts, and that was certainly saying something. 

“Master, p - please! I can’t take it …” You finally manage to hiss. 

“Oh? Are you going to cum again already, my sweet little rabbit?” 

Involuntarily, your pussy clamps down on his fingers hard, and he issues a low chuckle in response, still sedately fucking into your body at the same unhurried pace. It was like he had all the time in the world to do this, and he probably did. You can’t help but grimace at the sticky clicks and wet little slurps coming from the other side of the spire, as embarrassed that your cunt was making those kinds of noises as you were about Morax being the one to not only cause them but that he was hearing them too. That shame does very little to dissuade your arousal though and it seems like you’re wildly shaking again in just a matter of moments, your jaw clenched so tight it actually hurts. It was too much. 

“My, this is a surprise.” He says over your high pitched, sensitive bleating. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so easily brought to climax, and in such a short amount of time too … perhaps I should retrieve a bucket to put under you if you’re going to keep cumming like this?” 

You let out a long, keening groan as the tremors in your body finally start to ebb and fade but he merely chuckles at your reaction, clearly finding humor in it. If you’d been in any position to do so, you probably would have found the whole thing rather funny too. After all, it wasn’t every day one was able to witness the Lord of Geo laying claim to one of his Adepti with such ease and agility. 

Distantly, you’re aware of him shifting behind you moments before his fingers pull out with a wet pop that leaves you shuddering anew while your pussy weakly squeezes around something that was no longer there. You try to catch your breath in that moment, having no idea how long it would last, but your body is so high strung and sore, a lingering ache settling deep within you in the aftermath of being stretched open, that you can’t seem to calm yourself. 

“Master, please,” You beg, still wheezing harshly. “I did not mean to upset you … I only wanted to show you what I learned from the Yaksha, I swear it! I wouldn’t ever — ahhn!” 

Your desperate pleas suddenly catch in your throat when you feel him brush against you, long robes fluttering around your bare, quaking thighs as something decidedly fleshy presses into you from behind. Warm and uncompromisingly rigid, it just touches your sticky labia and then pauses there, hovering. Waiting. The not so subtle threat has you wildly bucking against the stone structure, struggling just to breathe. You’d never wanted to turn and look at something so much in your entire life, but you can’t do that like this. Not with your front half dangling from one side of the construct while the lower - - 

His hands abruptly squeeze around your hips, holding you still, and you let out a frazzled, helpless little mewl when he nudges into you enough you can feel your cunt lips parting under the stilted pressure. Weakly kicking your legs in an attempt to find something you could brace against, even if it was just by the tips of your toes, proves utterly useless. You were a bit too high off the ground, evidently level with his hips, and it forces you to experience the slow press of his cock in startling high definition. 

You may not have been able to see it, but he felt big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take, and you loose a wild, high pitched squeal at the oppressive sensation of him poised and ready to lay claim to you. 

“Do you remember what I said, little one?” Drawing a brief, savory breath, Morax gives another, barely there push, and just sinks into the give of your entrance before stilling again. Not quite breaching you yet but positioned to follow through at any moment, giving you plenty of time to process the full weight of your impending domination. “This is a symbolic act, first and foremost. You are inexperienced in the ways of this world so it is my duty to teach you … tell me, then. Do you know what the lesson is?” 

It takes you a shamefully long moment to kickstart your brain enough to even realize he’s asked you a question. You were so overwhelmed by just his presence behind you, the impact of this innate claim he had on you and your body. For a long beat, you can’t even seem to find your voice. 

“… I — I don’t know. I’m not sure.” You finally manage to warble. 

“Hm? I don’t think I quite believe that. Why don’t you take a guess?” 

He nudges you again, tauntingly sinking forward as if to finally penetrate you at long last, but never quite following through on it. Your pussy thrums in nervous anticipation, and he sighs very softly when your body seems to suckle at the tip of him with each shuddering clench of vibrating muscle. Arms trembling slightly from the effort, you awkwardly readjust their slipping hold on the spire and try to think. You needed to say something, preferably something other than mindless, overwrought gibberish. 

“Is it that — you want me to feel what it’s like to be bested by you? To understand how weak I really am …?” 

“Oh, precious thing. It’s not that you are weak, nor is that what I want you to take away from this.” Gently, almost affectionately, Morax smooths over the skin across your hips with blunt thumbs as if to comfort you. “Rather, this is but a symbolic representation of what can happen if you underestimate your foes. Even your god is not quite as immune to territorial displays as he would like to be. It’s been a long, long time since someone last challenged me in earnest … and you’ve awakened the beast in me today by presenting yourself as one.” 

His strong fingers abruptly dig into you, hard enough to bruise, and you gasp at the pain. It is quickly overshadowed, however, by the sharp, splintering stretch of his tip pressing into you, forcing your guts to allow him entry one earth shuddering inch at a time. You abruptly understand then, realization lighting up within you in a far off, dreamy sort of way. This was a conquest. You’d been teasing the dragon in him this entire time — the way you looked at him, the way you challenged him and even the way you’d taken the word of one of his most loyal followers in a sea of many and tried to turn it back around on him. He wasn’t punishing you in the strictest sense, but giving in to his instinctive urge to dominate and claim. To quash opposition with his heavy fists and stand at the top, on his divine throne, where he rightfully belonged, to claim the spoils for himself and breed his powerful heirs. 

A hollowed out, gutted groan tumbles from your mouth as he enters you from behind, his cock so big and heavy inside you the stretch of it seems to reverberate deep in your bones. You can barely even breathe around it, the way it seems to punch the air right out of your lungs, leaving you clawing at the monolith like a trapped animal. A hare, in a hunters noose. Inch by staggering inch, it feels like he’s breaking you in half and all you can do is woundedly bleat into the otherwise still garden. Morax was not just taking you for himself in the physical sense, he was subjugating your body to his rock solid will like a tyrant. 

“My lesson to you is thus,” He growls, practically snarls behind you, as he sinks another tortuous fraction into your heaving guts. “Do not tempt fate and let sleeping gods lie. You never know what sort of mood they’ll wake up in.” 

Keening frantically now, you arch so hard against your stone prison you feel the strain of it in your spine. But his hold on your hips is as good as iron and your lower body is practically immobilized like this, save the uncontrollable shake of your legs. You hear him grunt behind you, very softly, and then give his cock a stilted little push that has him sinking in even deeper, so deep you can practically taste him on the back of your tongue. The way he stretches your cunt so completely, so oppressive with the weight of him behind you, in you, against you, seems to overwhelm all your senses at once, and it takes you a prolonged beat to realize when he’s stilled again.

Panting harshly, you hang there for a moment as if in suspended animation, just trying to process his heavy presence inside your body, and then it occurs to you … his strong, narrow hips are pressed flush against your upturned ass. Seated in you straight down to the hilt. Your cunt had never felt so full, so stuffed right to the breaking point before, and you wheeze like some broken, wounded little thing.  

“Hunger,” Morax intones, so abruptly it startles a low whine out of you. “For the flesh and blood of the illuminated beasts. Wrath, for those that dared disturb their slumber. Greed, to reclaim what was once theirs by any means necessary.” His fingers dig further into your hips and hold you in place as he carefully angles back just enough to drag at your guts. “Or, in some cases, you might even find yourself speared down the middle on a beastly cock that is much too big for your poor little body to take. You must tread carefully around the gods, little one. We are not quite as magnanimous as we may seem.” 

Nudging himself forward again, he sinks back into you as far as he can reach. Your pussy throbs around him, weakly contracts with a warning tremor that makes fresh tears spring up in your eyes. You know you’re riding a dangerous line, just hanging on the precipice of some great, gaping abyss, and you’re helpless to stop it as he settles into a mind numbingly stilted rhythm. He fucks you like he could do this for hours and never tire, like he has all the stamina in the world to put his mark on you at his own pace, on his own time. Morax is not in any hurry to rush this, and it is that slow, halting motion of his hips and the blinding stretch that comes with it that soon shoves you over the edge. 

You cum again, embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t so much as pause to let you catch your breath. Just keeps fucking you even when you wail in overstimulated distress and dire urgency, your jolting legs slowly losing their strength until you have no choice but to let them dangle loose in the air while he ruts into you. You were exhausted. Completely spent. 

And Morax was not going to stop until he finished sating the draconic instinct to take whatsoever happened to catch his golden eye, even if that thing was but a helpless little rabbit.

⭐

Crossposted here

[chiffon-and-spice]

(18+ MINORS DNI) He's A Violent Man, and His Heart's Decayed

Fic Inspo: April to Death

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x GN!Reader (18+)

A/N: I just want to say I do not condone this kind of relationship in any way, nor am I trying to glamorize abuse. This is just my take on how being in a relationship with Johnny would be. Fiction and reality are two very different things, and there will be triggering topics discussed in this fic. If you don’t like violence, this is definitely not the fic for you. 

Abuse Helpline: 800-799-7233 (if a phone call is unsafe here’s a safe website you can visit, you’re not alone and there are always other options.) 

Concept: You’ve walked down this road with Johnny so many times before, your feet have grown numb. At this point it’s hard to tell who’s crazier. 

TW: Abuse, violence, self-deprecation, mutual abuse, smoking, blood 

Content: Anal, rough sex, blood drinking? (idk if this should be a trigger warning or content…), voyeurism, masturbation, dom!Johnny, sub!reader 

A man beyond saving. So tormented, trained like a dog on a leash, he is unable to do anything differently than what he's taught. Despite all the pain, the anguish, the anger, Nancy is the only family he's ever known. The only family he'd ever get. Johnny had been given a shit hand, and these were the cards he had to play. And another, with so little regard for their own self-worth, seemed unable to care about being saved from him. 

You made your way up the familiar driveway, as you have done many times before. It was late, the moon barely a sliver in the sky, hiding behind a blanket of dark clouds. It didn’t matter how little you could see though, you knew this path like the back of your hand. Every little loose pebble, soft patch, and hidden crack or ladder. 

