#ill never pretend otherwise

[starlooove]

I feel like when ppl say tim is neglected it makes his story more boring but I also acknowledge my interpretation of it is like. More ‘what feelings would make sense based on what happened’ as opposed to ‘how can I justify the abandonment issues I see everyone else saying he has?’

[madaracore]

[natsaffection]

LITERALLY COMING HERE BECAUSE I SOMEHOW COOKED UP AN IDEA?????

Small request that Nat is bestfriends with y/n’s dad. Like a litttleee age gap, like y/n is 21 and Nat is older in her 30’s or early 40’s (practically leaving it up to you) but readers dad is still protective and had to leave the house due to a relative getting sick. Asking Nat to come watch over y/n, yet the two of them dance around each other with harmless teasing and flirting but they both know that they’re attracted to each other but fear that it isn’t right. Gives Nat a PERFECT opportunity to love y/n like she always wanted to.

could be g!p Nat if you want, leaving that up to you too but like I’ve BEEN feasting on your smut recently

Never say Never. | N.R

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI!, Age Gap! (N=41 | r= 21), G!P Nat, sniffling on Pantys, fingering, Loss of virginity, unprotected Sex, soft to rough sex, hot talking trough, begging and overstimulation

Word count: 6,8k

A/n: Well..A small request quickly became Six thousand words. I added another request, so it's actually two..Hope you two Anons dont mind! But otherwise I wouldn't follow, there are eight more waiting for me.🫶🏼 🧎🏻‍♀️

You sat on the couch, half-heartedly listening to the conversation while scrolling through your phone, pretending not to notice your father’s growing tension. He had been on edge since the call from his sister, who lived a few hours away. A sudden illness had thrown the family into turmoil, and now he was preparing to leave on short notice.

"I know, I know.." he said into the phone, his voice tinged with worry. "But I can’t just leave her here alone." You playfully rolled your eyes. "Dad, I’m 21. I think I can manage a few days on my own."

Your father shot you a look that was half serious, half affectionate. "I know you can take care of yourself, but I’d feel better if someone was here to keep an eye on you. You know how much I worry."

Before you could continue arguing, he returned to his call, his voice softening as he spoke. "Natasha, are you sure? It’s very last-minute."

Your ears perked up at the mention of Natasha’s name. She had been your father’s best friend for years. They met in the military and had remained close ever since. You had always admired Natasha’s strength and confidence, not to mention her striking looks. She was older, yes, but that only made her more appealing in your eyes. Not that you would ever admit that out loud, especially not to her.

But the thought of Natasha staying with you while your father was away sent a wave of excitement through you, one you quickly tried to suppress. Natasha was practically like family, and besides, it was impossible that someone like her could ever see you as more than her best friend’s daughter.

"Yeah, she’s home," your father said now. "if you could come over, that would be great. I’d feel a lot better if you were here." Your heart skipped a beat. Tonight. Natasha was coming over tonight. Oh god..

After a few more words, your father ended the call and turned to you with a small smile. "Natasha’s on her way. She’ll be here soon, and I’ll head out once she arrives." You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral. "That’s fine, Dad. But honestly, you didn’t have to worry so much." Your father laughed and ruffled your hair as he walked by. "I can’t help it. It’s my job."

As the minutes passed, you grew increasingly restless. You weren’t exactly sure why the thought of Natasha coming over made you so nervous. You’d spent time with her before, but this time was different, being alone with her in the house, especially now that you were old enough to understand the fluttering feelings that her presence stirred in you.

When the doorbell finally rang, your pulse quickened. Your father opened the door and greeted Natasha warmly as she stepped inside. You stayed in the background, taking her in. Natasha was dressed casually, but even in a simple leather jacket, she exuded confidence and grace, her green eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place.

"Hey." Natasha greeted you in her soft voice, smiling. There was something in the way she looked at you that made your stomach do a little flip. But you quickly pushed it aside, reminding yourself that Natasha was just being friendly.

"Hi." you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "Thanks for coming over."

"No problem." Natasha said, her gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary before she turned to your father. "I’ve got everything under control here. You can go take care of your sister." Your father nodded, relieved. "Thanks, Nat. I owe you one."

After a few more words of reassurance, your father grabbed his bags and headed out, leaving the house in an eerie silence. You stood uncertainly in the living room, not sure what to say now that it was just the two of you.

Natasha was the first to break the silence. "So, what’s the plan for tonight?" she began, her tone light but with a teasing undertone. "Are we going to throw a wild party, or are you more of a Netflix and chill type?"

You laughed, some of the tension easing. "Definitely Netflix and chill. But you get to pick the movie." Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Dangerous move, letting me choose. I have very specific tastes."

There it was again..that teasing, almost flirtatious tone that made your heart beat faster. You couldn’t tell if Natasha was just playing with you or if there was more behind those words. But either way, you found yourself firing back "I can handle it." you said with a grin. "Bring it on."

As you both settled on the couch, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at Natasha. You knew you shouldn’t let your thoughts wander, but it was hard not to when she was sitting so close, her body warm and inviting. And it didn’t help that she occasionally, whether accidentally or on purpose, brushed against you, sending a shiver down your spine each time.

As the movie started, you tried to focus on the screen, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the woman next to you. Natasha had, of course, chosen an action film, but you found it hard to follow the plot when every little movement Natasha made seemed amplified in the quiet room.

Natasha, on the other hand, was having similar difficulties. She could feel your presence beside her, so close that your legs almost touched. Occasionally, you would shift, briefly brushing against her, and Natasha had to fight to keep her attention on the movie. She knew she shouldn’t think about you this way, not when she was supposed to be the responsible adult here, but it was difficult to push those thoughts away and this was dangerous territory, Natasha knew that.

"So, is this your favorite type of movie?" you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Your tone was half teasing, but there was also a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice. Natasha turned to you, a slight smile playing on her lips. "What can I say? I like things that get the adrenaline pumping."

You raised an eyebrow, catching the double meaning in Natasha’s words. "Is that so?" you replied, your tone equally playful. "I would have pegged you as more of a rom-com type."

Natasha laughed, shaking her head. "Only if they’re really good or really bad. I’m talking cheesy, predictable plots, over the top romance stuff that makes you cringe and laugh at the same time." You smiled, liking the idea that Natasha secretly enjoyed something so cheesy. "I’ll keep that in mind for next time."

"Next time?" Natasha’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Are you already planning another movie night?"

"Maybe.." you said, leaning back into the couch, feeling a bit bolder now. "If you don’t mind hanging out with someone my age.." You want to risk it.

Natasha’s smile faltered briefly, the reminder of your age difference bringing the nagging doubts back to the forefront of her mind. She knew it was hard to ignore, but the reality of the situation was difficult to overlook. She was older, more experienced, and you were still so young..young enough to be her friend’s daughter.

"I don't mind," Natasha said after a moment, her voice now softer and more serious. Your heart skipped a beat at Natasha's words. You had thought the same, worried that Natasha might only see you as a child. But the fact that Natasha acknowledged it and was still sitting here with you gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, you weren't the only one with these feelings.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, but the air between you was still charged with unspoken words. You played with the thoughts again and couldn't shake the fear that it was wrong, that Natasha would never see you as anything more than the daughter of her best friend. The age difference was not just a number, it seemed like an almost insurmountable barrier.

Natasha, on the other hand, had similar thoughts. She had noticed how you moved closer, the subtle shifts in your body language, and it was driving her crazy. Part of her wanted to reach out, pull you into her arms, and see where the night would take you. But the other part? The part that knew better held her back. She couldn't simply ignore the fact that you were young, that you had your whole life ahead of you, and that a relationship with someone like her could complicate things in ways neither you nor she was prepared for.

"So," Natasha finally said, "if you don't like action movies, what do you like?" You hesitated, your mind racing with a thousand different answers, most of which had to remain unspoken. Eventually, you settled on a safe answer, though your tone was still playful. "I guess I like movies that have a bit of everything. action, romance, maybe a little mystery. Something that keeps you on your toes." Natasha nodded, her gaze intense as she looked at you. "Sounds like you enjoy a good challenge."

"I do." you replied, holding her gaze. "But I also like it when things surprise me..you know, when something happens that you don't see coming."

There was a moment of silence as Natasha processed your words, wondering if there was a deeper meaning behind them. Aaand that was the moment you realized that the conversation was moving beyond mere fun and flirting. But now, as Natasha sat quietly, her expression unreadable, you felt a wave of doubt wash over you.

Had you gone too far? Was Natasha uncomfortable? The last thing you wanted was for things to get awkward between the two of you, especially when you weren't even sure if Natasha felt the same way you did. The silence dragged on, and your confidence began to waver. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and embarrassment started to creep in. Maybe Natasha was just trying to think of a way to gently turn you down, to remind you that the age difference was something that shouldn't, or couldn't happen.

Needing to escape the tension you had unintentionally created, you cleared your throat and forced a small smile. "I, um..I think I'll go take a shower." You stood up, hoping Natasha wouldn't notice the slight trembling in your hands as you picked up your phone from the table.

"Sure." Natasha said, her voice calm, but there was an undertone you couldn't quite place. "I'll be here." You nodded, a quick, tense smile on your lips before you turned and headed to the bathroom. As you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. You were probably overthinking the situation.

But still, the doubt lingered as you undressed and stepped under the shower, letting the warm water flow over your body. You hoped the shower would help clear your mind, push aside the awkward tension you felt, and maybe even help you figure out what to do next. But instead, your thoughts kept circling back to Natasha, her eyes, the way she had looked at you so intensely, the softness in her voice when she mentioned the age difference..

You wanted to believe that there was something there, that Natasha might not be as indifferent as you had feared. But every time you thought about making a move, that fear returned, reminding you that Natasha was older, wiser, and probably only saw you as her friend's daughter. It was complicated, and the last thing you wanted was to make things weird between the two of you.

Natasha was watching as you retreated to the bathroom, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. She had seen how your teasing had backfired on you, the sudden insecurity that had flashed across your face. It was clear that you were second guessing yourself, thinking you might have crossed a line. But Natasha knew better. She had seen the slight blush on your cheeks, the way your voice had faltered when you excused yourself to take a shower. You were nervous, but not in a bad way. You were flustered, and Natasha found herself relishing in that small victory.

After you left the room, Natasha stood up. She began walking through the house, taking in the familiar surroundings. It had been a while since she had been here, and while much of the house remained unchanged, there were small differences like new photos on the walls or different decorations.

As she wandered, her steps led her to the door of your bedroom. It was slightly ajar, and Natasha hesitated for only a moment before pushing it open. The room was warm, the faint scent of your perfume still lingering in the air. Natasha's eyes were instantly drawn to the bed, where a small pile of clothing lay, presumably the ones you had just taken off. Among them, a delicate pair of underwear caught Natasha's attention, and she felt a surge of heat course through her body as she picked up the delicate lingerie. She knew she shouldn't be here, that her thoughts were veering into dangerous territory, but she couldn't resist the pull. Her fingers ran over the soft fabric, and a quiet shiver ran through her body. The familiar scent of you clinging to the clothing sent her senses into overdrive. Natasha closed her eyes briefly, unable to completely ignore the intensity of the moment.