The outside of Nancy’s may look warm, inviting, with white picket fences and brightly colored flowers dancing almost peacefully through the wind. But you knew better. You knew about the horrors that lurked within those doors. You hadn't come here about that though. As long as you didn't bother the family, the family didn't bother you. 

Perhaps that made you just as bad as them, just as wrong and twisted. Any sane person would stay away, be terrified for their life. Ask for help for the many victims that had stumbled through. Then again, it was hard to be scared for something you had little regard for. What’s a little bit of murder?

The driveway and path were covered in a deep blue hue. The night air was somewhat chilly, though you seemed unbothered by the cold. Even without a jacket, no temperature could compete with the coldness Johnny handled you with. That was a chill you felt in your bones, that nestled into your chest and pricked at your heart like a thorn that couldn’t be shaken loose. 

So why were you making your way back? Every step made your feet feel heavy with lead, though a part of you also felt as if you were burning holes in the ground. 

You were in one of those angry moods, the scary ones where you were eerily calm. Every step is slow, quiet, across the gravel coated road. Calculated. You couldn’t recall if this walk was something you had done before or something you’d picked up from Johnny. 

Your gaze drifted up to the top window of Nancy’s house, studying where her room would be. The curtains, like usual, were closed shut. It was fairly late, and you hoped that meant she’d be fast asleep. She’d never been too fond of you seeing her Johnny. Part of you wondered if the only thing keeping her from murdering you was knowing you were just as capable of doing the same to her. She didn’t have the same control over you as she did Johnny. 

There was a part of you that felt almost… confident approaching Johnny's beat down shack. You had no weapons, no items but the clothes on your back, and yet there wasn’t much concern. No fear, as you raised your fist, pounding on the old shack door. 

There was a familiarity in the action, almost like you’d done it a million times before. Even with a door in your way, you could smell the place almost as if you were standing inside. Part of you had always wondered if you’d ever get used to it. It was unsettling that you didn’t even have a reaction anymore. It wasn’t even the blood that bothered you, that was nothing unfamiliar. It was the grime, the dust, the mold that all turned your stomach. The maggots that no doubt crawled around within its confines.  

You knew Johnny heard you, after a noise erupted inside. A few crunching cans on the other side and the low sound of rustling. Like someone was trying to let their presence be known, that they were intentionally ignoring whoever was outside. 

"Alright Johnny, come on out now, I ain't gonna be waitin’ out here forever!" you called out, your voice scarily calm.

Too many thoughts raced through your mind. Your foot impatiently tapped on the old rotted floorboards, arms crossed, while you stared narrowly at the door. The only sound you heard at first was the faint chirp of the crickets outside. 

It was pitch black, hard to see, though you knew the door had opened by the sound of it scraping across the floor. A familiar head slowly started to peak out, his dark eyes protruding from the doorway. There’s something unsettling about his smile, how his eyes scan over you, after he leans against the door frame. 

He had looked at you like that so many times before, like he’d somehow just won some game. Or was reading you, studying which parts of your body would result in those screams he’d been so fond of. His stance is tall, his eyes cold, while he leans against the door. 

The man smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat, and… something else you didn’t quite wish to discern. You wanted to scrunch your nose up, pretend the smell disgusted you as it should. Instead however it had an allure, something that drew you in. Probably because that smell was unique to Johnny. 

Like always the man was calculated, precise with his wording. His hands, which usually contained thick leather gloves, were bare, a cheap cigarette poking between the fingers of the hand that currently rested on the frame above his head. He laughed a little upon recognizing you, an almost wolfish glint in his eyes. The man was alert, like he’d been anticipating your arrival. Of course he had. 

You couldn’t help but study his other hand, which was wrapped tightly with white gauze. You remembered the blood, how it slowly poured down when you’d shoved your knife through his hand. The force he knocked you over with in response. It was a vicious cycle that should have told you both to back off. 

With how much you already knew about Johnny’s tactics, there was no need to draw you in. No need for him to practice his usual charm. Instead, he simply took a puff from the cigarette, blowing the cloud not too far from your face. 

“You’re back early. Did you not get enough?” 

Johnny’s tone was casual, carefree as if this was just another conversation. Anyone listening in might hear his words and assume he was talking about his body. You knew what he was referring to though, not forgetting the faint bruises he’d marked your skin with. The fresh cuts that littered your body. You only scoffed. “You’re calm for someone who ended up with a knife in their hand last time I showed up…” you replied just as casually. 

It was hard to believe that had only been a week ago. Then again, so many of your fights blended and blurred together. The black eye back in May, the broken ribs from June, the list could go on. In between you’d always managed to get a few good hits in yourself. No one had brought out that fire in you like he did.

The dark haired man took another drag from his cigarette, lips dried and thin, as his eyes darkened. Johnny stepped outside, a little closer, and perhaps in the past you’d have cowered away. Flinched. Winced at the anticipation. However this time, you simply stood, studying his fiery glare, almost daring him to come at you again. Not many walked away after a fight with Johnny, you were aware of this. You seemed to do it almost effortlessly though. 

The man was tall, could easily overpower you, which he had done quite a few times. You could never bring yourself to be entirely scared of him though. Not when Johnny treated you differently. Not after the many times he’d let you walk away. 

What unsettles you the most however, is the way his lips curve into a thin smile upon processing your words. He blows out a bit more smoke, dropping the cigarette carelessly on the wood and stomping it out. Despite it being so late, Johnny still wore one of his old tank tops, covered in whatever work he’d done that day. It’s too dark to tell if it’s sweat or blood. 

He made his way towards you, and the closer he got the more you could smell it on him. You didn’t cower though, only meeting his gaze with the same intensity. Perhaps this is why he was so drawn to you. Why he could never bring himself to finish you off. There’s an air of intrigue, confusion, in someone that isn’t scared of the dark things you do the way they should be. 

Johnny’s warm, exceptionally warm, and he raises his hand. You’re unsure whether to expect a smack or a caress. Both would be unsettling. You suppress a shiver, as he does the later, large fingers carefully running through your hair. You’d half expected him to be angry at you, but he’s just smiling. 

It should be comforting, warm. The kind of smile that would bring joy to your partner, while his fingers twist and slip through your hair. It’s the exact opposite of comforting though, almost too perfect of a smile. 

Johnny gently buries his nose in your hair, inhaling sharply. A normally tender gesture from most partners, but not from Johnny. 

“I’m sorry…” his voice is soft, a faint whisper, and it jumpstarts your heart every time. 

The words are gentle, stirring feelings inside of your chest you’d rather not think about. Your body melts and you feel warm in his arms. There’s also that tug though, that deep pain, that thorn shifting in your chest, because you know Johnny. Know him more than you’d care to admit. 

You merely shake your head gently in response, pressing your forehead into his chest. There’s a tiredness in your stance, and you don’t know whether you hurt more for yourself or the man in front of you. 

“I know you’re not… even if you want to be, you’re not. You’re incapable of feeling sympathy.” 

There was a bleak and tired look in your eyes as you spoke, staring at the ground. A hollow apology, that’s all it was. All you’d ever received. Maybe once, you had believed those words, tasted them on his tongue, when you’d rush in after with a feral kiss. Could feel it in the sheets, quick to forgive every rugged apology.  But after the first four times, it began to ring empty. You weren’t even sure why Johnny still said it anymore. 

It certainly wasn’t to make himself feel better, he was incapable of feeling guilty of anything he did. Johnny could be so hard to understand at points. 

You wished the man you’d met back in that bar all those months ago truly existed. The charming and charismatic guy who had pulled a chair out for you, offered to buy you a drink. Flashed you that tender smile, as he shared his sob story about being a poor farmer boy whose mother had been murdered. About having to support his family, often finding the bar to be the one place he could wind down. How he hadn’t recalled seeing a pretty thing like you ever in his life.

Johnny had been so kind those first few hours, managing to convince you to come home with him. He wasn’t quite aware of just who he was messing with however. It took about six minutes before you’d pulled a gun out on him and shot him in his arm. You could still see the scar now. 

Johnny thought he could pull a fast one on you, had pulled out a knife and talked about carving your bones out of your pretty little flesh. That was his mistake, so caught up in talk, in the soft seduction of it all. 

To his surprise though, you had come back, apologizing for the gunshot wound. Which then turned into the tidal wave that grew as your relationship. Johnny didn’t do labels, no, and you were lucky that you had even been allowed to come back. You knew you weren’t his lover or anything. Just thinking the word felt weird. It was more or less about ownership. 

Even if he did love you, it was in his own fucked up way, and he’d never see you as an equal. He’d made that pretty evident. Though there was something there, something that made Johnny look at you differently than his other victims. Perhaps it was the only form of love he knew, maybe part of him wanted to feel bad for the things he did, even if he was incapable of doing so. Maybe Johnny wanted to care, but couldn’t figure out how. 

Not that you were all that innocent either. Johnny wasn’t exactly your first rodeo of dealing with a guy like this. The cannibalistic thing was new for sure, but not the violence, and the yelling, and the inner destruction. Something about relationships like these got your heart jumping. You craved it. 

Probably because there was an allure to having something so dark and evil, so sadistic, treat you special. Not that it made you feel special in a good way, but Johnny did treat you differently..  

Johnny stood, tall and quiet for a moment, his hand dropping from your hair. His arms didn’t embrace you, as you pressed against him. He was like a statue, body warm, his chest not even moving. Part of you wondered if he was even breathing. 

“You’re the one that keeps coming back,” Johnny replied quietly, shoving you away from him. 

You half expected him to just lose it and pull out his knife. Twist it in your stomach and laugh about the whole ordeal. Staining your hands with red, as you try to push the blood back in. Kill you like he’d killed all the others. You weren’t sure why he didn’t try harder to kill you. No matter how intense the fighting got, Johnny always let you go. 

“You’re the one that always lets me walk away.” 

Johnny moved closer to you now, pinning you against the door. He had pulled out his knife in one swift motion, holding it under your chin. His eyes looked darker than usual, a snarl slipping from his lips. The movements are a reminder of just what he is. 

“Exactly that, I let you walk away. You only still live cause I allow it. What the hell are you even doing here anyway? Thought I told you last time I didn’t want to see your fucking face again.”   