Her breathing became heavier as she brought the underwear closer to her face, inhaling the scent. An internal battle raged within her, between the rational part of her that told her she needed to stop and the unbridled desire that urged her to continue. Natasha felt her self control beginning to crumble, her thoughts wandering to you, standing naked and vulnerable just a room away.

While she was lost in these forbidden fantasies, Natasha didn't notice that you had finished your shower. The world around her blurred, and all she could sense was the scent, the warmth, and the thought of you. Her hand slipped under the waistband of her jeans, and she began to touch herself, lost in the thought of you being with her. As she stood there, lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the bathroom door open. She hadn’t noticed your quiet steps until it was too late.

"Natasha?"

Your voice pulled Natasha out of her reverie, and she turned sharply, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw you standing there, wrapped only in a towel, your wet hair clinging to your shoulders. For a moment, both of you froze, the air between you thick with tension and something far more primal.

Your eyes drifted to the underwear in Natasha's hand, then back to her face, a mix of shock and confusion on your expression. "What are you doing?"

Natasha felt a brief surge of fear, she hadn’t meant to be caught, hadn’t wanted you to see her like this. But as she looked into your wide eyes, a new resolve settled over her. This was the moment she had been waiting for, and she wasn’t going to let it slip by.

She dropped the underwear back onto the bed and slowly walked toward you, her movements deliberate, almost predatory. Instinctively, you took a step back, but you were already too close to the wall, and Natasha knew she had you exactly where she wanted. "Y/n," Natasha said softly, her voice low and commanding, "don’t be afraid."

"I..I’m not afraid.." you stammered, though the slight tremor in your body betrayed your nervousness. Your back touched the wall, and you found yourself cornered between it and Natasha’s imposing figure.

Natasha placed her hands on either side of your head, leaning in close, her breath warm against your cheek. "You don’t have to pretend, you know." she murmured, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. "I can see that you’re nervous."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart racing as Natasha's words sank in. You had been so sure that this was just a game, a bit of harmless flirting that would never go anywhere. But now, with Natasha so close, the reality of the situation was impossible to ignore. "I saw how you looked at me tonight." Natasha continued, her voice rough with intent. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t feel the same way?"

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry as you struggled to find your voice. "I..I didn’t know if you..if you wanted this too.."

Natasha’s eyes darkened, her gaze intensifying as she leaned in even closer, her lips almost brushing against yours. "I want you, but I need to hear it from you. Tell me you want this too."

Your head was spinning, your body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. You had never imagined Natasha would be so bold, so direct. But the truth was, you had wanted this, wanted her..for longer than you cared to admit.

"I..I want this." you finally whispered, your voice shaking but filled with determination. "I want you, Natasha."

A slow, predatory smile spread across Natasha's lips at your confession, and she pressed her body against yours, feeling the warmth of your skin through the towel. "Good girl." she whispered, her voice dripping with approval.

Natasha didn’t waste another second. She captured your lips in a passionate kiss, one that held all the pent-up desire and frustration she had been holding back for so long. You responded eagerly, your hands clutching at Natasha’s, pulling her closer as if you were afraid she might disappear if you let go.

The kiss deepened, and Natasha's hands roamed over your body, feeling you shiver under her touch. She relished the power she had over you, enjoyed making you admit your desires, and now she would make sure you understood exactly what it meant to be wanted by her.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your eyes locking in a silent understanding of what was about to happen. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this." Natasha whispered, her hand sliding down your side, teasing the edge of your towel. "But now that I have you, I won’t be able to hold back."

You shuddered at her words, your eyes widening with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You knew that this night would change everything, but as you looked into Natasha’s eyes, you realized that you didn’t care. This was what you wanted, what you both wanted.

You could barely breathe as Natasha’s lips found yours again, the sensation overwhelming your senses. It was like you were floating, caught between reality and a dream, unable to fully grasp that this was really happening. You had fantasized about Natasha for so long, but you had never believed that your desires would be returned, that Natasha would want you just as much, if not more.

Natasha, on the other hand, was fully aware of every moment, every breath, every tremble that ran through your body. She relished how you shivered under her touch, the soft sighs that escaped your lips as her hands glided over your skin. It had been so long since Natasha had allowed herself to feel this way since she had allowed herself to truly desire someone, and now, with you in her hands, she wanted to take her time. She wanted to savor every moment, to show you how much you were cherished.

Natasha’s hands moved slowly, almost reverently, as she loosened the towel from your body and let it gently fall to the floor. You gasped as the cool air touched your bare skin, but Natasha quickly warmed you again with soft, teasing caresses, her fingers tracing along your sides, over your hips, and across your stomach. Natasha could feel the goosebumps under her fingertips, and it made her smile against your lips, knowing she was the cause of such a reaction.

You couldn’t believe this was really happening, that Natasha was touching you, kissing you, making you feel things you had only ever dreamed of. Natasha sensed your hesitation, your disbelief that this was real. She wanted to push you further, to make you fully embrace the moment, to understand how deep her desire for you was. She wanted to hear it from your own lips, what you wanted, what you needed.

Natasha pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her hand still resting on your hip. “You’re trembling.” Natasha murmured, her voice low and laced with a dangerous sweetness. “Are you scared? Or is it something else?”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you gazed into Natasha’s intense green eyes. You were trembling, but not out of fear, no, this was something entirely different. Something that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to dive into the unknown.

“I’m not scared..” you whispered, your voice shaking but resolute. “Good." Natasha whispered back, her lips brushing against your ear. “Good, because I don’t want you to be afraid. I want you to tell me what you want. I need to hear it from you.”

Your mind was a whirlwind of desire and need, but you struggled to find the right words. It was so much, too much, and yet not enough. “I want you, Natasha. I need you..” you finally managed, your voice trembling with longing.

A triumphant smile appeared on Natasha’s lips, and her hand slid downward to touch you between your thighs. You gasped, your hips instinctively moving toward her touch, your body craving more.

“I know you want it.” Natasha purred, her fingers gently teasing your most sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements. “But that’s not what I asked. I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you. Tell me, Y/n. Tell me exactly what you need.”

Your face flushed with heat, the combination of embarrassment and arousal almost unbearable. But the way Natasha looked at you, the way she touched you, made it impossible to hold back. You wanted this. Wanted Natasha and if that meant giving yourself to her completely, then you would.

“I want you to..to touch me.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Please, Natasha..touch me more.” Natasha’s smile deepened, her eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as she leaned in closer, her lips barely brushing against yours. “Good girl.” she whispered, her voice dripping with approval. “I’m going to touch you. I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

With those words, Natasha moved her hand more purposefully, her fingers sliding between your folds, finding the wetness that made your heart race. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your body responding to every movement, every touch, as if Natasha’s hands were made of pure electricity.

Natasha’s pace was slow, agonizingly slow, her fingers exploring every inch of your body with deliberate care. She wanted to take her time, to push your pleasure to the very edge until you were begging for more. She wanted you to feel completely and utterly at her mercy.

“Does that feel good, Y/n?” Natasha whispered, her breath warm against your neck as she kissed along your collarbones. “Do you like it when I touch you like this?”

“Y-Yes..” you gasped, your hands clutching at Natasha’s shoulders, desperately searching for something to hold onto. “It feels so good..please, don’t stop..”

Natasha chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not going to stop, Detka. Not until I make you feel everything you’ve ever dreamed of.” She increased the pressure, her fingers moving now with more determination, teasing and stroking in a way that made your legs tremble. Your body responded instinctively, your hips rocking in time with Natasha’s movements, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Natasha watched you with a mix of adoration and lust, enjoying the power she had over you, the way she could bring you to the brink with just a few well-placed touches. She could see that you were close, your body tensing, your breath quickening, but Natasha wasn’t done with you yet. She wanted to push you further, to make you beg for release.

“Are you close?” Natasha whispered, her voice dark and commanding. “Do you want to come for me?” You could barely think, your mind a haze of overwhelming pleasure. “Yes!” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Please, Natasha…let me come..!”

Natasha’s smile was sinful as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. “Not yet.. You’ll come when I say so, okay?”

You whimpered, your body trembling with the effort of holding back, teetering on the edge of climax without being able to let go. But Natasha didn’t relent, her fingers continuing their precise, skilled movements, keeping you right on the brink of ecstasy.

“Please, Natasha!” you pleaded, your voice quivering with desperation. “Please..I can’t..I need.."

“Shh.." Natasha whispered, her voice softening just a little. “I know, baby. I know what you need. But I want you to say it again. Tell me exactly what you want.”

Your mind was spinning, the need almost unbearable. You were completely at Natasha’s mercy, and that realization only made your desire burn hotter. “I want you to let me come, Natasha, please, please!”

Natasha’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and she finally gave you what you had been begging for, her fingers moving faster, more decisively, pushing you right over the edge. “That’s it, Y/n.” Natasha murmured, her voice thick with desire. “Come for me. Now.”

With Natasha’s permission, you finally let go, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, more intense than anything you had ever felt before. You cried out, your mind going completely blank as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensation, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. She held you tightly, her fingers still moving, drawing every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body. She whispered soft, soothing words in your ear, her hand gently stroking your back as you came down from your high.

You slumped against the wall, your body exhausted, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could hardly believe what had just happened, how intense it had been, how Natasha had made you feel things you had never imagined. You thought it was over, that this was the end, like in the movies..But then Natasha’s voice cut through the haze, deep and commanding. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyes widened, your heart skipping a beat as you realized that Natasha was still there, still holding you, still touching you. “But..” you stammered, your voice weak. “I thought..”

“You thought that was it?” Natasha’s smile was dark, almost devilish. “Oh no, Detka. I haven’t come yet. And I’m not going to stop until I make you feel everything again.” Your eyes widened, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding your senses. You could feel Natasha’s fingers beginning to move again, this time with more urgency, more determination. The realization that Natasha wasn’t done with you yet, that this was just the beginning, sent a fresh wave of arousal through your already sensitive body.

Natasha watched your reaction closely, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She wanted to push you further, to see how much you could take, how many times she could make you break in her arms. Natasha’s other hand slid up to your neck, applying just the slightest pressure as she tilted your head back so that you could look into her eyes.

"This," Natasha said softly, her voice a whisper as she guided your hand between you. Your eyes widened as you felt it. Hard, throbbing, and undeniably real. Natasha was already rock hard, her erection pressing demandingly against her jeans, and the realization hit you like a wave.

You had fantasized about Natasha, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality. Natasha didn’t just want to touch you.. no she wanted to take you in a way you had never experienced before.

Your eyes flickered back to Natasha's face, filled with a mix of awe and nervous anticipation. "I..I've never.." you began, but your words faltered. Natasha's expression softened, and she raised her hand to gently cup your face. "I’ll be gentle. I want you to feel every moment of this. If you want to stop at any point, just tell me."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. You had always imagined what this moment might be like, but now that it was here, it was both terrifying and thrilling. The way Natasha looked at you, the way she touched you, made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered. And you wanted that, you wanted Natasha to be the one to show you how it could be.

She kissed you gently, tenderly, as she began to unbutton her jeans, her hands steady despite the electric tension that vibrated through her body. You watched as she pushed her jeans and boxers just far enough down to release her erection. Your eyes widened at the sight. "It's okay, Y/n." Natasha whispered reassuringly, her voice gentle as she guided your hand to her, letting you feel her warmth and weight. "We’ll take it slow."

Your fingers closed around Natasha's shaft, the reality of the feeling grounding you in the moment. You marveled at how it felt, how Natasha’s breath hitched slightly as you touched her. It was real, tangible, and you could feel your own arousal rising even more at the thought of what was about to happen.

Natasha watched you, making sure you were comfortable before moving forward. She could see the awe in your eyes, how your breathing quickened, and it only fueled Natasha’s desire further. Gently, she lifted your leg, hooking it around her hip as she positioned herself at your entrance. "Just breathe, baby." Natasha whispered, her voice full of encouragement as she pressed her forehead against yours. "I’ve got you."

You nodded, your heart racing as you felt the pressure of Natasha’s erection at your entrance. Natasha moved slowly, carefully, giving you time to adjust as she began to enter you. You gasped, your fingers digging into Natasha’s shoulders as you felt the pressure, the stretch, the fullness as Natasha entered you for the first time. "It’s okay." Natasha repeated, her voice thick with emotion as she kissed your neck, her hands gently guiding your hips to lead you carefully. "You’re doing so well. Just be a good girl and let me in."

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as Natasha continued to slide into you, your body adjusting to the new sensation. It was intense, almost overwhelming, but there was also something incredibly intimate about it..something that made you feel more connected to Natasha than you had ever felt with anyone before.

When Natasha was fully inside you, she paused, giving you a moment to breathe, to adjust, to feel how perfectly you fit together. "You’re so tight.." Natasha whispered, her voice a mix of awe and desire. "So perfect." You could hardly believe this was real, that Natasha was inside you, filling you, making you feel things you had never imagined.

Natasha noticed the change, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she felt your body begin to respond. "That’s it." Natasha murmured, her voice dark with satisfaction. "You’re starting to feel it, aren’t you?"

Her hands gripped your hips tightly as she began to move, slowly at first, savoring every moment of how your body reacted to each of her thrusts. Your eyes closed, your head fell back against the wall as the pleasure began to build in you again, this time even more intense. Natasha’s movements were slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through your body, lifting you higher and higher.

"Look at me." Natasha whispered, "I want to see you, Y/n. I want to watch you break." Your eyes snapped open, meeting Natasha’s gaze. The intensity in her eyes, the way she looked at you with such passion and adoration, took your breath away. You had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, but at the same time, so cherished. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

Natasha’s pace increased slightly, her thrusts becoming more demanding, insistent. She could feel your body trembling beneath her, your breath coming in ragged gasps and it only drove Natasha’s desire further. "Tell me how it feels." Natasha whispered, her lips brushing your ear as she thrust deeper. "I want to hear it from you."

"It f-feels..incredible.." you gasped, your voice trembling with emotion. "I never..I never thought it could feel like t-this.."

Natasha smiled, her heart swelling with pride and affection. "That’s my girl " she murmured, her voice full of appreciation. "I’m going to make you feel even better.."

You moaned as Natasha’s thrusts became more powerful, more focused, each one bringing you closer to the edge. You could feel the pleasure building in you again, more intense than before, and you knew you were close, so incredibly close.

Natasha felt it too, and she didn’t let up, her hips driving forward with precision, her grip on your hips tightening as she pushed you both higher. "That’s it, Y/n.." Natasha growled, "Come for me. I want to feel you come around my cock."

Your whole body tensed, the pleasure reaching a peak as Natasha’s words pushed you over the edge. With one last, desperate cry, you came, your body clenching around Natasha’s cock, the intensity of the orgasm making you see stars.

But Natasha wasn’t finished yet. She kept moving, giving you no time to recover, driving you through the aftershocks straight into another wave of pleasure. "Oh, no." Natasha whispered, her voice dark and teasing as she leaned in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. "I’m not done with you yet, baby. You’re going to come for me again."

You whimpered, your body trembling under the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. You had never experienced anything like this, had never thought your body could take so much, could feel so much pleasure. But Natasha gave you no choice, and the thought of being pushed even further sent a thrill of excitement through you.

Natasha’s thrusts became more faster, more relentless as she chased her own climax, but she never lost focus on you, never stopped driving you closer and closer to the edge. She wanted to feel you break beneath her, wanted to push you to another peak, to show you how much you were truly capable of feeling.

"N-Natasha..please..." you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation. "I can’t...it’s too much.."

"You can." Natasha whispered, "You can take it. You’re going to come for me again, okay? I want you to milk my cock..f-fuck.."

Natasha could feel her own control slipping, the tight heat of your body driving her closer and closer to the edge. "Look at me." Natasha ordered, her voice sharp as she slowed her thrusts just enough to draw out the moment. "I want to see your face when you come for me one last time."

You forced your eyes open, meeting Natasha’s intense gaze. The intensity in her eyes was almost too much to bear, but you couldn’t look away. You were lost in the storm of Natasha’s desire, your body trembling uncontrollably as you balanced on the edge of another climax. Your whimper sent a shock of satisfaction through Natasha, and she finally let herself go. Her thrusts became faster, more erratic, as she chased her own release, her grip on your hips tightening as she drove you both to the brink.

"I’m going to fill you up.." Natasha growled, her voice rough with impending relief. You could only moan in response, your body so overstimulated that you didn’t think you could survive another orgasm. But Natasha gave you no choice. With one final, brutal thrust, Natasha buried herself deep inside you and let out a deep, guttural groan as she came, her cock pulsing as she filled you with her release.

The sensation of Natasha coming inside you, combined with the intensity of her voice, sent you into another orgasm, your whole body convulsing under the force of it. You screamed Natasha’s name, your voice hoarse and broken as you were completely consumed by pleasure, your body trembling uncontrollably.

Natasha held you tightly, her body still trembling from the intensity of her climax. She continued to move slowly, gently rocking her hips to prolong the sensation, even as your body finally began to relax, your muscles still twitching from the aftershocks of such intense pleasure.

When it was finally over, Natasha leaned forward and kissed you gently, her lips tender against your trembling ones. “God, you were wonderful..” Natasha murmured, her voice softening as she stroked your cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

You could barely respond, your body completely exhausted, but there was a deep sense of satisfaction in your heart.

Natasha carefully withdrew from you, making sure you were comfortable as she released you from the wall. She gently guided you to the bed, your legs feeling weak as you sank onto the soft sheets. You were utterly spent, your body still trembling slightly from the aftermath of the intense experience.

Natasha lay down beside you, gently pulling you into her arms and holding you tightly against her. Your forehead rested on her chest, and you could hear the steady beat of her heart, giving you a sense of safety and comfort.

“Rest, okay?” Natasha whispered softly, her fingers soothingly running through your hair. “I’m here with you.” You nodded weakly, unable to put into words the flood of emotions rising within you. Your body was utterly exhausted, but it was a pleasant fatigue, a deep satisfaction spreading through you.

As you relaxed in Natasha’s arms, you began to slowly drift into sleep, secure in the knowledge that you were safe with her. Natasha continued to hold you close, her touch tender and comforting. She pressed gentle kisses to your forehead as your breathing slowly calmed, and you let yourself sink deeper into the comforting warmth of her embrace.

“I’m so glad you trusted me..” Natasha whispered quietly, almost more to herself than to you, her voice full of affection. “I’ll always take care of you, Y/n.”

With those words, you finally allowed yourself to fully surrender to sleep, wrapped in the secure feeling that you would always be protected and loved in Natasha’s arms. As you fell asleep, the last thing you felt was the gentle embrace and the steady, reassuring beat of her heart beneath your ear. A moment of peace and security that you would keep in your heart forever.

[bratbby333]

your beauty never scared me ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️ suguru geto

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ synopsis: after having your heart broken, your best friend helps you pick up the pieces ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ content + warnings: nsfw + mdni !! fem!reader x suguru, reader was in a toxic relationship + cheated on, fwb!suguru, angst, comfort, smut, unprotected sex ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ word count: 5k (+ a smau!! woo!!) ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ author notes: pink indicates reader's pov, orange is suguru's...inspired by Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green <3 also this was not beta read so pls excuse any typos xx i hope yall enjoy !!

Heartache has its own special way of ruining someone…

...stripping away every ounce of self-respect you work so hard to accumulate. That’s the trouble with letting people in. The outcome is almost always undecided, left in the hands of fate or whatever the hell you believe in. Perhaps it's a moment of weakness, letting a stranger entangle themselves with every fiber of your being, see every inch of your skin, explore the darker parts of your mind– even the things you hide from yourself. Putting trust in the wrong things, the wrong people. Never knowing someone’s true intentions until you discover them in bed, in your bed, with another. When something breaks inside of you, something cynical puts the pieces back together. You are a shell of who you once were. Blame it on soul-crushing character development.

It’s hard to watch the woman you love destroy herself…

...for the sake of holding on to someone who has only ill-intent in their heart. Perhaps it’s best to remove yourself. It’s agonizing, knowing you have the ability to save her from all this. You could relieve her of the heartache, free her from the suffering. Bring her nothing but joy. She has changed, evolved, and is nearly unrecognizable now. You watch as he withers her down into nothing. That man broke her, leaving her to pick up the pieces. And the woman you see now isn’t the same one you knew all those years ago.

The cold air of December flurries around outside as your chest erupts in warmth at the sight of her name illuminating your lock screen. She asks to see you, and you’d be a fool to decline. As she’s sat before you, you take in every part of her that you missed. But she’s different now. Dull eyes, sloping shoulders, her cheekbones are sunken in as her clothes hang from her figure like it's two sizes too big. But it isn’t, you remember the day she bought that t-shirt. The soul that normally inhabits her body has been replaced with something…unrecognizable. You know it’s her, but your mind tells you otherwise. The way her voice lilts from her lips, how chillingly different she sounds while delivering the news, it’s heartbreaking. 

She informs you she won’t be around much, mentioning that it will take time for her to heal from this. You pretend to be supportive of the distance she wants to place between herself and her loved ones, even though it absolutely crushes you. 

There’s something peaceful about loneliness…

…only relying on yourself for company. It can be draining of course. With the few friends you do have, you make the most of it. It’s a serene feeling, private even. People perceive you however they please, but only a few trusted individuals know your ins and outs. It's refreshing. 

God forbid you have to cater to someone else, especially when dating. It's hard enough having to take care of yourself. You make sure your friends know they’re loved and appreciated, of course, but the idea of inviting another person into your life; someone who demands your time and attention in order for it to work out? No thank you. It’s backfired for you many times before, you aren’t willing to go through it again. Your friends have watched you heal from heartbreak after heartbreak, each one more damning than the last. No one blames you for your cynicism, it’s understandable. 