You rolled your eyes, leaning into the knife a little, staring down at him through narrowed eyes. 

“And I told you, you don’t make decisions for me Johnny. I’m not going to be controlled like one of your little victims.” 

You both knew deep down it was practically impossible to keep apart. Even if you wanted to avoid Johnny, the man would hunt you down. Conveniently show up to a bar you lingered at or a store you were visiting. The worst reactions were the ones where you were with another man. 

No matter how bad things got, you could never truly get away and neither could he. There was a sick twisted part deep down that both of you wanted this, craved it. Maybe even needed it. 

Johnny presses the knife a little tighter against your neck, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t cut you yet. And for a moment you see a flash in his eyes, it’s faint, but it’s there. It’s that look that reminds you every time why you can never leave. As quickly as that sad look appears it’s gone, knife dropping, as he gives you a rough shove, moving you out of the doorway so he can open it. 

Johnny doesn’t slam the door shut, his way of telling you to come in. You recover a little, barely even feeling how his arms had knocked into you, as you stumbled into the beaten down little building. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust in the darkness.  

Like always, the smell is the first thing anyone notices. You can’t help but scrunch your nose up a little, wanting to cough and choke. It lingers in the back of your throat, stinging in your eyes. There’s several dirty dishes littering the counters and sink, the beer cans on the ground, his table filled with god only knows what, and his couch looked well worn, like someone had been laying down in it most of the day. 

Still though, it’s more a discomfort thing than something that puts you on edge. You don’t wander around like a scared dog, judgment lingering in your eyes. 

Johnny casually kicks his way through a few of the cans, swinging his fridge open. The inside of the fridge matches the room fairly well, a few flies buzzing around inside, as he reaches his hand in and grabs a can.

The environment is nothing new to you, and you slowly close the door, fully stepping inside. Johnny barely acknowledges your presence at first, throwing himself on the couch, and cracking his drink open. There’s no thought in his eyes, as he sits there, almost as if he’s alone, looking a million miles away.

Not uncommon for the dark haired man. The number of times Johnny’d just sit there, as if he was waiting for something. 

You frowned softly, sitting on the couch. You knew if your voice had even an ounce of sympathy it’d be enough to set the man off. Johnny didn’t want to be coddled. He “didn’t need your goddamn sympathy,” you recalled him saying, after he had spent one night bleakly talking about how he had gained his face scar. 

Johnny had been drunk, he usually was when he talked about stuff like that, and there was always a coldness to his voice. So casual as he spoke. Perhaps because this was his day to day life. 

“Why?” Johnny finally said, his voice unreadable. 

You stare for a minute, confused, as he remains staring ahead of you. At first you’re not even sure he’s talking about you, until he does turn. Johnny’s dark eyes are studying you, as if you’re the fucked up one here. 

“Why?” you repeat, as if saying his question will make it make more sense. 

There’s a hundred things he could be talking about and you wonder if it’s in reference to Nancy, his life, your life, or just a question he doesn’t understand. 

Johnny rolled his eyes, throwing the still pretty full can across the room. It hit the wall with a low thud, the amber liquid splattering all over the floor.  Like your confusion was so unreasonable. His voice is low, now snarling.

“Why do you keep coming back?” 

The man is on you in a matter of seconds, his hands firmly placed on your shoulders, squeezing, as he pushes you back into the couch. Johnny’s towering on top of you, and he’s looking down at you like there’s something he’s missed. Some part of you he hasn’t observed, that’ll magically make it all make sense to him.

Johnny was usually good at reading people, understanding what made them tick, what to do to see that fear in their eyes. He never saw that with you though. It drove him crazy how you were just as unpredictable as he was. Johnny couldn’t make you scared like the others.  “I could so easily kill you…” he continued, voice going quieter, while his hands moved from your shoulders to your neck. “Could just squeeze… apply the right pressure until your face goes blue.”

Johnny’s hands wrap around you, tightening their grip, but despite the aggression there’s an almost carefulness in how he handles you. A desperation, as he squeezes, just enough to cause pain. His eyes are piercing your own, almost looking, begging for a certain reaction, while you remain limp beneath him. 

Johnny groans, pressing you deeper into the couch, as his eyes narrow.

“And you don’t even bat a fucking eye.” 

While looking up at him, the determination in his face, the roughness in his grasp, it’s easy to see a monster. To think about what he’s capable of, the dangerous person he is. You can’t see that in Johnny though. His hands around your neck, his eyes hiding layers and years of pain, while he rests on top of you. All you can see is a broken man. The way he squeezed your neck, careful enough to not kill, told you he wasn’t all monster. There was something gentle in Johnny. Well, in his sense of the word.  

You know better than to try and fix him, not that he’d even want it. Not that you’d ever be able to. Instead you reached out, tenderly caressing the scars on his arm. As if your fingers could mend all the broken cracks within him. 

And he breaks… he softens his grip, shaking his head and flipping you on your stomach. Johnny’s hands aggressively grab your own, holding them behind your back, his voice quiet, as he whispers in your ear. His breath is hot and makes your whole world seem to freeze while he speaks. 

This was how he handled things when they got too intimate… too personal. 

“Is this what you came here for?” 

His voice sends chills down your spine, as you hear the soft clink of his belt. It didn’t matter what your intentions were, this was how things always ended up. And you hated how much of a rush it gave you. Your whole body quivering, as you felt the leather tighten around your wrists. 

Johnny’s heavy, his hands tracing along the curves of your body, voice still right on your ear, as he lets out a dark chuckle.

“That why you keep coming back? You can’t live without the feel of my hands pulling and grabbing at your body. Can’t get enough of the way my teeth dig into your flesh, while I claim every inch of you. Make you feel every inch of me.”

Johnny loved stroking his ego, but mostly he loved when you did it for him. The way your body was flush beneath his, as you nodded slowly, face still buried into the couch cushions. 

You couldn’t even focus on his words anymore, too wrapped up in the anticipation of him. How your skin already craved his touch, while he squeezed at your hips, pulling them back. His mouth had moved off your ear, biting roughly down the side of your neck.   

“Not so mouthy now are ya?” Johnny growled against your skin, hands slipping underneath your shirt. “That’s okay… I know how to make you talk.” 

His hands are uncomfortably hot, rough, and calloused, as he plays with your body. Squeezing your hips firmly, moving along your sides. He reaches your chest, thumb brushing along your nipples. Johnny knows all your sensitive spots, which parts hurt the most, as he explores you. Mapping out your body with his hands. 

Those same hands he’d used to kill people. There was a precise way in how he explored your body, knowing which ways to take you off guard. 

You let out a low moan, sensitive to his touch. Johnny’s hands are hungry, body heavy, as he presses on top of you, continuing to move his mouth aggressively along your neck. It’s evident he cares little about not hurting you, biting harsh enough to pierce the skin. The spot feels a little wet and it’s hard to tell where or how much blood is on your neck due to the wetness of his lips.  

Johnny’s warm tongue pokes out, caressing the flesh and cooling your new wound. His mouth is hot and a cloud of ecstasy is choking your brain. You can’t think straight, only whining slightly from the sensation. The noise seems to please the man, as he lets out a dark chuckle, hands moving to the front of your own pants. 

“Almost got a word out of you…” 

And this… this is why you can’t ever go away. Why you could never wish to be with anyone else. One fuck with Johnny, and he’d shown you things that no normal man… no normal person ever would. No sane person would be excited by it. Would be driven to the edge of this madness, pulling apart at the seams in a darker kind of pleasure. And if enjoying it meant you were just as fucked up then so be it. 

You could feel your own arousal pooling hot in your stomach, between your legs, heat spanning all throughout your flesh. Johnny’s shack being cramped with no ventilation didn’t help either. You could feel sweat already starting to form along your forehead and back. His bite made you moan tiredly, hands pulling on your restraints a little.

It was impossible to sit still with the way he nipped and tugged at your body. Johnny didn’t have a gentle bone in his body. No warning before anything he did. 

Maybe that was why sex with him was euphoric, different from the way anyone had ever treated you. It wasn’t just the degrading… the roughness, it was something darker. Something that turned your stomach in the sweetest of ways. Something he’d already told you. The thrill of putting your life in his hands, knowing he could kill you anytime if he wished. Of not knowing how he was going to end this. 

Johnny’s grip is harsh, pulling your pants down with little to no care, fingers brushing between the fabric and your skin. A tight squeeze that sends chills throughout your body. His voice is little more than quiet excited breaths. 

The man’s mouth moved off the small wound he’d made in your neck, trailing down your spine. The bites were still harsh, though you didn’t think he drew blood. Johnny was so unpredictable, you could never tell what he was thinking. What his intentions were. You could only close your eyes, quivering and getting lost in the sensation. His hands continued to hold your hips, rough and no doubt forming bruises.

There’s a familiarity in his touch. In the way his hot breath slides down your back, covering it in saliva. Every low grunt he makes sends your skin crawling. Bumps form along your forearms, the back of your neck, down your spine. Any and everywhere you had felt Johny before tingling in anticipation. 

Killing and fucking were an art to Johnny. A practice he believed needed time dedicated to it. Time to do things right. Not in the romantic sense. He wasn’t trying to make you comfortable. There was no checking in. It wasn’t about appreciating the act itself. It was about the thrill, the build up and anticipation of it all. The stalking before the blade bites into his victim’s skin. 

Johnny let out another rough snarl, teeth sinking into your lower hip. They’re sharp, rough, puncturing the skin once more, as you let out another low whine. Your body reacts before you can, quivering and trying to pull away. 

“Quit fuckin’ squirmin'’,” Johnny snaps, pushing your head down into the cushions once more. 

It’s softer than Johnny, and truth be told probably smelled a little nicer. Though that wasn’t entirely a big achievement. You tried to remain still, as his lips continued to suck on the sore patch of skin. You can’t see, but there’s a dark and sinister grin as he pulls away.

Your blood is running along his bottom lip, dark against his pale skin. The indentation of his teeth against your flesh, still warm, lingers like a ghost. It’s a faint buzz that makes you feel euphoric and it’s hot and cold all at once. Mind melted, twisted, as you heard the sound of his own belt being undone. Your stomach tightens in excitement, turning in the cushions to glance behind you. 

Johnny isn’t focused on looking at you, there’s no care, as he eagerly fiddles with his jeans. He's careless even with himself. The man’s dark hair is a mess, falling loosely over his eyes. When you can’t see them, he has the face of an angel. 

Soft cheekbones, pale and perfectly sculpted, a stark contrast to his sharp jawline. Johnny is beautiful. There’s no denying that. Like a snake. Scales slick, patterns captivating to the eye. You can’t help but want to reach out, touch it. One tender caress. Fingers slipping along his scales gently, tracing along the patterns as if you can understand just what they mean.

That’s all it takes, before the snake hisses, lunging forward. Teeth sink into your neck once more, pressing that venom into your skin. You can’t help but whine, feeling his hands pull on your hips. 

It’s painful at first, like something’s tearing through you, hands quivering in your restraints. Not that he cared. Johnny continued to fuck into you aggressively, hips rolling into your backside. His breath lingers on your neck like a bad scent, and you can feel the smile in his teeth imprints. 

“Quit being such a little bitch.” 

His hands are so tightly on your hips, you’re certain it’ll leave a bruise. You don’t care though. All you can focus on is how that pain rips into pleasure. How Johnny feels making you take every inch of him. His animalistic grunts, while he throbs against you. There’s such a force in his movements that results in your whole body lurching forward. 

Johnny’s noises are low, like he’s trying to keep himself quiet, as he moans to himself. Like he can’t contain the pleasure, as he needily bucks into you. Your hips match his every movement, his hands guiding them to do as he pleases. 

You know you’re in his control, and you want to hate it. His touch should feel dirty, his teeth rotten, but you can’t. You don’t. 

You can’t hate the hot white pleasure that’s coursing through your brains. How every little grunt rushes blood between your legs. How when Johnny fucks you it makes you whimper like a bitch tied up in the hot sun. There’s no doubt he knows what he’s doing, how to please you. 

“All that talk from before… talkin’ bout I don’t control you, you’re not one of my victims. Bullshit. You just roll over and take it while lying down. You like that though, don’tcha? You like that I own you?” 

Johnny was doing things to you that made your mind fuzzy. You nodded softly at his statement. He could read you like a book. His fingers knowing all the right pages to bend. Spine worn out from the many times he'd opened you up. Devoured you whole, learning every letter of every word that was etched across her skin.

The man could crack your bones, tear your ribcage open, and feast on your organs and you’d still fade from life proclaiming you died at home. That you’d felt warmth in his touch, as his fingers clawed away at you. That his tongue only licked with the intent of bringing you pleasure. His teeth tore at your flesh, consuming you, because he wanted all of you. Johnny wanted to gorge on the darkest parts you locked away in the confinements of your mind.

Your body is quivering, squishing, beneath his much bigger weight. Johnny’s chest, hot against your back, as his hands glide up along your hips. They expand, fingers curving around your torso, as he pulls your body up. 

Johnny’s large hands trace along the shape of your jaw, before grabbing it roughly, breath burning on the shell of your ear. The hand that isn’t grabbing your face is squeezing your waist, and Johnny’s ramming into you, deep and quick, as if it’s all that’s keeping him alive. His teeth clamp around your ear, another low growl slipping past his lips. 

Then Johnny pulls his head away. There’s a lot on your face and you can’t tell if he’s become bored or impatient. The man turns you, until you’re facing him., a dark look in his eyes. 

You can see a reflection of your own face, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes watering from tears pricking your eyes, and mouth slightly open to let out another low whine. Johnny hits that particularly sensitive spot in you, knowing just how hard to go.

Your body quivers all over in response, and you go lightheaded for a moment. His erratic movements, the way his hands moved along your body, and his teeth still marking your flesh. It’s all enough to make you feel like you’re about to pop like a cork bottle. 

His thumb brushes along your bottom lip, prying your mouth open, as he groans. Johnny’s brows furrow a little, focusing, as he thrusts. His eyes close, and for a moment he almost looks pained. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. What memory he’s distracting himself from now by burying his cock deep within the confines of you. 

As quickly as it starts however, it’s gone, and Johnny’s face returns to that hard look, eyeing you down. Looking into his face while he fucked you was something that he’d rarely give you the pleasure. 

You study him, as if you can read what’s going on in his mind. Like you can make sense of Johnny’s actions. He’s a lot more open tonight than most, and for a moment you can even see a glimpse of pleasure in his own eyes. Cheeks flushing a little, before Johnny exhales quietly. 

“Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that or I’m gonna turn ya back over,” Johnny snarls. 

Your expression quickly drops, while he fucks the concern off your face. It’s all you can focus on, as he pumps into you. You glare at him once more, body squirming, as you try to speak around the pleasure.

“Like what? I was just thinking about how good you’d look with a bullet in the back of your head.”

Johnny aggressively juts his hips into you, fingers curling around your jaw, as he grabs it, forcing you to be eye level with him. You’re worried for a moment you’ve gone too far, but there’s a gleam in his eyes. He lets out one of those low chuckles, before kissing you. 

His tongue worms into your mouth, teeth grazing your bottom lip, as he swallows every noise escaping your mouth. The taste of Johnny should make your skin crawl. His breath was awful, tainted with alcohol, blood, and whatever else he’d probably put in his mouth throughout the day. You can’t bring yourself to feel discomfort though. It’s like you’re seeing stars, his movements sending your body upwards, fingers curling tightly around the confines of your belt.

You want so desperately to drag your claws down his back. To mark Johnny the same way that he marked you. You whined a little at the thought, wiggling in your restraints. It’s all too much, and you feel so close. Your thighs quiver a little, unsure how much longer you can hold on.

Johnny smiles once again, pulling away. He can read your body, while his chest presses against you. Johnny’s movements slow, a dark smirk on his face. 

You can never understand how he has such good control. How he doesn’t burst, no matter how intensely the sessions get. Johnny seems so pleased with himself, pulling all the way out, and gently teasing you. Dangling that sweet release ever so close. 

“I’m not so sure if I want to finish you now…” 

“I’ll finish myself,” you snarl back, half tempted to reach down and push him in you yourself.

Damn restraints.

Johnny’s eyes narrow in response, rolling his eyes. His body continues to tower over you, but he’s smiling. Grinning. Like he knows something you don’t. Johnny’s hand moves from your jaw to your neck, running his thumb along a scar there and smiling at the memory. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Johnny chuckled darkly. 

Then as if to further prove his point, Johnny removes his hands completely off his body, sitting back. He leans against the arm of the couch, his body sprawled out. You study him, watching as Johnny brings his hand to his cock, gently massaging it. His fingers slip along the underside of it, touching it with a sense of familiarity. 

“Me though… I can finish myself just fine.” 

His words on taunting, while he continues to squeeze, his large hands easily wrapping around his length. Johnny fucks into his fist like he’s done a million times before, leaning his head back and groaning softly. 

“Johnny!”

You can’t hide the desperation in your voice. The frustration as your own body now remains untouched. There’s a fire coursing through your body, as you squirm once again on the couch. It didn’t help that watching the man play with himself made your insides tingle. There was something so hot… so tempting… in watching how he twitched in his hand. How Johnny’s cock responded to every little touch he did. 

The man wasn’t sensitive by any means, but if you knew the right buttons to push. Johnny let out another low moan, still not paying you any mind. 

“I’m almost there sweetheart.” 

You chewed your bottom lip, frowning a little, as a low whimper escaped your lips once again. 

“Please…” 

Johnny smirks a little, his grip around himself loosening, as he opens one eye. Like he’d just won some sort of game. Then he lets go of himself, creeping back towards you. 

“Please what?” Johnny asks softly, his voice low, as his hand moves down, fingers gently toying with you. 

Part of you wants to laugh. Your comment about shooting him actually had gotten under his skin. Upset him. You knew Johnny well enough to know the thought of not needing him to get off pissed him off more than anything. He was desperate for that confirmation. It would’ve been cute, had Johnny not been a narcissistic cannibal. 

“Please… I wanna cum,” you finally caved, staring up at him. “Need you to make me cum.” 

Johnny doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even give a satisfactory smile, before slipping back into you. He’s quick, movements needy and desperate, while he grinds against your backside. The way his body responds, how quickly and deeply he’s moving into you tells you he wasn’t kidding. 

Johnny had really worked himself up while fucking his hand. 

Not that it mattered though, you were close to, feeling your stomach tighten into hot coils, while a rush of heat slipped through your body. It all felt better the second time, already used to his size. Your body was his for sculpting, as you moaned once more, closing your eyes. 

“Ngh… Johnny… Fuck Johnny I-!” you’re cut off from your own pleasure, as your orgasm tears through your body. 

It’s practically impossible to sit still, quivering beneath his body. Johnny’s free hand clamps over your mouth, as if he can prevent your release, while bucking into you with a desperate thrust. His own eyes close, voice turning into a series of low grunts. 

“Ahhh…” Johnny whispers quietly, feeling your release slip out, coating his stomach. 

That alone seems to be enough to send him over the edge. Johnny stays buried, as his cock twitches within you. Ropes of sticky white cum shoot out, flooding your senses. That doesn’t stop him from sloppily thrusting into you though, moaning softly, while his hand still covers your own mouth. 

There’s something animalistic in his release, holding himself in you for a little longer, until he’s no longer twitching. Then Johnny pulls out, cum spilling on the already stained couch. 

His grip loosens, hand falling off your mouth, as he catches his breath. You come down from the high yourself, gasping, as you study him. Johnny’s eyes are blank, as he slides off the couch, retrieving his pants. You half expect him to dismiss you, tell you to go home. 

Instead however, he undoes the belt on your wrists, saying nothing. Johnny slips his shirt off, making his way to the back of the shack, where his bed remained.

You sat there for a moment in your post orgasmic haze, picking up his shirt that he had thrown carelessly on the ground. You can’t help but sniff it softly, smiling, as you pull it over your head. Then you follow Johnny, watching as he’s laid, stomach first in bed. 