Plus, the emotional upkeep of a romantic relationship is exhausting. And the idea of meeting someone, falling for them, and it not working out in the end? Torturous. Why put yourself through all that?

“You just haven’t found the right one!” 

“They’ll come around when you least expect it!”

“You gotta put yourself back out there!” 

Blah, blah, blah. Not interested. There’s no room for hopeless romance in this ill-fated world. You’re not dealing with that pain anymore. Not if you can help it. 

The trouble with love is that it’s cruel…

…discriminatory, even. Picking and choosing who gets to rejoice in its bliss and simultaneously alienating the unfortunate souls who suffer in its unyielding grip. You attempt to find peace in the silence of her absence, telling yourself that she’s okay, but knowing all too well that her precious heart is still shackled to someone so undeserving. You hold on to the irregular check-in’s you get from her. You hope she’s healing, and you prepare yourself for the outcome; that when she finally returns, she will not be the same person she was. 

Betrayal has a pesky habit of sticking around…

…a lingering feeling that still eats away at you. The night you caught him in his infidelity, something deep within you broke. It wasn’t your heart, no, that would be too simple. It was your psyche, the core of your being. The day he left, a part of you left with him. The chemistry of your brain changed, your atomic makeup shifting toward nihilism. 

So you move through life differently now. Every positive outlook you once had now cast to the wayside, replaced with unyielding suspicion in attempts to keep your heart guarded from the outside world. Hope has finally run out, the idea that there’s good in everyone proven to be a goddamn lie. You shove your desire for love into a padded safe and hide it away on a forgotten shelf in your mind. Hell, you’d burn that obnoxious feeling if you could. Run it through a meat grinder, chuck it into a volcano, nuke it. Doesn’t matter. Anything to stop it from tearing you apart. It’s not like it’s done you any good. Besides, who would want someone as damaged as you?

Part of you feels guilty…

…for sitting idly by, knowing your dear friend was hurting so deeply. But there wasn’t much you could do. You grant her space, knowing she wasn’t given that same courtesy for four years of her life. You pray she returns soon, aware that she doesn’t do well on her own. Her own mind is acting like a prison, holding her hostage, forcing her to relive her pain day in and day out. But, god damn it, you can’t take it anymore. You have been without her for so long. So you reach out, demanding she spend time with you. Self-isolation can only get you so far. It had been months since you’d seen her last. And to your surprise, she agrees.

A spring evening, 65 degrees, the setting sun…

…a gentle breeze that laps at your warm skin as you sit cross-legged on a checkered blanket. The beautiful flowers of May decorate the ground in colorful clusters. The cicadas sing while the bees are busy buzzing around. It’s a strange feeling; coping with the fact that your life has reached rock-bottom, a total stand-still as you work to heal yourself, yet life continues to move, to grow, to thrive. It’s inspiring in a way. You are accompanied by Suguru. He managed to get you out of the house after weeks of rotting away inside, anchored down by the gut wrenching feeling of heartbreak.

Laughter echoes through the park as the two of you revel in the serenity. Life feels…good. Whole. Worth living. It’s been a while since it has felt this way. It shouldn't feel strange, but it does. Happiness has become a foreign concept to you.

Sitting before you is the woman you love…

…the color in her cheeks has returned, the fullness of her face present once more. After suffering through the many months of thunder and unrelenting downpour in her mind, she has bloomed once more. Finally. You couldn’t pull your attention away from her even if you wanted to, your body and mind drawn to her in the most spiritual way. Even though she’s deep in thought, working to take in her surroundings, her beauty is still very much evident. She isn’t even aware of the power she holds– utterly entrancing. You would do anything to live in this moment forever. You’d do anything for her. 

But in this moment…

…with a forgotten feeling of fulfillment creeping its way into your chest as the soft rays of the sun dance across your skin and the sounds of nature swirl through your ears, you realize something. Something so beautiful, yet so fucking terrifying. You love him. Suguru. Maybe it was just your heartache talking, connecting dots that had no business associating. 

You brush it off, hide it away, and chalk it up to just being in a vulnerable moment. Your heart had been torn from your body only a few months prior. Anger still rips through your chest when you think about it. Four years wasted on someone you had placed on the highest pedestal, far higher than you placed your family, your friends…yourself. You were blindsided. In an instant, everything you had come to love, the home you felt safe in, the person you thought you knew…ripped away. Like it was nothing at all. 

Suguru has done what he could to mend the wounds for you, knowing good and well that if you are left to your own devices you would spiral past the point of return. And as renewing as this spring evening is, you know you will never be the same again. 

But you can’t help but fixate on the way he makes you feel. And as hard as you try to push those feelings away, they continue to bubble up. What happens when it finally reaches its boiling point?

You’re only human. You have wants, needs, and desires…

…so who do you turn to for that release? Suguru, of course. Isn’t that what friends are for?

Some would say it’s an evil thing to do; to use someone for pleasure, your own personal gain. A part of you understands that, too. Sure, it may have started out that way, but it’s shifted. And that scares the shit out of you, how you find yourself searching for his validation, the sadness you feel when he leaves in the morning after a night full of fun. So why not tell yourself that you’re just doing what you need to do, rather than what you want to do. Ignoring the fact that deep down you really fucking love it. 

It’s not like you’re taking advantage of him and the bond you share…not really, anyway. The two of you are very close, having known each other for ten years. Side by side, maneuvering through a decade of emotional ups and downs; personal dilemmas, weird family dynamics, terrible relationships, fluctuating hormones and unexpected cast changes within your friend group. But the two of you have always stayed consistent, the main characters. Your personalities mesh well, constantly riffing off one another. Never ending laughter and smiles. He's seen you at your absolute worst and vice versa. The true definition of unconditional love. So why not get a little more from him? After all this time, it feels warranted, well-deserved, even. Ignoring what you feel for him, it just makes sense that this is how it should go down. Plus, if it was such a bad idea, why would he agree?

You would accept her…

…in any way she chooses to present herself to you. After years of watching her hurt, you finally have your friend back, and there isn’t anything you wouldn't do to make her happy. Especially with guilt that you still feel, knowing there was nothing you could have done that would’ve saved her from her suffering. So when she suggests the idea of being friends with benefits, you’d be insane to deny her that. Is it a bad idea? Perhaps. You refuse her offer? She slips away, seeking refuge in the arms of another, someone who could hurt her…Never again.

You crave her so deeply that this arrangement seems perfect. Even though you dread the morning after, not wanting to leave her side…jumping on every opportunity to see her, showering her in praise every time you’re nestled deep within her warmth– the way her eyes light up at your word makes you melt. Is it possible she feels the same way? The more you think about it, the less crazy the idea seems. Would she leave you in the dust if you told her the truth? You don’t want to risk losing her. Not if you can help it. But you can’t confess your underlying intentions. Even though a deep part of you hopes for more, it doesn’t even matter at this point. Hide it. You get to be with her in a way that you never have before, and that’s enough for you…right? 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

It all transpired after one drunken night playing a confessional card game with your friend group. You were shit-faced and horny, and he wasn’t any better off. You’re honestly surprised his dick still worked that night, but god did it work. You didn’t expect it to go any further after that, assuming it was a one-off occasion. The two of you never really addressed what happened, either, didn’t take the time to have a real conversation about it. Just a quick “hey, do you wanna…” followed by an indifferent “yeah, why not?”, and that was that. Which is probably a good thing, because any more talking would have most likely resulted in your true feelings coming to the surface. But it happened, and is still happening, so who are you to complain? It’s perfect.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

Your friends and random on-lookers alike say you’re compatible, and yeah, they might be right, but fuck that. Why risk the friendship you cherish so deeply for a title? That's idiotic. It's borderline insanity. The minute you put a label on something it all comes crashing down. So, why ruin a good thing? 

Don’t overthink it. It’s nothing serious, and it never will be. You refuse to open yourself up to somebody else, someone new. No more getting hurt. You’ve let Suguru into your life in a more meaningful way than you have for anyone else. And that’s far enough.

Does he know every little thing about you? Sure. 

Does he care for your well-being? Yeah. 

Is he attentive, thoughtful, and supportive? Of course…it is Suguru after all. 

But so what? That's what friends are for. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

You and Suguru see each other frequently, at least three times a week, whether it’s just a normal hangout or…a hangout. You just get what you need and go; a good laugh, dinner and a movie, casual drinks, or a heaven-sent dick appointment. You both seem content, enjoying one another’s company and…bodies…and minds and souls. 

Fuck.

It’s hard to ignore your totally natural, human need for deeper intimacy. But you try to, and damn do you try hard. It would probably be best for you to stop hooking up with Suguru and just go back to how things were. 

You can’t go through this. Not again. You’ve already shifted the perfectly normal dynamic you once had into something deeper. Something…real. There’s no turning back now. So you continue to hide behind your ego, fighting off every demon known to man in hopes that this will all just go away. 

You’ve been somewhat successful in suppressing your feelings, molding them into something more manageable. You are best friends, with the addition of benefits. Simple. Nothing more, nothing less. You pretend to be ignorant of Suguru's awe-inspiring beauty. How his energy is absolutely addicting, the way his lingering touch burns your skin so beautifully. He makes you feel seen for everything you are and appreciates you for everything you’re not. That sentiment alone propels you through the unexplored cosmos, crossing the line between reality and nirvana as starlight dances across your skin.

Not to mention, when you two are actually fucking? It's like two parts of the same soul finally meeting after centuries of arduous searching. You don’t know where your body stops and his begins, entangled in the most profound way. 

God. You sound insane. This is no way to view a friend…your best friend, at that. Get it together. 

What would you even call this? Touch starved? No, he touches you plenty…and in all the right places, too. Is it desperation? Your insatiable need for love? Karmic punishment for all your failed relationships? The corny trope where you end up falling for your best friend? As much as you want to fight against the feelings you have for him, it’s too late. 

Whatever. Just play it off. You refuse to let your walls down. And you’d hate to give Suguru the satisfaction of being the one who commandeered heavy machinery and sent a wrecking ball toward your emotional fortress. 

If you don’t acknowledge your feelings they’ll just cease to exist, right? Yeah, that’s how it works. And it’s a super healthy coping mechanism, too. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

All this deep pondering and emotional soul searching has got you worked up. You decide to see if Suguru wants to come over. Not because you miss him, or anything. It’ll be nothing more than a casual hook up. Dick only, no feelings. 

You catch yourself giggling at his messages. Gross. You brush it off with a shake of your head, a violent wave of self awareness washing over you. 

I'm not going through this again. I refuse.

You read the messages over and over. Do you seem desperate? Do your texts carry the perfect amount of indifference? Whatever. It doesn’t matter, it’s just Suguru, anyway. He's stuck around this long, it would take a lot to scare him off, now.

The plan’s in motion, and you’re going to have a good time tonight. You feel your heart rate spike at the thought of seeing him. That's a totally normal reaction for someone who has no feelings involved, right? Just friends…right? 