You wonder if he’s asleep for a moment, but he seems to sense your presence, shifting in his bed. Johnny doesn’t turn his head to look at you though. 

“The fuck you lookin’ at?”

You never expected tenderness or praise after your activities. Hell, even the silence wasn’t anything new. It was not being immediately kicked out after that had your head turning. You stepped forward cautiously, crawling into the bed. Testing the waters. 

Johnny doesn’t speak again. 

You settle beneath the covers, wishing so desperately you could read his mind. Could hear what he was thinking. You’re surprised when he stretches his left hand out a little, turning it over to reveal his palm. You study it, expecting a knife to grow out of it. Or for Johnny to use the moment where you’re caught off guard to pull a knife out. 

You hesitantly reach out, pressing one finger lightly into it at first, before flattening your whole hand. You’re surprised when his fingers curl around your hand, and not in a way where the grip is overbearing. You study him, not wanting to ruin the moment, as you settle in the sheets.

As quickly as you hold his hand, Johnny seems to drift off, his snores light and quiet. He looks peaceful in his sleep, and it’s hard to imagine this man as a cold and calculated killer. 

[wellntruly]

Blogging, vol. v

I’m having surgery tomorrow. Why this is always happening in November is beyond me, but it sure is an aesthetically kind month to not work and be extra-grade cozy in soft knits, sipping soups, while outside it rains grey on amber.

Unlike my gum surgery last year, this one I had no idea was coming for me, and the weeks getting up to the point of finally knowing what was going to happen were, not to exaggerate, not good. It's odd that it's better now, since it was indeed something you don't want to find. But then you can start to process. Process, process.

I actually tend to do quite well with surgery, both as a concept and a thing to heal from, even before I spent my recovery from the previous one watching a 50 year old TV show about surgeons. I find the kind of pain engendered by things you need stitches about to be quite reasonable mentally; it hurts, it hurts there, for this reason, you have pills to dull it, and it will gradually heal. Simply “feeling sick,” or worst of all nauseous, that’s what can make me wonder what it’s all even for. Miserable, derogatory.

So the fact that it really seems a predominantly surgical approach is going to be most of what we need to take care of this problem has me almost overwhelmed with gratitude. It could have been far, far worse for me. But I have all the most treatable metrics for this, even being rather young for it has the silver lining of meaning I should heal well. And I’m so lucky to have a warm, funny, exceptionally skilled surgeon who actually went through the same thing when she was also my age, and that honestly, I’ve absolutely the Edward Gorey illustration body type to probably even end up looking pretty chic going down to just a bit of an A cup, which is what she's going to be able to do, not to bury the lede. Surprise top surgery, is what I’ve been calling it, and thank you to the boys for the re-contextualizing dream that is the phrase ‘top surgery’, a concept of such positivity; life-affirming, life-saving.

It is a strange, swift-approaching change to reckon with though, impossible to avoid that. I've always tended to dress as if I don’t even have the actually, admittedly, great boobs that I've had up til now, but it is still the body I know. I’ll roll onto my stomach in bed and think, for one that I soon won’t be doing this at all again for a while, and that when I do, it’s going to feel different. Fascinating to consider.

I'm leaning into a sort of Orlando-like curiosity about it, this vague physical transformation just spontaneously befalling me in my adulthood. How will this be. What sort of opportunities might this actually grant. I’ll be endeavoring to hardly ever wear a bra again, I’ll tell you that for certain. Should I use this as the push to finally get a bespoke suit, soft and wide-legged, with a jacket that can fall in just a clean draped line from my shoulders? Will I be able to wear suspenders? I think about watching Margaret Qualley in The Stars At Noon this summer, how I watched her just drop a loose sundress over her bare body, entirely backless, and walk out the door. I think, of course, of "Keira Knightley Atonement," as my inspiration board folder is called.

I’ve also been thinking about this blog, what I think Tumblr user sashayed once called her secret public journal. Sometimes what I or others will post can break into the very real & personal, like this, for the benefit that comes from just releasing, sharing the large challenging things in our lives. I think about a long-time mutual who posted about some of the strangeness she felt during hospitalization for an accident, how recalling some of what she wrote about has brought me a feeling of solidarity in this.

But there’s also how I’ve actually been blogging about this for weeks and weeks, it’s just only been for me. Another kind of secret public journal. This butterfly coming out of a row of cocoons in a window: this was for how I was, fully insanely yes, watching A Zed & Two Noughts while I was wracked with anxiety over what might be going on with my body, but/and the idea of emerging after this surgery new and striking and light. This is self-explanatory. This tiny-chested witch vaulting skulls is “literally me” goals this time next October. This was actually exactly, exactly my vibe getting my biopsy, with the sweetest nurses.

And now at last it all comes together, the public and private journal, on the eve of really what we’re all waiting for, oh god me for sure: the return of painkiller diaries. Painkiller diaries is a lifestyle, actually, it’s an ethos. I let myself so wholly rest after my gum surgery last year that the rest of November was the happiest I’d been in years. Please, again. Return to cashmere convalescence. And would you look at this beautiful soup sippin' mug I’ve gotten since then:

Oh I think we’re ready.

[sophierequests]

zoya nazyalensky

Navigation┃Main Masterlist┃Request

Angst: ☾ ┃ Fluff: ♡ ┃ Hurt/Comfort: ☆ ┃ Smut: ♤

“You are strong enough to survive the fall.”

oneshots

not how it was supposed to go (☆ / ♡) → Zoya's crush on the reader is becoming more and more obvious, how will she react when she sees them with another girl?

Maybe dumped wasn’t the right word for her current situation, since you two weren’t technically together. You had obvious chemistry, constantly flirting and spending time with each other, but none of you had yet dared to make the first move.

putty in your hands (♤ / ☆ / ♡) → When the new supposed Sun Summoner starts going on Zoya's nerves, the reader decides that it's time to cheer her up. But what happens when cheeky flirting turns into something more?

She sighed, eyeing you slowly, seemingly taking every inch of your body intently. Her eyes stopped as she met yours again. In the blink of an eye, you saw her face upside down, hovering over yours, never breaking eye contact.

the sun and her storm (☾) → The Apparat's cult is weird, but they wouldn't go as far as kidnapping the only known Sun Summoner, whilst knowing who their girlfriend is, would they?

The priest didn't budge from his spot, engaging in a tense conversation with Zoya, who was close to pushing him from his creaky wooden box. You didn't understand what they were saying, the casual chatter from the passing people overshadowing their talk.

i only want to be with you (♡) → After Genya's constant teasing reveals that the reader has a crush on somebody, Zoya gets slightly jealous.

A few weeks prior, you accidentally let it slip that you had a slight crush on a certain squaller, which seemed to not surprise your friend at all. Since then it became one of her most talked-about matters, effectively managing to drive you up against the wall. As soon as she realized that it wasn’t just a little innocent infatuation, but fully developed feelings towards your mutual friend, she didn’t want to let it go, constantly teasing or encouraging you to ask her out.

pages thumbed, heartstrings strummed(♡) → Zoya seems to be in the library more often than usual. What could be the reason for her sudden interest in the old tomes?

However, before you could even properly begin reading the book on amplifiers, you had planned on working through, the door opened again. A young woman with black hair and a blue kefta entered the room. You recognized her immediately.

the universe must have divined this (♡) → Zoya thinks the reader should dump her boyfriend.

At first, she considered leaving, knowing that she wouldn’t get any real chances to make a move on you. But when the friends you were currently with opted out to join the masses on the dance floor, you were left alone, still waiting for a man that wouldn’t show. Now it was her turn.

i don't need you (but oh i do) (☆ / ♡) → Zoya's and the reader's relationship is very unclear, causing her to deny even having feelings for her. When a certain Heartrender visits the Palace, things are bound to change.

"If you want me to." he smirked, "You're terribly tired because you didn't spend the night in your room. I knocked earlier and guess who I found inside? No one. I'm not quite sure whose room you slept in, but I think I have a sneaking suspicion of who it could be."

it's obvious i wanted to (☆) → Zoya can't admit that she likes the reader, and it starts getting difficult.

There was no point in denying that Zoya had developed feelings for you. No matter how hard she tried to push them away, to treat you just as a friend, she couldn’t deny that she liked you. Nikolai had already tried to convince her to confess at least a thousand times, but she knew that she wasn’t able to.

i'd marry you with paper rings (♡) -> Zoya and the reader recall some of the most important incidents in their relationship.

“Do you still remember the night when we first met?” you asked, looking down at Zoya, who was currently laying in your lap, absent-mindedly fiddling with the fabric of your skirt.

you drew stars around my scars, but now i'm bleeding (☆) → Memories of a long-lost relationship start to resurface.

Without giving yourself time to think, you pulled it out from underneath the clutter, absent-mindedly brushing the dirt off and letting your fingers run over the intricate silver embroideries around the collar. It was slightly damaged from being worn on the battlefield and during training, but that only made it more real. It was her kefta.

gift-giving (♡) → Zoya really isn't a holiday person.

Zoya wasn’t a holiday type of person. She didn’t do feasts, celebrations, dancing or gift-giving. She didn’t dress up, she didn’t decorate and she certainly wasn’t one to be jolly or merry. Not even after a Genya-induced drinking spree would she sink down to the level of celebrating Christmas of all things. At least that’s what she told herself. 

i need you more than you can ever know (☆ / ♡) → After a figuring out that she has feelings for the reader, Zoya decides to distance herself from her and their friendship with benefits. When a sudden accident causes more hurt than good, she finally comes clean.

The relationship you had was entirely and strictly platonic. You were co-workers that occasionally slept together when they needed some form of release, and that was everything there was to it. Until it wasn’t.

headcanons

zoya nazyalensky x f!reader dating headcanons (♡)

zoya nazyalensky x bookworm!reader headcanons (♡)

queen!zoya x fjerdan!reader arranged marriage headcanons (♡)

zoya nazyalensky x f!reader marriage headcanons (♡)

[destinyc1020]

To add to the falling for the other co-star.

Tom did chemistry reads with multiple girls during the auditions for MJ and it's clear from what he has said tht she left quite the impression on him after. He did say that as soon as she left he looked at the others and said "thats my MJ" he didn't have that feeling towards the others.

So no anon I don't think he would be falling for just anyone he works with. He was single during Cherry and even though Ciara had a bf, he didn't seem to be anything more than a co-worker towards her and all other women he has since worked with.

Tom seems like the type to know what he likes and goes for it. In the industry just because you work alongside someone doesn't mean you will fall for them even when you've probably fallen for a co-star before. Besides for these relationships to happen, there needs to be mutual attraction between the two

Lol these are the type of things some of Timmy fans hope happen to him and Z

Very good points Anon.

Tom did chemistry reads with multiple girls during the auditions for MJ and it's clear from what he has said tht she left quite the impression on him after. He did say that as soon as she left he looked at the others and said "thats my MJ" he didn't have that feeling towards the others.

Actually, I don't recall Tom saying that...🤔 I recall the casting directors saying: "I think that's our MJ" after Zendaya left. But you can correct me if I'm wrong if Tom himself said something like that after Zendaya left. To me, that would be kind of presumptuous for an actor to say that when the person hasn't even been hired yet and he has no control over who will be his co-star?? 🤷🏾‍♀️

But anyway...I agree w/you.... Even if an actor has dated a co-star in the past before, it doesn't automatically mean they will fall for EVERY and any co-star they end up working with. That's ridiculous. 😒🙄

Do YOU fall for every co-worker you work with at every job you've worked at?? Like, let's get real.

Plus, like you mentioned, it has to be a MUTUAL attraction, and both parties we HOPE are single. 👀

Hollywood has a LOT of nice-looking people in the industry, and I can see why so many do fall for their co-stars, especially when you're working hours on end with them lol... 😅 But it's not always that simple... Some have crushes, but never even date the person lol. Especially those sitcom TV shows with a young cast, where they all worked for years upon years together lol. Just look at some of the documentaries on those old TV shows lol. But that doesn't mean they always dated or that anything even came of it. Most of the time, it was just puppy love/infatuation...and then you just get over it. 🤷🏾‍♀️

[youwouldntlietopapa]

Little Sunshine

+18 MDNI Includes: 5k+ words of smut, Papa IV/Reader, Interrupted solo play, dirty talk, body worship, light sub/dom, oral, vaginal fingering, comfort/gentle play, mutual pining, masturbation, etc.

Notes: Hey, so, this is my first attempt at writing any Playtime with Papa. Please be gentle with me. If you want a version with translations already set up, you can find them here. (if not, I used google translate. Sue me, I didn't have time to learn both Italian and Latin.)

_____________________________________________________________

You’d been tossing and turning half the night already. Normally by the end of the day, your bed is a welcome sight. Sinking down into the mattress and letting your tired muscles and racing mind finally relax and let go. The dark of your modest dorm swallowing you up in inky black. But not this night.

With the blanket? Too hot. Without? Too cold. No position was comfortable. Even the quiet of the room only makes the racing of your mind seem worse. And to whom do you owe this most frustrating and restless night?

Say his name…

Copia.

Satanas, help me… How can one man be both so endlessly awkward, verging on silly, and also grip your very soul with a single look until you want to drop to your knees and beg so shamelessly and fervently it would make the Dark Lord himself blush? Worse still is that the man seems oblivious to his hold on you, his power.

Satanas inferno, salva nos a caliginoso et perfecto servo tuo. Obsecro te. Requiem da mihi: vel dimitte. Amen.

Oh, if Papa could hear your prayer….

You can still smell his cologne. Warmed by the midday sun. Brushing close to pass you in the library. The faint musk mingling with the smell of old books and oiled wood. Hoping no one saw you gripping the shelves for dear life, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a moan.

To hell with it. You kick the covers off again, already reaching for the box of matches on the window sill. Light banishing the dark all at once as the flames dance and bob atop the cluster of wax candles on the table. At this hour, electric lights are too harsh and this helps set the mood. Only the best for Papa, after all. Even if this Papa is only a phantom of your imagination.

Had there been others in the library? You couldn’t recall… didn’t want to recall. They didn’t matter. Not when his quiet whisper raised goosebumps like a cool breeze, catching you completely off guard. “Scusami, sorella.” The shock on your face must have been plain as day, if not the panic. If the awkward, nervous smile on his was any indicator. He pointed past you further down the aisle, indicating silently his need to get past. You can still feel his gloved hands barely touching your hips as he scoots past, sending a shiver up your spine again. If he’d grabbed you any harder, you would have made a fool of yourself in the quiet of the echoey space. Even speaking an acknowledgement had been too risky, simply nodding quickly and pressing closer to the shelves. Robes brushing against your backside, making your knees weak.

You grab onto the memory, the feeling, rather than trying to push it aside to make way for sleep. It doesn’t fight your grip either, winding around your mind and soul. Lighting a fire that grows until it burns like an inferno. Your nightdress suddenly so restrictive and tight, pulled off a bit frantically and tossed aside. Flopping back onto the pillows, watching the flickering candle light dance on the ceiling. Conjuring up the image of his face. Those mismatched eyes, glittering mischeiviously. The small, nervous smile. His eyebrows coming up in the middle, worried that he’s made a misstep.

“Scusami, sorella.” His hands on your hips. Gripping in earnest this time. Gripping so tight you know it will leave marks. Pinning you to the shelves. More than his robes brushing your backside. You can feel how hard he is, even through all of the fabric. “sii una brava ragazza con Papa…”

One hand grips your pillow and the other reaches down, spreading yourself open for him. Dripping wet already at just the thought. What’s worse, you wonder, the days when his trousers are so tight against his skin that you barely need to undress him with your eyes, or the days when his robes hide it all away, denying you the opportunity to bask in his glory? Not that it’s much trouble for your imagination.

Don’t rush, you think to yourself. No matter how much tension the release will take with it. Languid strokes and a few light moans. Fingers slipping inside to stretch yourself a little as your eyes flutter closed. “Papa…” His name whispered like a prayer. Despite your best intentions, picking up speed. Hips responding in kind.

It pales in comparison to having him there with you. But, Satanas, even this is good. The smell of his cologne and the feeling of his hands on your hips. That soft, husky whisper and the awkward smile.

“Papa…” you moan, a little louder. Losing track of yourself. Lost in the vision of him, in your own pleasure. Surely you won’t be the first one to be heard from the hall, naming their own pleasure, calling out to Satan, crying out in wordless ecstasy.

The thunder builds to a deafening roar in your ears and your legs shake from trying to hold back. His face floating before you… not Papa. Copia. Only the dark, informal make-up left around his eyes. That little moustache you loved so much. Imagining the soft, tickling scratches of it on your thighs.

“Oh, Satanas… Copia…” Your moan begging, pleading for things your know you can’t have. Silly dreams of a foolish person. Desperate to hold the heavens in their hands no matter how unworthy they are of such perfection. “Copia…. Please…. Copia…..”

The crescendo builds, rushing toward you fast and merciless. So close. And then…

“eh-heh…”

You freeze. It must have been your imagination. It must have because any other explanation isn’t possible.

“Scusami, sorella.” No, no, no… Your eyes snap open and you look with dread at your door. Open just wide enough for him to poke his head in. Those mismatched eyes devouring you, even from there. But his expression says he might bolt if you react badly to his presence.

You pull your hand away, blushing deeply and looking mortified. How in hell did he hear you in the middle of the night? In the dorms? If this is the answer to your prayer, clearly the Dark Lord is having a good chuckle at your expense. You shift quickly, trying to regain some dignity.

“I… I thought I heard someone calling my name.” He offers as explanation. “I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes wandering helps clear the head. And then… In the hall… I hear my name…”

Satanas, take me. Open the earth and consume me whole. I beg you. What could you possibly say about what he heard? You can’t look Papa in the eye and, what? Tell him you haven’t been able to think or eat or sleep all day because you were tormented by the thought of him grabbing you by the hips and fucking you against the library shelves until your legs wouldn’t hold you up any more?

“F-forgive me, Papa… I never meant… I didn’t…. I shouldn’t have…” Fool, fool, fool. No wonder he looks at you that way, like he’s at a loss for words. You almost want to sob. Leaning forward until you’re bent double. Sitting on your knees and bowed with your forehead pressed to the bed. “Forgive me, Papa. I am not worthy. I will accept any punishment.”

You hear the swishing of robes, the faint tapping of leather shoes on tile, but don’t dare to look up. What must he think of you? Hearing his name on your lips, knowing you’d take such liberties? You half expect a slap. But the bed shifts under his weight and there’s his cologne again, mixing with the familiar smell of your bed linens. You almost flinch when a warm, gloved hand touches your shoulder.

“Sorella,” his voice is soft and deeper than your accustomed to. “Why would you hide from your Papa? Hmm? Come now, please, look at me.”

There is nothing you would deny him. Nothing. But, Satanas, that request is a difficult one. It takes a monumental effort to meet his gaze. Not the one you know best, the awkward, unsure look. No, he stares at you with such intensity and focus, your soul is laid bare before him. Like staring directly into the sun.

“Ah, that’s better.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “Now, Sorella, tell me… What horrible crime am I forgiving? Or punishing, as the case may be?”

He wants you to say it. You can see the mischief starting to creep into his smile. A little teasing quirk to the brow. “I… I never meant for you to… to hear me.”

“No?” The corner of his lips twitches, giving away his effort to hold back a giggle. Papa leans closer as you freeze in place. His voice is barely a breath next to your ear. “If that is true, tesoro, you really should try to keep your voice down. I heard you from the end of the hall.”

You can feel how red your face is. Spreading down your neck and onto your chest. “Papa, I…”

He tuts softly. “So formal now?” Not even masking his amused grin. “It was Copia only moments ago.”