Suguru chuckles as he reads your response. Excitement floods through his body in anticipation. Is it finally time to confess? His own eagerness catches him off-guard. He can’t. It’s too soon. He takes a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. Keep it together.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

It’s been so long since the feeling of joy has drifted between these barren walls. You take a swig of your drink, exhaling happily through your nose as the sweet juice dances with the sting of the liquor, warming your chest as you swallow. Leaning back on the couch with one leg kicked up on the coffee table, you absentmindedly swirl your glass as you gaze at Suguru.

“I’m really happy to see that you’re doin’ better,” he muses, taking a sip before setting his cup down. You offer him a small nod paired with a gentle smile, looking back at the drink nestled between your fingers; the ice that’s creating condensation on the outside, the way the sun seeps between the half-open curtains in your living room, the cooing of birds just beyond your window panes. Quite frankly, you’re trying your hardest to focus on anything but him. Ignoring the thrum of your heart every time you look into his eyes, pretending the smooth cadence of his voice doesn’t make your body tremble. 

Say you do confess? What then? Is that really something you want, anyway? Or is it just nice to lust after someone? No, it’s not that. You really do love him. You haven’t even considered the possibility of him reciprocating these feelings, and odds are if he does, you’ll just run for the hills, not willing to open your heart up again. Your last relationship destroyed you. There’s no way you’ll allow someone to fill that void. Not with the possibility that it’ll all be a farce. 

After a moment of silence, you finally speak up. “Me, too. And it’s all thanks to you, Sugu.” You finally meet his gaze, and it’s as if his eyes are attempting to pierce through you with how intently he’s looking at you. His expression quirks as if to ask what you mean. You decide to test the waters a bit. Fuck it.

“You…you’ve made me feel…whole again,” your words come out a bit choppy and drawn out, still battling with your decision to come clean. Your eyes dart around his face before looking away once more. You fiddle with your fingers, unsure of if you want to elaborate. Even if you stop here, it’s okay. That’s a totally normal thing to say to a friend who helped you in your time of need.

Your head snaps toward him at the sound of your name. More is said, but you focus on the way he addresses you. He says it so softly, so gently, like the very syllables of your title grace his tongue as they sway from in between his vocal cords. For four years, your name was used against you, weaponized with anger and hatred. But his words are relayed to you with nothing but love behind them. 

Your ears are ringing as you stare at him blankly. You shake your head in hopes to clear the thoughts that are clouding it. “Wait…wha? What did you just say? The last part?”

“I said, it’s because I love you,” he smiles as he watches your face flush. Time slows as your heart rate speeds up. You brows furrow a bit, trying to piece together what the hell is going on.  A million thoughts spin through your head as you stare at him. “You…love…me? Like, in a ‘best friends’ kinda way, right?” You’re shocked as he shakes his head. “No. I love you, and I have for a while. In a more than friends kinda way,” he laughs a bit before leaning forward, reaching for your hand. “You love me, too. Don’t you?” 

“I-” your words get caught in your throat as his fingers rub against the back of your hand. As calm and collected as Suguru seems on the outside, he is spiraling on the inside. He isn’t sure where this newfound confidence is coming from, but he decides to roll with it. His heart thrums in his chest as he anxiously awaits your response. He has reached his tipping point, wanting nothing more than to finally be able to call you his.

You look down, staring at the place where the two of you meet, the feeling of electricity coursing through your body. A chill runs down your spine before you look back at him. “I-I do. I love you.” 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

You’re laying on your back, your hair fanned out across the bed. Your arms are wrapped tight around his neck as he gently thrusts into you with slow, deep ruts of his hips. His head is tucked into the crook of your neck, his warm breath brushing across your sensitive skin. 

He leans back, looking down at you with a sweet smile, “You are so beautiful.” His eyes run up and down your body, taking in every dip and curve of your figure, before fixating on where the two of you meet. His lips part as he watches himself disappear inside of you, a deep moan breaking through his chest at the sight of your sweet juices coating his length. He rubs intricate circles into your clit, loving the way you sound as your body writhes under his touch.

Tears begin to pool behind your eyes as you gaze up at him, entranced by the way he manages to stimulate every sense in your body. This is what love truly feels like, bestowed upon you by a man who wants nothing more than to fulfill every facet of your life.

He presses his forehead against yours as he continues to pump into you, his movements influenced by nothing more than pure adoration.

The sun bounces off your features, illuminating your face in such an ethereal way. His breath catches in his throat as he watches the way the light makes your eyes glow. You are angelic in every sense of the word. Someone too pure for this realm, unfathomably delicate; sent to this world to be worshiped and protected.

“I love you. So much,” he groans. Every ounce of devotion he has for you is being pumped into your body with every plunge. It’s overwhelming for him. He's nearly bursting at the seams as he makes love to you, moving his hips so tantalizingly slow, but wanting to thrust into you with fervor, to pound the message into you that you are deserving of all love in the world, and that he will be the one to give it to you. But he takes his time, wanting nothing more than to savor you. 

Small whimpers break through your throat. “I…ahh!– I love you, S-Suguru,” you moan, whining as his head brushes into your sweet spot, making your back arch off the bed as your chest presses into his. The pleasure raking through you is immeasurable, every neuron in your brain firing off at once. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every single part of him.

He cups the sides of your cheeks, brushing away your tears before placing two soft kisses over each eye. “Why’re you cryin’, my love?” he coos, concern evident on his face as he rubs his thumbs against your face. His hips pause as his eyes dart between yours. 

“Just…’m just so happy,” you whisper, scrunching your nose up with a small sniffle before placing a kiss on his lips. He smiles deeply before returning to his original pace.

“You deserve it...just wanna make you feel good, baby,” his hips press him into the deepest parts of you, rubbing against your sweet, gushing walls, but his pace remains deliberate. “You deserve all the pleasure in the world,” his teeth grit ever so slightly as he feels you clench down on him. “F-fuck, baby… fuck. You are just... incredible,” he groans, angling his hips to keep brushing against your g spot.

Even though you’ve had each other many times before, no other instance compares to the way you feel right now. Your body brimming with love, fulfillment…with him. His touch makes you feel reborn, like no one has ever hurt you before. His hands glide across your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake, his unyielding passion evident in the way he clings to you, and you to him.

“Sugu…” you gasp as he bottoms out once more. Short pants leave your lips as you feel the tightness in your stomach intensify. “P-please, keep goin’...I’m…gonna cum,” you mewl. His hands reach underneath your body, palming each asscheek as he lifts your lower half off the bed. The new angle makes your eyes roll as stars begin to dance around your head. “Me too…y’feel so fuckin’ good.” The fiction of his pelvis against your clit shoots ripples of pleasure through you. Your nails drag down his back in an attempt to ground yourself, but to no avail. This feels otherworldly. His pace picks up a bit, pushing you to unravel, your body succumbing to bliss. The warmth that engulfs his lengths makes him reach his peak right after you, his hips stuttering as he works you both through your orgasms.

He props himself up on his forearms, making a conscious effort to not collapse on you and crush you with his body weight, though you would most definitely welcome it. He watches as your chest rises and falls, every soft pant that leaves your lips like music to his yearning ears. He can’t bring himself to pull out, loving the way your walls are still spasming around him. You stare into his eyes for a moment, running your fingers down his spine. A gentle moment of silence settles between to two of you. No words are spoken, but they don't need to be. 

He begins to get up, but your legs lock around his waist immediately, resheathing him inside of you. “Baby–”, he begins to object, but your arms wrap around his shoulders once more, pulling him down as you kiss the spot below his ear, “Jus’ a few more minutes. Love having you like this.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest as he smiles into the crook of your neck. “You keep this up and we might just have to go again.”

And you do. For hours and hours, attempting to make up for all the years wasted. Your two souls engaging in the most mesmerizing dance. He is determined to replace all the heartache you feel with pleasure. And he does. You feel nothing but him. And he can’t focus on anything other than you. Rolling around together until the golden hue of the setting sun shifts into a light pink as it rises above the horizon. But it feels like no time has passed at all. 

Suguru draws soft circles into your skin, holding you tight against his sweat-glistened chest. Your body trembles from the copious amount of pleasure coursing through you. A gentle peck is placed on the top of your head before he looks toward the ceiling. A sense of contentment washes over him, dancing with the soft pulse of his many orgasms still reverberating through his body. After years of waiting, you are finally his, and he is determined to grant you your well-deserved peace.

Dawning a robe, you sit on your balcony, listening to the birds sing you their habitual 'good morning'. The door slides open behind you, and Suguru takes a seat, presenting you with a cup of tea. A quiet thank you leaves your lips as the two of you take in the scenery before you. 

“We should probably get some sleep now, huh?” You ask, turning to him as you take a sip, smiling at the fact that he knows exactly how you take your tea. But, of course he does. It’s Suguru. 

He grins, “No…I don’t want to leave this moment behind just yet.” You blush, reaching your hand out to grasp his. 

“Me neither.”

In his eyes, you are precious, the most important person in his life. The deep-rooted fear of not being worthy of love is disproven in the form of Suguru’s undying loyalty to you. He has waited years to be with you, and he would have waited years more. And as the two of you sit together, with your fingers intertwined and heartbeats in sync, you know there is nowhere else you want to be…no one else you want to be with. An unfamiliar feeling of safety creeps into your chest. You’re in good hands now.

Maybe opening yourself back up to love wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

author notes: this fic is incredibly self-serving...but i really needed this. i just want a pretty boy named suguru to save me from the heartache i feel rn ugh

my reqs are closed at the moment, but thirsts and chats are always welcome !!

alsoooo !! i just wanted to send out a big big thank you for 700 followers...im literally in shock i cannot believe it. im spinning around my room rn just thinking abt it. yall are amazing n i appreciate every single one of you 🫶🏼

tag list: @anxious-chick @call-memissbrightside @the-weeb-of-the-uchiha @sadmonke

likes, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated !!

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[mikichko]

little bit personal but i’ve gone through lots of weight fluctuations in my life and no matter what size i am, summer is always hard for me.

which is why i cannot stop thinking about being ghost’s partner through summer.

we already know that he’s a man of few words, prefers to observe more than anything. so he really doesn’t miss the meticulous way that you plan out your outfits.

shorts have to be a certain length, shirts have to be at least long enough to hit your hips and sleeves long that are up to mid bicep. hell, he’s even seem you choose to wear pants all summer instead of even attempting shorts. too anxious over how you’ll be perceived to let yourself enjoy a nice warm breeze on your legs.

he asks you once if you’re warm, approaching the conversation the best way he knows how, only to have you laugh and tell him that the pants just hold you better. don’t need to give people a reason to comment on your appearance. he nods and you seem happy that he’s happy with your response.

but he’s not. listen, simon’s not really one to jump to defend someone’s ego from being bruised. god knows the team rags on johnny too often for him to pretend otherwise. but this? nah, this is different.

he’s all too familiar with the way bodies react and absorb the shock and trauma of war. has seen soldiers of all shapes, sizes, identities tank hits like no one’s business. there’s absolutely nothing he despises more than for the untrained, ill informed cretins offering opinions on someone else’s body. specially if it’s ever directed at you.

he’ll never say this though. at least not outloud. though, his actions do speak for themselves.

small pats on your hips as he passes by you. wrapping his arm around your lower belly instead of your waist, you try to swat at him but he just pulls you back into him. insisting that he lays on you when you’re stretched on the couch, dropping kisses on your clothed belly while his hands draw patterns on your plush thighs. if he’s feeling cheeky he’ll sink his teeth into them just to get a little squeal out of you.

even in public he doesn’t ease up. pulls you into his lap in front of your friends, knows you love it despite your protests. lounging out on a patch of grass along the walking trail, he pulls you closer to him and has one of your legs draped over his. massaging the fat there as you chatter about nonsense.

idk simon riley just really loves you and loves the body that keeps you alive and feeds your personality.

[unclewaynemunson]

@bigskyandthecoldgun made this very big-brained post about the perfect miscommunication potential of Eddie's heart monitor betraying his feelings for Steve while he's recovering. @mostrizzaward asked me to write it and how could I say no to that :D

The first time Steve sets foot in Eddie's hospital room is terrifying. Eddie is as pale as a dead man. He has dozens of wires attached to his body, that are connected to just as many machines and monitors displaying complicated graphs, all softly beeping at varying intervals. Everyone in the room talks in soft, grave voices and all the nurses and doctors have matching serious frowns on their faces.

But what seemed to be impossible happens on a dreary Wednesday afternoon in April: Eddie opens his eyes for the very first time since he passed out in Dustin's arms. Steve is at work when that happens, but rushes to the hospital as soon as he can, and suddenly Eddie's room seems a lot less terrifying than before. Because Eddie is grinning at him from his bed, even though he's still pale and weak. He's not only alive, he's awake. It's a goddamn miracle. His wide grin is familiar despite the big scar that has marred his cheek. Fuck, Steve doesn't think he'll ever be able to put into words how much he missed that smile.

Eddie rasps his name as a greeting and Steve comes closer to the bed. But then, something weird happens.

The machines around Eddie's bed are still beeping, but there's less of them now. The electronic symphony of noises has been reduced to a duet of two different beep patterns that are clearly distinguishable from each other. And one of them speeds up rapidly when Steve leans over the bed in an awkwardly angled attempt to give Eddie a hug.

“You okay?” Steve asks, worried. He wonders if he should call for a nurse.

“Yeah, man,” Eddie mumbles. His eyes flash towards the monitor in question for a second and a blush creeps over his white cheeks. He seems ill at ease; Steve can't quite put his finger on it but there's something weirdly awkward about the whole thing. He seems otherwise fine, though, so Steve decides no nurses will be necessary.

He clears his throat and takes a seat in the chair next to the bed. For a moment, he wonders why he's even here. They weren't exactly friends before all of this happened. It would be perfectly normal for Eddie not to want him around – and yet here he is, visiting him in the hospital like it's the most normal thing in the world. What is he even doing here?

But then, Eddie starts talking about how his uncle was with him when he woke up and gave him this book he's been wanting to buy for ages.

“He cried, Steve, I've never seen him cry in my life, but he was bawling, I'm not kidding!”

Despite his animated tone, Eddie's voice is still weak and his eyes keep falling shut even while he is talking. Steve knows that he shouldn't overstay his welcome and let Eddie rest, but he finds himself too captivated in how alive Eddie is, even though his whole presence – his loud voice, his broad arm gestures, his expressive face – seems a little bit toned down. So when Eddie tells him with a vague gesture to his nightstand that he tried to read his new book, but found himself too tired to focus properly, Steve finds himself proposing to read it to Eddie before he even realizes what he's doing.

And then the weird thing happens again. Eddie starts smiling at the exact same time the heart monitor accelerates.

Steve chooses to pretend like he doesn't notice. Instead, he takes the book from the nightstand and flips it open on the first page. He starts reading aloud, but he can't really keep his attention on the words that come out of his own mouth. He can't help but feel like he made a mistake. Is the heart monitor signaling to him that his presence is making Eddie uncomfortable? Shouldn't he have left Eddie alone to rest when he started getting tired? Why the hell did he ever think it'd be a good idea to read to him in the first place? He's never been a good reader, and certainly not a performer like Eddie. So he awkwardly stumbles his way through the words on the pages, in no way able to keep up with the complicated plot and no doubt failing spectacularly in the use of voices and appropriately ominous pauses and whatnot. Whenever he glances up from the pages, he finds Eddie leaning into his pillow with his eyes closed and a faint smile around his lips, only to find out he's lost track of where he was when he directs his attention back to the book in his hands.

It doesn't take long until Eddie's breathing becomes audibly deeper and evens out. Steve softly closes the book. He allows himself a few moments to do nothing but stare at Eddie's face and be grateful for the absence of a breathing tube between his lips, showing that he's only sleeping this time. Then, he gets up and tiptoes out of the room.

***

The weird thing with the heart monitor keeps happening every time Steve visits Eddie. It happens when he greets him, when he starts reading to him, and especially whenever he helps him adjust his position in the bed he's still chained to. Every time they touch, every time Steve gets close to him in any way, like clockwork. And every time, it's paired with some kind of physical reaction on Eddie's part: a blush on his cheeks, a somewhat forced chuckle, or sometimes even a badly concealed flinch, away from where Steve's hands are touching Eddie.

Steve pretends not to notice it, for Eddie's sake, but it can only happen so many times before he has to face the clear and obvious truth here: his presence is making Eddie extremely uncomfortable.

One part of it still doesn't make sense, though: Eddie actually asks him to read to him or to help him sit up or lie down again, and the next thing he knows, Eddie will suddenly be avoiding his gaze and that goddamn heart monitor will make it sound like Eddie is trying to break a sprint record instead of lounging in his bed, and he'll recoil from Steve's touch like he doesn't want his hands anywhere around him.

Steve muses over Eddie's odd behavior for days before he comes to the only logical conclusion: Eddie is actually repulsed by him and is too polite to tell him the truth. It's the only explanation that makes sense. It's just like what Steve realized so clearly that first time after Eddie woke up: they weren't friends before this, so why should they be now? Steve has no business being at his bedside all of a sudden, and Eddie doesn't have the heart to be mean to him and spell that out for him.

He can't even blame Eddie for it. For most of the time they've known each other, Steve was a major asshole, everybody knows that. Sure, they're twenty now and Steve has moved past high school stereotypes when he got close to Robin, but still... Those stereotypes made up everything about who they were, how they were perceived and who they interacted with for four whole years of their lives – six even, in Eddie's case. Eddie doesn't have any reason to want to let that go like Steve did.

He would never admit it to anyone, but the conclusion he reaches breaks Steve's heart: he should stay away from Eddie. Eddie has every right not to like having Steve around and Steve certainly doesn't want to add to his discomfort. He has been through enough, Steve wouldn't want to make this whole long and painful process of recovery even worse for Eddie by imposing his unwanted presence on him.

It doesn't matter that Steve has started to look forward to his hospital visits like they're the very best part of his week. It doesn't matter that Steve's heart starts racing for whole other reasons than Eddie's whenever they're close, whenever they're touching or whenever Eddie is smiling that beautiful smile of his. It doesn't matter that Steve wants nothing more than to keep reading to Eddie even though he still doesn't have a clue what that stupid book is about. None of it matters, because that's simply the price one has to pay for being an asshole and a bully in high school.

It doesn't matter, because there are way worse things than the guy you've developed feelings for secretly harboring a grudge against you. He still has Robin, he still has his little nerds, he even has Nancy back; as a friend, this time, which is honestly better than things ever were between them. He has the knowledge that Eddie survived and will be getting better with each passing day. Maybe he can start dating again, find a cute girl with blue eyes and blonde hair who doesn't remind him of the one person he can't be around, and it'll all be fine again. It doesn't matter.

Update: there's now a sequel post :D

[yuyusboyfriend]

Cookies & Cream

pairing: nerd!seonghwa x reader

wordcount: 2,7k

content: your tutor helps himself to the cookies in your bag despite you telling him countless times no, without knowing what they really are.

warnings: nsfw, aphrodisiacs, afab reader (use of words cunt, clit, pussy - no mentions of chest or other gendered terms) dom!reader, sub!seonghwa, use of pet names (baby, love), unprotected sex (wrap it ☝️) mentions of food, mentions of sex toys, blow job, cunnilingus (pussy ATE 🗣), edging, some body worship, lmk if there's anything else

Masterlist!˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

You had told Seonghwa that on the way to his dorm for a study session, you'd be picking up snacks to get you through the next few dreaded hours. Not that you dreaded spending time with seonghwa, the boy was a pleasure to look at, big brown eyes smiling at you every time you grasped a concept thanks to his help; the warmth of his body engulfing yours when he leant over you to help with a question.

Okay, that wasn't so much helpful as it was distracting, but you liked it nonetheless. You wondered if Seonghwa had any relationship experience, because of the way he was oblivious to almost every move anyone made on him, and would turn fire engine-red when he heard you talk about anything slightly sexual. From your observations, you had concluded that this man has probably never felt the touch of a lover. Still he was a lovely boy, sweet and innocent,,, it kind of did something for you.

“Did you get me turtle chips?” Seonghwa questioned through the front door.

“No 'hello y/n! You made it! Nice to see you'? What did you do with my sweet seonghwa?” you sighed at him, knowing you bought him both the originals, and the churro version. Pretending to not notice the blush on his cheeks, likely caused by the 'my sweet seonghwa' comment, you strolled passed him till you reached your regular spot on the sofa. You pulled the snacks out one by one, watching the joy on Seonghwa's face as you brought all of his favourites to last him until the next session.

“What's in the tub?” seonghwa eyed the plastic tub you had put bag into your bag after pulling the rest of the drinks out.

“Cookies I made, and before you ask, no you can't have any.” you warn.

Seonghwa pouts like his life depends on it, devastated as he adores home-baked goods, especially the ones you make for him. "Why? Who are they for?? Are you seeing someone after me?” he blurts out a little too desperately.

“Why? You jealous, Hwa?” you smirk at him, watching him turn red once again at your words.

“I'm not jealous! I was… just worried because it'll be late by the time you leave, I don't want you wandering around at night…” he gets quieter with each word.

Ah shit, you feel kind of guilty now. You stood up to walk over to the table where always study together, ruffling his hair as you go. “Oh, Hwa, I'm going straight back home after this, don't worry your sweet little head,” you reassure his worrying.

You hadn't realised your tutor had cared so much about you, before this you didn't even know if he considered you friends. Your stomach fluttered at the idea, knowing that seonghwa didn't have many people he considered friends, you could count them all in one hand.

He huffed and pulled out his chair, handing you the test papers you had filled last session, with red pen markings on it showing you where to improve.

“You did really well, if you keep this up you'll be passing with flying colours. I added a couple suggestions on where you can expand on points, but otherwise, you did an amazing job y/n.” He smiles softly at you, proud that your hard work has been paying off.

After an hour of going over some new material from your classes with him, you decide to take a break to stretch and eat the food you brought. Although, you both had already cleared a bag of turtle chips and a bowl of M&Ms in that time, as well as a bottle of your favourite drink.