His smile vanishes so suddenly, it may have never been there. Concern and panic rushing in to fill the void. You almost start to ask what happened before he cups your cheek. Gently, tenderly wiping away the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. “I tease, I tease. I take it too far.” He curses himself with a mix of Latin and Italian, to fast for you to catch it all. The confidence you saw in him evaporating with the smile, leaving behind the unsure, nervous man you know much better. “Forgive me, please, sorella. You owe me no apology, no penance… but, now look. I am the monster. I intrude, I embarrass you, and now I make you cry. Please, your Papa is a fool. Just an old fool.”

Your hand catches his, still cupping your cheek. Holding him there. Looking back into those eyes, so full of worry. “You are no fool, Papa. And certainly no old fool. I only thought you would be so… insulted… that I would…” You can’t say it. Not to him. Not now. “That I had trespassed so inexcusably.”

He relaxes, just a little. Taking a calming breath. It seems you’re not the only one to overreact. There’s even the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. “Trespass? Not at all. Actually… I was flattered. Surprised, but flattered.”

That confession catches you so unprepared, you forget just how very naked you are before him. Sitting up to look him in the eye as if he just claimed the sky is green and the grass is blue. “Surprised? You must be joking.”

But he shakes his head in earnest. “Sorella, look at me. I know I am Papa now, but I’ve never been a favourite of… well… anyone.” He chuckles a little sadly. “Perhaps you think of our sorely missed former Papa, hmm? They all love Terzo.”

You’ve never been much good at coming to your own defence. It always feels so insincere. But to come to the defence of another? Of Papa himself? No force on earth or in hell will stop you. You sit up a little straighter, finding that confidence. “It wasn’t Terzo’s name I was calling. You said so yourself. It was your name echoing off my ceiling and down the halls.”

He looks you in the eye, unflinching in the face of that certainty. He doesn’t argue either. “You want me to… leave you to your imagination, Sorella?”

“No!” You curse yourself for the desperation in your voice and again for the way your hand grips his like he might vanish. “No… please…”

His eyebrow creeps up. “You want me to… stay?”

“Only if… if you want to, Papa.”

The small smile grows a little wider. “Only if you call me Copia again, Tesoro.”

You reach for his cheek, unthinkably bold, stopping just short. “… May I… Copia?”

His chin dips ever so slightly, pupils dilating, a flush creeping up just above his collar. “Si.”

The dusting of stubble after a long day tickles your palm as you cup his cheek. He leans into your touch. His formal paint makes him look like such an impressive, imposing figure. But right now, in this moment, you’re relieved to see him as he actually is. It’s so much easier to see him as Copia like this. Not the office he holds, but the man.

“May I ask…” He opens one eye just enough to see you. “How long have you been sinning, Sorella, with my name on your lips?”

This man will be the death of you. You’ve never been so sure of anything in your life. But you’re not complaining either.

“From the first day I laid eyes on you.”

His eyes snap open and his gapes at you. “Non mentiresti a Papa, vero?”

“Never. On my life.”

“And you never said anything?” You can’t tell if that doubt or hurt in his tone.

“How could I?” It’s a feeble argument. Still, it’s the one you have. “I’m… no one. You are Papa.”

He waves the notion away like a fly and snorts. “I hold the office of Papa. I am Copia. Nothing more. Just a man.”

“Just?” You lean a little closer. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I can’t imagine that you are just anything.”

The first kiss is so soft, so quick, it’s barely there. And even that sends a rush of goosebumps down your arms. But he’s not going to let you get away so easily. Leather gloved hand grabbing the back of your head and holding you steady. His mouth claims yours with a desperation you hadn’t seen from him before. Any will power you had left, keeping you restrained is ripped away by his eagerness. Your lips part for him and as your tongue finds his, a deep, longing sound rumbles in his chest. If you weren’t already sitting, you’d have needed a chair.

He pulls away first, trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Speaking softly against your skin. “Do you know, tesoro, how long I have been watching you? How often I have lost sleep, lying awake, thinking of you?” The hand not firmly holding your head in place slowly moves up your side. Making your breath hitch as it cups your breast, testing its weight. Rubbing circles around a hard pink nipple until he hears a soft, desperate moan from you. “You’ve been so cruel to your Papa. Leaving him in such anguish, when all along I could have had more than my daydreams.”

His teeth find your shoulder. Biting just hard enough to make you hiss and to leave a mark you’re sure will have deepened by morning. Your own hands starting the seemingly endless task of undoing the maddening number of buttons down the front of his cassock. No matter how good he looks in it, now is not the time for so much fabric to get past.

“If I may, it would seem to me that you have been very cruel to me. I didn’t think you knew who I was, much less that you were interested. Today, in the library, I think may have been only the second or third time you’ve ever touched me.” You tease lightly. No need to go saying the wrong thing before you’ve even gotten started.

He sits back to look at you and you worry even that may have been too far. But he pouts at you theatrically. “You’re right. I have been so very cruel, haven’t I? To leave you with no hope whatsoever. How can I make it up to you, hmm? Name it. Anything.”

You look at him seriously for a long moment, considering your options. Anything is a very big offer. Especially coming from him. “There’s only one thing I want right this minute.”

“Anything, tesoro. Anything.” His hands cup your breasts, catching each nipple between a thumb and forefinger. Pinching softly and rolling them just enough to make you squirm. “I am yours to command. Body and soul.” Not that he’s making it easy. Leaning closer and taking one nipple between his lips. Giving a gentle suck and flicking his tongue against it. Dragging a deeper, needier moan from your very core.

“You are… Overdressed… Papa…” Your hands slide up into his hair, breath hitching as he works ungodly magic with his tongue.

He pulls off your nipple with an obscene pop and smiles mischievously. “Is that all? You’re sure?”

“For now.”

“Your wish is my command.” His practised hands were much faster with his cassock. Folded neatly and hung over the back of your chair. Underneath, his black shirt and trousers were immaculate, his leather shoes polished to a shine. His office certainly came with a few perks. Notably someone dedicated to his laundry service and another on polishing duty. Not that any of it mattered to you. Not right then. Without the excess fabric to hide so much of him, the real point of interest was finally, clearly, visible. Straining at the front of his trousers, desperate to break free.

You shift to the edge of the bed, letting your feet hang over the edge. One crooked finger and he moves closer, looking down at you curiously. His fingers trace your jaw, tilting your head back just a little.

“Così bello…” He purrs softly.

His voice melts you. A talent that has nearly been your undoing more than once, sitting through his sermons. Bow your head in prayer, Sister, so they won’t see the way you bite you own fingers to keep from embarrassing yourself. You look back up at him with a smile on your lips and hunger in your eyes. The game in this room seems a little more evenly matched.

“Satanae gloria, qui talem thesaurum dat servo tuo humili. dignus non sum tanta majestate.” You chant your prayer as you would before the Great Altar. Staring into the eyes of the Dark Lord’s First Servant. Watching his eyes widen and his lips part. Feeling the rush of fire in your veins as a wordless moan escapes him, even as his cheeks flush deeply.

“Cara mia… my ego…” He chuckles breathlessly. “I don’t know if it will ever recover.”

Your hands are already busy loosening his belt. “I am willing to take that risk.”

One hand pauses as the buckle falls aside, running down the front of his trousers. Feeling him pressed against the material. Copia takes a sharp breath as your fingers trace around him. The button at his waist is so tempting. One move and you can let him loose. But… where is the fun in that?

It’s impossible to miss his little pout when your hands move past his waistband and up to his collar. Carefully undoing each button, one at a time. Savouring every inch of skin revealed. If your own torment waiting is bad, his can only be worse. To his credit, he keeps still, hands behind his back. Though you can hear the soft squeak of his leather gloves as his fists clench tighter. Though you’re sure your wickedness will come back to bite you later, the temptation is just too great. Pausing to tease your fingers through his chest hair as it’s revealed. A dusting across his chest, trailing down, leading you to the real treasure.

The final button yields and you push his shirt open wide. Behind his back, you can hear him fiddling with something. Almost as you start to ask what’s distracting him, he drops his arms to his sides, cuffs loose, and lets the shirt slide from his shoulders and drop to the floor behind him. His cheek flush a little and he looks at you, searching for… something in your expression. Disappointment? Unhappiness? Disapproval? But finds none. Only the same eagerness and hunger, the sense of awe and desire. Your hands taking a moment to explore his skin, tracing the patterns of his hair. His eyes slide shut, but his lips stay parted, breathing with forced calm.

Right up until your mouth meets the soft, warm skin of his belly. Just enough fluff there to create some give. Copia’s fingers tangle in your hair as you shower his stomach and chest with kisses. Another soft moan as your hands smooth over his sides and around his back, pressing him just a little closer. Shameless in your desire. As eager in your devotions as you have ever been before the Altar.

“Copia…” You moan his name the way you’ve moaned it countless times before. Thinking of this, dreaming of it, so sure it would never be yours. Breathing in the smell of his cologne mixing with the true smell of him just beneath it. More earthy and warm, lingering notes of coffee and his personal soap. “Tu es perfectum...”

He’s waited long enough, and been so very patient. The button of his trousers pops open satisfyingly and the only sound in your small room is the sound of his shaky breath and the soft hum of the zipper being lowered. You hook your fingers in his waistband and ease his trousers down lower. A smile lighting up your face as his cock breaks free of its most cruel prison.

“May I?” You ask again. Licking your lips eagerly.

One hand cups under your chin and his eyes bore into yours, a man dying of thirst laying eyes on an oasis. “Please, cara mia. Please.” He breathes, almost begging.

Your mouth brushes against his stomach again, following the trail of dark hair down. Kissing one hip and then the other. Finally glancing up at him, pink tongue poking out between your lips, you run the tip of your tongue delicately through the beads of moisture forming at the head of his cock. That one movement earns you the pleasure of his shuddered breath. The flat of your tongue runs drags over his head, lapping up the rest of the pre-cum that has leaked out while he waited.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Your voice is soft and you look up with big, doe eyes. His breath hitches, and the hunger in his eyes burns white hot. Copia takes half a step back, opening enough space for you to slide off the bed and onto your knees before him. “It has been three days since my last confession.”

“Only three?” He lifts his hand up, biting the finger of his leather glove and pulling it free. His bare fingers comb through your hair, sending a shiver down your spine. “What terrible sins have you committed these last three days, Sorella?”