“Hwa I'm going to the bathroom, ill be back in a minute” you announced to your friend as you walked down the hallway to his spotless bathroom; you always admired how clean seonghwa was, sometimes he'd even help you with yours when you held study sessions there.

Honestly, seonghwa was still hung up on why you didn't let him eat the cookies in your bag, the clear container told him there was way more than you could eat on your own,,,

Surely—you wouldn't notice if one was missing…right?

The boy looked over to the hallway, listening to the sound of you—fighting the shower curtain? He couldn't tell, but you sounded busy. He turned his head back to your bag and reached in, opening the tub and taking one…must've okay three cookies, stuffing them in his mouth and chewing them as fast as he could. They tasted like heaven, he could tell they were a little different from your regular ones, you must've tried a new recipe? Maybe that's why you were so adamant about him not having any? Whatever it was, it was hardly noticeable, the crispy marshmallows taking over his taste buds. He quite literally moaned at the taste, almost annoyed that he nearly missed out on this.

He washed them down with the strawberry milk he kept stocked and put everything back where it was, just as you walked out of the bathroom.

“Alright, what have we got left?” you looked at the boy standing by his chair.

“Uh, we”, Seonghwa went to answer your question but his brain completely blanked. “We were…” he looked at the table to remember where you had left off, but you had already his noticed is off demeanour.

“Hwa, you good?” you tilted your head at the boy, watching him push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“I'm great y/n! Lets, uh, get back to the work?” he avoided looking in your direction, his body feeling funny - fuck, what did you put in those cookies? He thought.

“Hwa. What did you just say? Did you—Did you eat the cookies I told you not to!?” You started raising your voice at him, more worried about him than anything.

“I-I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd notice if a few were gone…” he says under his breath, feeling overwhelmingly heavy. His emotions feeling all too strong to the point where he feels a tear rolling down his cheek before he could stop it. His core felt like hot coals, and his skin more painfully tender than he had ever experienced in his life.

"Sit down, I'm gonna get you some water… I know this is a weird question, but are you seeing anybody currently that I can call?" you already knew the answer, but you didn't want to risk it.

"Wh-what? No, I'm not seeing anybody y/n, why would you need to-" He huffed out a groan as his sweatpants grew tighter and rubbed against his swelling hard on.

"Okay, those cookies you just ate? They're aphrodisiac cookies, I hadn't even had a chance to test them out, I was going to when I got home…" you reluctantly looked at Seonghwa's horrified expression, mixed with sweat forming on his brow. You watched as he fidgeted and pulled at his irritating clothing, his hips rutting and bucking subtly against nothing.

"Hwa you wouldn't happen to have any… sex toys, would you? I can go to the pharmacy and pick some up, It's not far." you already start grabbing his spare set of keys and your jacket to leave, if you went now it would only take 8 minutes-

"In the bottom drawer of my desk, can you help me get to my room?" Oh. So he wasn't as innocent as you thought. He reached out for you, barely able to stand by himself now, his legs feeling like they would crumble under his weight. As you wrapped Seonghwa's arm over your shoulder, pulling him up, he pressed his body against yours, resting his head on your shoulder. God, the scent of you was making him harder, barely restraining himself from biting your neck while you walked him to his bedroom.

He slumped into his bed, not waiting any longer to take his shirt off. He wanted to burn the damn thing now, the material felt torturous on his sensitive nipples. You looked at him in awe, his blushing body making your mouth dry and your hands ache to feel him under them.

"Well, I'm gonna go-"

"No."

You looked at him in confusion, seeing his darkened eyes filled with desire, "What do you mean, no?"

"The least you could do is help me...please?"

That's all you needed to jump into his lap and connect your lips. The kiss was filled with desperation, teeth bumping and tongues swirling together, fighting for dominance in your mouths. You grind against his aching cock, dragging a whine from his sweet voice.

"Sweatpants off, now Hwa" need dripping from each word, you didn't have to tell seonghwa twice. He lifted his hips up on the bed, and he pulled them off with your help. You took a moment to take in his figure. He was gorgeous, I mean, you already knew that, but lying here looking so desperate for your touch gave you goosebumps. You wanted to devour him; and you would do just that. You leant down between his legs to his stiff cock, kitten licking his soaked tip.

"Oh fuck," He squirmed under your tongue, hips trying to buck into your mouth for more. You held his hips down as you took him fully to the back of your throat. He cried out sweet whimpers at the feeling of your mouth around his cock, taken away all too quickly as you came back up for air. He didn't have to suffer for too long, though, as you formed a steady rhythm with your hand.

"I'm gonna cum y/n it feels too good," tears rolled down his reddened cheeks.

You took his cock out of your mouth with a pop, "love, we just started, I can't have you cumming that quickly now, can I?" untying the string of your own sweats, pulling them down with your underwear, exposing your bottom half to seonghwa. His member twitching and leaking at just the sight of you.

"You're my tutor, shouldn't you be helping me, hm? Why don't you let me sit on your face, and you can show me how to make someone cum, baby?"

Hwa had a habit of swiping his tongue against his lip when he was thinking, or doing anything and fuck, he was so sexy about it. It fuelled so many wet dreams and solo sessions, you couldn't wait to feel it in action.

God, he did not disappoint. He swiped his tongue across your soaking cunt, swirling around your swollen clit. You cried out at the sensations of him ravaging you as you stimulated your clit on the tip of his nose, while he fucked your starving hole with his long tongue. It didn't take long for the pressure in the pit of your stomach to build, you barely had time to warn seonghwa before you came on his tongue. He wrapped his hands around your thighs and rocked your hips against his face as you rode out your high.

You admired his fucked out face, your arousal still across his mouth and nose, and leaned over to kiss him again. “Okay, it's only fair you have your turn Hwa, ready baby?”

He could only whine out your name and beg for you to fuck him, he was so ethereal in this state. You couldn't wait to see him cum. As you sank down on his cock, he sat up and gripped your hips so hard it would leave marks he wanted to worship after. Once you bottomed out, you stayed there, letting seonghwa adjust to the feeling. He pulled your shirt over your head and kissed your skin, scattering hickeys across your chest.

"Fuck you're so tight y/n, please move," he keeps his hands on you trying to roll your hips against him.

"And you're such a needy boy, should've listened to me when I told you not to eat those cookies, hm?" you cooed at the boy looking into glossy eyes, before lifting yourself up and slamming back down, ripping the loudest moan yet out of seonghwa. You kept a slow, steady pace, teasing and punishing seonghwa for this very avoidable situation, more so because you worried that this would be the last time on his cock. Fuck he was perfect, he filled you so much better than your exes', hitting all the spots you never knew you needed.

But, He couldn't take much more of the pace and took it into his own hands, flipping you on your back and lifting your legs over his shoulders to put you in a mating press. Once he had you like that you knew you were done for. His hips slammed into your cunt, making your jaw drop, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. The way he pounded you deliciously had you seeing stars, Your groans just short of screams; not so much because you didn't need to but for his neighbours' sake, although you were already expecting to hear about a complaint in the morning anyway.

"fuck, fuck y/n you feel so good," He huffed out a series of thank-yous and sweet nothings into your skin, worshipping your pussy like he was willing to die for it.

He picked up his pace, thrusting just as deep, and you knew you wouldn't be able to last much longer, by the looks on his face he was right there with you. You cried out again when he moved his hand to your clit, circling with his thumb at the same pace as he was dipping into your cunt, your orgasm just on the edge.

"Y/n I'm gonna cum I can't-" was all he could get out before you clenched tightly around his cock, your own orgasm beating his. He pressed his hips down into your cunt, his cum filling you, leaking out from your hole. He rocked in and out once more before finally, and reluctantly, pulling out, watching his cum leak out of you.

Once he had helped you clean up and changed the bedsheets, you started looking for your scattered clothes to go home, you didn't know how to face seonghwa, guilt rushing back through your veins.

"Where you going?" seonghwa looked at you from the bed with sad eyes.

"well you know, I thought- I thought I should…." you mumbled.

"Come back, I'm not done yet…and I'm cold…" seonghwa smiled sweetly, pulling the blanket back for you to get in with him. With a sigh of relief, you picked up one of his hoodies he had left on the back of his desk chair and pulled it over your head before climbing into bed with seonghwa. As soon as you were under the covers his arms wrapped tightly around you, slipping his hands under the hoodie.

"Are you okay with this? I mean, is it okay that I like you as more than a tutee? Seonghwa softly admitted into your neck as he held you closer, rubbing circles into the small of your back. His breathing against your neck gave you goosebumps, you wouldn't ever want to leave his arms if it was an option.

"You like me? Wow Hwa, you're trying to take advantage of your student" you teased, but not for long when he looked at you pouting. Instead of answering with your words, you pressed your lips to his once again, taking your time to enjoy feeling his soft lips and the way that you fitted together like two pieces of a puzzle. You fiddled with the hair that reached his nape pulling a satisfied hum from seonghwa.

You pulled away to look into his pretty eyes, "So, tell me more about the toys in the draw?"

AHHH this took ages ,,,,, I deleted like 1000 words and started over bc I wasn't happy with it but now! It is done!!!!!!!! Who next......

also not proof read so sorry for any mistakes !

[slayfics]

Katsuki comforts a dyslexic reader.

Your eyes squinted as you read out loud to Katsuki. He rolled his eyes and let out irritated puffs as you did. Pretending he couldn't stand the story and being forced read to him.

Your nervousness got the best of you causing the words to dance and mix together in your brain. You read out an incoherent sentence instead of the one clearly written on the page.

"Wait no-," You stuttered and tried to read again only reading the same sentence wrong again. The words mismatching and playing tricks on you. What magic was this that words could just change on printed paper? You blinked hard trying to stop it knowing this only happened to your eyes. It only happened to your dumb fucking brain that couldn't read right.

"Sorry, my dyslexia really acts up when I'm tired. My lips just get confused. I promise I'm not stupid," You said trying to hold back your frustration and embarrassment.

"I know you're not stupid. Keep going it's fine. Besides, I like it when you mess up like that. You get so flustered... it's cute," He said, his crimson eyes staring back at you as he lay comfortably across your bed as if it were his own.

You felt your eyes get teary. You knew it wasn't a big deal. You knew you weren't stupid. But, so many times you'd make a simple mistake and be called dumb because of it. Words mixing around in your brain had nothing to do with your intelligence, but when others pointed it out... it sometimes felt like it.

Katsuki on the other hand was being patient. You never read out loud to anyone because of your dyslexia but today after teasing him about how amazing the book you were reading was you found yourself doing it- and petrified when you realized what you were doing.

Tears shed your eyes at his patience and comforting words. Katsuki knew exactly how bright you were. Your silly mistakes when reading would never persuade him to think otherwise.

"Are you crying?! I swear if you tell anyone that dumb shit I told you about liking when you mess up ill kill you!" He said slapping the book from your hand. You responded by playfully trying to pin him down. You found yourself successful as he didn't fight back much and allowed you to climb on top of him.

"I'd never tell anyone that Katsuki. Those kind words you just said... those don't come easy from you and those... They are just for me. I earned them," You said straddling him and pinning both of his arms down.