“I have lusted, Father. In thought… and in deed…” Oh how I have lusted. You lean a little closer, pressing a soft kiss on the head of his cock. Watching the muscles of his stomach twitch in an effort to maintain composure. “Each day, more than the last.” Another kiss, just below his red, swollen head. “Worse still, Father… I have lead another into sin with me.” And another, moving closer and closer toward the base. “He consumes my thoughts, Father. To have the taste of him on my tongue…. To feel his flesh on my own... For him to drive himself deep into me until I can only cry his name... To have him fill me to bursting…” His breathing looses its careful rhythm and when you catch his eye again, there are small beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

“Do you repent your sins, Sorella?” He says a little shakily.

A wicked smile spreads across your face and you shake your head. “Satanas infernum, no. I do not repent, father. I cannot.” You lift your hands and lay them on his strong thighs, massaging the muscles. One hand coming up to grip him tightly. Hard and hot and eager for you. Twitching as you swirl your tounge around his head, carefully pressing your lips down around him. His hips press forward and his hand in your hair urges you closer, but you hold steady. Lapping at his slit. Greedily taking every drop he’ll give you. Dragging a desperate sound from him when you pull away again. “I cannot repent, Father, for I plan to sin again. And again. And again. I plan to sin as long and as often as you’ll have me.”

Just as he opens his mouth to answer, your lips are around him again. Taking him in deeply, all at once. Letting his aching cock fill your mouth. Revelling in the sound the sudden move drags from him. Whatever he meant to say, lost entirely.

It takes a moment for him to catch his breath and regain his composure. There was a game to play, wasn’t there? And he couldn’t have it be said he failed in his duty. “Well, Sorella...” Copia looks down at you, watching you take him in deeply, feeling every move of your tongue. Even his daydreams don’t compair. “If you won’t repent... I fear, my hands are tied.”

You release him from the heat of your mouth and look up at him with a sad little pout. “Are you certain, Papa? There is nothing I can do?” Your tongue flicks against the head of his cock. “I would do...” Another flick. “Anything...” And another. “Anything you ask...” And another. “Copia...”

“Anything?”

The smile that plays on your lips is sly even if your eyes are all innocence. “Nomen illud, et fiet. Servus tuus sum, Papa.”

He hums thoughtfully, crooking a finger under your chin to consider. His voice takes on that deeper tone again. “In that case... I think you’d better stand for Papa.” He offers a hand. Game or not, Copia knows very well how hard the tile floor can be on the knees.

The pain was easier to ignore when you were kneeling. Back on your feet, your knees burn terribly. Knowing it’s in service to him, however, it feels like a blessing. A thought to save for the next time you’re left to scrub the chapel floor by hand as punishment.

He takes a step back, drinking you in. His other glove joins the first, discarded and forgotten immediately. No more barriers tonight. Holding out his hand and swirling his finger in a circle, the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Turn for me.”

It’s an order but a gentle one. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, complying immediately. Turning slowly on the spot, so he may look at his leisure. His breathing is heavy as you turn your back to him and by the time you’ve turned around completely, he’s taken himself in hand. Satanas help me… Watching his slow, languid strokes leaves your knees weak. But, Papa didn’t say stop. One more slow turn and when you’re faced away, his voice breaks the silence.

“Stop.”

It’s torturous knowing he’s there, so close, and to turn away. You might have whimpered, but his steps move closer and his warm breath is on your shoulder. One finger carefully moving your hair to one side to make room for his kisses. Down the back of your neck and across your shoulder. Pausing only when a needy sound escapes you.

“You want me to bless you, Sorella?” He punctuates his sentence with another kiss.

Your voice shakes and it seems pointless to try to hide it. “Yes, Papa.”

“But you refuse to repent?” There is a smirk in his voice you don’t even have to see.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Then there is really only one option.” His lips rest against your shoulder and his free hand snakes around to rest on your belly.

“Tell me? Please?” If you turn your head, just a little, you can see his brown hair. The dusting of silver at the temples. The black that rings his eyes.

“You might be saved yet, if… you are filled with the Holy Spirit.” There’s an edge to his voice, somewhere between aroused and amused.

Why must he make it so difficult to stay serious? And why must it be so damned adorable when he does this? It’s an effort to keep from giggling, but the smile is impossible to banish. “And you would do this for me, Papa?”

“It is my duty, Sorella. But first… I must see if you are ready. In both body and soul.” His lips part and his teeth leave another mark on your shoulder. His warm hand drifting over your bare skin, pressing himself into your back. A single finger first, sliding between your lips, finding what feels painfully obvious – you are more than ready. Positively dripping with anticipation. Even the light brush of his finger makes your breath catch, pressing your backside into him the way you wanted to in the library.

Another finger joins the first, taking one slow pass over your clit, driving all of the air from your lungs. Your head drops back, resting on his shoulder as you stare at the ceiling. This… this is the penance you earned with making him wait. Accepted happily. Fingers part for the next pass, just enough to stimulate each side at once, trapped between. Not stopping where the cluster of nerves peaks out, sensitive and waiting, but following along the whole length, lying hidden (and often ignored) just beneath the surface. His nimble fingers stroke along either side like no one has ever done before. Like you didn’t think possible. Banishing every other thought from your mind and dragging a deep, guttural moan from the very depths of your soul. So utterly shameless and pure, you hear his soft chuckle next to your ear.

“Even in my wildest fantasies, cara mia, you never made such beautiful sounds for me…” His voice is so very soft, so unexpectedly gentle. “Will you stop fighting me now, hmm? For who will take care of who?”

It’s so hard to focus on the words with his fingers working you like that. Pressed against him and certain that if he weren’t holding you up, you’d already be a puddle on the floor. Doubly so when it dawns on you from his movements that his other hand is still stroking his own desperate need, in time with how he strokes you.

“I was the one who intruded here, mio angelo. Interrupted, so rudely.” You would argue that no one on earth had ever been more welcome, if he hadn’t stolen your voice with the dark magic he’s cast with those fingers. “The least I can do is take care of you, no?”

He nuzzles your jaw with his nose, leaving soft, tender kisses where his last bite is already darkening. Taking your shuddered gasp and desperate whimper as agreement. “Next time I will submit to your care. You have my word. I will let you take care of Papa. But tonight…” he hums deeply, fingers and fist stroking faster.

“Copia takes care of you.”

[horizon-verizon]

Why do you think they made Aemond a victim of sexual assault as a young 13 years old boy and by an older woman no less? I'm talking about the brothel scene in 1x09 in which he recalls Aegon taking him there when he was 13. Is this some sick way for the writers to establish his future interest in Alys who is also much older than him? Maybe this is another reason why certain parts of the fandom find it hard to believe that he would ever be capable to take a woman as his war prize and it is because he was a victim himself, although being a victim and a perpetrator are not mutually exclusive things.

HotD Episode 9 Scene referred to:

Aemond: Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my 13th name day. It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was. At least that's what I understood him to mean.

Criston: I don't follow.

Aemond: He said, "Time to get it wet."

Criston: Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence. (to the Woman) Sometime last night, we misplaced our drinking companion. Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts. And describe him. That is a delicate matter. You see, the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon. I may trust, I hope, in the discretion of your trade.

Woman: The Prince is not here. Has he been here? Earlier, perhaps? Quite a bit earlier. Years ago, in fact.

Criston: But more recently?

Woman: He does not frequent the Street of Silk. His tastes are known to be... less discriminating.

Criston: Meaning what?

Woman: I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend. (to Aemond) How you've grown.

Aemond: Hmm.

I would put the major fault of Aemond getting close to a sex worker on his brother Aegon than the sex worker.

As for the specific woman in the scene you're talking about, I think because of this very fact of Aegon's male privilege and status as prince, that that woman was supposed to tease or mock Aemond, seeing how Show!Aemond was so....reluctant to acknowledge her? Is that the right word for this?

But to actually answer the question, yes this is absolutely a way for the writers to set up his relationship with Alys Rivers...

Even though it is very clear that even though Alys is around a little like 20 years older than Aemond in the book, she would have been violently raped or murdered (and a person in her position would have felt this was a strong possibility) if she had seriously resisted Aemond -- the boy-man with fighting skills trained into him since he was at least 10, a foul temper (book version), too up in his own privilege, and a whole ass army behind him. Alys was his war prize, his "reward" and "claim" of power.

For the writers to then show this encounter to emphasize Aemond's vulnerability and show none of, or reduce his evil (in several other ways that I wrote about) is to rewrite and victimize him into an accountable-lessness state. They should not be mutually exclusive, but the show, by god, will make it seem that way.

You will hear green stans telling everyone that we should feel sorry for Aemond getting preyed on by his own war prize, uwu, and how this is still somehow such a morally positive romantic relationship at the same time.

So "we" (they) hated Daemon for supposedly grooming Rhaenyra, but not Aemond for raping a woman because we think that her being older than him changes everything. That his being a prince, a warrior, having a dragon, having killed every single male Strong (adults and children) himself publicly in front of all the survivors, and an army does not matter at all.

This is similar to what happened to the Criston-Rhaenyra thing where people totally discounted how Rhaenyra, being a woman, has less advantages even as heir, Viserys actually being Criston's authority, AND Criston actually had more room to say no than a woman in his position. Because no woman of any class or religion ever was and is not a Kingsguard (since women can't even be knights).

By the way, love that Criston says that all women should be respected and are "images of the Mother" and talks to the woman in the scene as if he does respect her (except the "fine establishment" part) yet in episode 6, he calls Rhaenyra a "cunt" in front of Alicent, freely.

So there is a loose condition on his "respect" for women. some women are more "sacred" than others. Rhaenyra chose to have extramarital sex and had children out of it, who are all great people, yet he thinks she is a "cunt" and a slut. This woman that he speaks to in episode 9 is clearly a sex worker, and while there's nothing morally wrong with being a sex worker, this is not the modern era where we're loosening judgment and this is not a man who has any sort of compassion for people who his society marginalizes or vilifies.

Hypocrites stay hypocrites.