"Tch, whatever, bring those confused lips here. I'll give them something they can't misread," He smirked looking up at you.

You brought your lips to him and he pulled you closer kissing away all your self-doubt.

Enjoy this very self indulgent fic~

Tags: @unofficialmuilover

[raisedbythetv89]

The writers I think mostly completely by accident with the assistance of James charming his way into becoming a main character created the perfect storm to ensure people who love spike would reach absolute peak levels of being completely obsessively deranged about him forever

Season 2:

He’s a punk rock villain with killer cheekbones, enchanting eyes, and an absolutely DEVILISH smile - who’s an incredibly dedicated and dangerous fighter who specifically seeks out challenging fights he’s not guaranteed to win (brave and reckless - normally traits seen in heroes) hates everyone except his mentally ill physically sick wife (the statistics of men who leave their wives when they get sick in the US is horrifying like nurses literally have to warn married women who get sick it happens so often) who he’s hopelessly devoted to and unbelievably soft with and always listens to her while also exuding a psychotic amount of sex appeal and is just F U N he loves being a vampire and he loves fighting and it makes it so much fun for the audience. While still showing how much he respects and admires his enemy for her skill, strength, resourcefulness, and intelligence - NEVER underestimating her just because she’s a tiny blonde girl - and instead of destroying the world for love he SAVES the world for love - a villain doing good to get the love of his life back who essentially dumped him for her ex????????? D E V O T E D and shockingly extremely trustworthy??? And has amazing chemistry with our heroine and is there for a pivotal moment in her life and is the only one there for her when she has no one else????? *enemies to lovers girlies ENTER THE CHAT*

Season 3:

He shows he fucking MEANS IT when he says Dru is the love of his life when he shows up in Sunnydale because he blames Angel not Buffy or Drusilla but the man actually responsible for all their problems and he is the most pathetic mess we’ve ever SEEN!!!! He’s crying and drunk all the time and he’s so sad he goes to Buffy’s mom TO TALK 💀😭 our pathetic sensitive little self admitted lover boy who KNOWS he’s love’s bitch and he won’t be pretending he’s anything otherwise who shows how clearly he sees and understands other people and the depths of his emotional intelligence so much so Buffy herself admits she can’t fool Spike she can fool her friends BUT NOT SPIKE OR HERSELF EXCUSE ME MA’AM WHAT???????

AND Spike doesn’t just uselessly MOPE forever he gets some perspective and is like I know what I’m gonna do to her back and I’m gonna go do that now! 😁👍🏻 showing he never stays down for long and is always gonna get back up to keep fighting for his love while BOTH he and Buffy still honor the truce even though he’s broken it by coming back??? While Buffy’s all “I violently dislike you” YEAH OK GIRL WHATEVER YOU SAY *enemies to lovers girlies chomping at the bit intensifies*

Season 4:

CLEARLY heartbroken about Drusilla (DEVOTED!!!) but it’s turned into anger and resentment directed at Harmony who how bizarre looks nothing like Drusilla but A LOT like Buffy…… hmmmmmmmmmmmmm HOW INTERESTING *enemies to lovers girlies are vibrating with anticipation that turns into a full blown combustion when something blue happens*

Spike doesn’t pretend to love Harmony in order to get what he wants from her (shown in direct contrast to Parker) he’s ironically very honest despite being a villain - he’s showing he’s STILL loyal to Drusilla in ONLY loving her even after she’s dumped him... again!

We see Spike treat Buffy the EXACT same way he treated Drusilla during something blue reaffirming THIS IS HOW THIS MAN LOVES WHEN HE LOVES YOU. He’s extremely affectionate, helpful, protective, caring - D E V O T E D - and is truly just the most certified lover boy we’ve ever fucking seen

Season 5:

SURPRISE HE’S SECRETLY A LOVESICK MAMA’S BOY POET AT HEART UNDERNEATH THE BAD BOY PERSONA AND A PROTECTIVE BIG BROTHER AND NOW BUFFY AND HER FAMILY’S MOST LOYAL DEFENDER AND IS WILLING TO DIE NOT JUST FOR BUFFY BUT FOR ALL THE SUMMERS WOMEN AND HE KNOWS AND SEES BUFFY SO DEEPLY AND INTIMATELY AND CAN HOLD SPACE FOR HER PAIN LIKE NO ON ELSE CAN AND SHOWS THE DEVOTION THAT ONCE BELONGED TO DRUSILLA NOW BELONGS TO BUFFY AND IT IS GOING NOWHERE EVEN WHEN SHE DIES AND WE'VE SEEN IN HIM CRY BEFORE BUT NEVER HAVE WE SEEN HIM BREAK DOWN LIKE HE DOES AT THE SIGHT OF BUFFY'S BODY!!!!!!!!!!!

*all of us screaming, crying, throwing up, climbing the walls and generally just losing our minds*

Season 6:

No soul, his love is so great for Buffy as is his loyalty and devotion to her, he now helps all of his dead love’s friends fight evil and is raising her sister and dreams of saving her every night for 148 nights 🤚🏻😭 don’t even fucking talk to me I can’t take it

Forgive the absolute 180 in tone change here:

Dick game is FIRE - his touch is the only thing that makes Buffy feel alive AND SHE WAS IN HEAVEN BRO SHE KNOWS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE IN HEAVEN AND SPIKE IS THE ONLY THING KEEPING HER GOING like damn girl yes YOU FUCK THAT HOUSE DOWN!!! Also he is now just naked 50% of the time just to drive us all even FURTHER out of our minds and somehow has just gotten even hotter as the seasons have gone on like this is what’s been hiding under the leather jacket all this time! Enjoy!

And THE MOST unintended consequence of jw’s vindictive writing:

SPITE

He clearly didn’t want us to love Spike and tried to manipulate us into hating him in such a blatant and clumsy ooc attempt all that did was weed out the weakest amongst the Spuffy/Spike fans until all that remained were us:

The most devoted and stubborn fans who REFUSED to have the thing they loved ruined or taken away from us and were smart enough to see through his bullshit manipulation attempt in the first place.

Genuinely they created the equivalent of supersoilder strength level fans with this absolutely lethal combination of events 💀

AND THEN as if all that wasn't enough he goes and gets his soul on purpose for Buffy so he can be the man she deserves and she can love him without hating herself for loving him despite the immense pain it will cause him which is the most selfless thing we have ever seen anyone do for Buffy only to be topped when he sacrifices himself to destroy the hellmouth, save the world and free her from Sunnydale!!! Plus ya know once he gets the soul even though he did it for her he never tries to use that as leverage to get anything from her like he truly expects nothing from her at all but still wants to help her and James delivers the most devastating performances we've ever fucking seen, finally tells her friends off which has needed to happen for 5 seasons, the "you're the one speech" him being a dad to all the potentials with Buffy giving us supernatural parent core who made it through their rough patch with their first kid in season 6 with Dawn and now are just the beautiful team with their found family and Buffy finally has someone who can truly carry her burdens with her and just all the tenderness and devotion they both deserve after so many years of pain and fighting. Basically giving the audience the message that even if you have a metric ton of pain and trauma there are people out there who see you and understand you and there is a chance for you to heal both together and separately to build your own version of a more normal and stable life. It's a message of such hope and I personally know several people, including myself who watched what Spike and Buffy have and it inspired us to look at the relationships we were in and realize we deserved SO MUCH MORE than what we were getting and in my case it turned out I was being emotionally abused and manipulated that entire time!! Much like Buffy was by both Riley and Angel. So it isn't an exaggeration to say Spuffy saved my life in a lot of ways both in being there for me at such a dark time and helping me draw a map of how to get out. Not to mention loving them in fandom spaces has helped me connect with so many people just like me who share very similar experiences and have helped me feel so much less alone and has helped me heal in so many ways 🖤

Spuffies get "hOw cAn yOu liKe sPiKe aFtEr wHaT hE dId" all the fucking time and truly the better question is how can you NOT like Spike???? HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION AT ALL??? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT GOOD RELATIONSHIPS NEED TO WORK?? BECAUSE AT THEIR CORE SPUFFY HAS THEM ALL!

It's jw writing so NOTHING will escape his toxic bullshit but Spike - because he was hated by jw for so long - so much of the time when he tried to make Spike less popular he just kept making him better and more complex and more and more targeted to the female gaze which is exactly why he snapped and made the choices he literally forced everyone else to go along with despite their protests with that scene to make it the most traumatizing scene in all of Buffy history not just for the audience but for the actors as well because yes it is incredibly horrific and upsetting to watch (which is why I skip it on rewatches) but I still am able to see if for what it is which is a narcissist lashing out at people he hates because he hasn't been able to control them and too bad for him I refuse to be manipulated by his bullshit so it failed completely and made so many of us that much more stubbornly protective of Spike and his and Buffy's relationship not just from other fans but from the creator himself 🙃🖕🏻like he basically just trauma bonded us to Spike and Buffy which has led to the creation of one of the most devoted, loyal, intelligent fanbases who is absolutely unhinged (affectionate) with their love of this character and his relationship which is why we are all still creating and writing about this character 25 year later and show absolutely zero signs of slowing down or stopping 💀

[throneofsapphics]

the ebb and flow of fate epilogue 

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five)

Cazriel x f!Reader

Summary: “Pure silence filled the room, and Feyre shifted on her feet, wondering if maybe she’d crossed a line.”

Warnings: illness, mentions of violence, death, & blood

A/N: I’m sad this is over, but I've really enjoyed writing it. thank you all so much for your love on this little series <3

She took a deep breath,  steeling herself for this conversation. “When I die-“

“We don’t know -“ Cassian interrupted.

“Please,” she cut him off. “Just .. I need to say this.” 

His mouth tightened, but he nodded.

“Don’t give up. This world still needs both of you,” she swallowed harshly. The tears had already come. 

“And it doesn’t need you?” Azriel said, voice breaking half way through. 

“The world doesn’t get a choice, with me.” 

Cassian ran one hand through his hair, gripping hard enough she thought he might tear it out. “I can’t lose you. Not like this.” 

She snorted. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he didn’t find this amusing, not one bit, but he knew laughter and humor was one of her coping mechanisms. 

“Do you think I want to die?”

“I didn’t say -” She held her hand up, and Cassian’s mouth slammed shut. Her mouth quirked up at the corner, well trained. Azriel rolled his eyes. She did hold both of their leashes, but he wouldn’t tell her that. 

“It’s happening. I refuse to insult myself or the healers pretending otherwise,” she reached out her hands, palms up, and they each took one without hesitation. “If you want to be angry, do it when I'm dead or not looking. I’m the sick one, you have to listen to me.” 

Cassian looked like he was about to disagree, thought better of it, and pulled her into his chest. “We’ll see who’s listening to who tonight,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. 

-

Pure destruction stood in front of him. A killing field. Some parts scorched, raw power incinerating everything in its path, others still coated with blood and mismatched body parts. There would be no identifying who had fallen. 

Rhys would never be glad his cousin died, not in millenia, but he’s glad she didn’t have to see the war waged. She’d died weeks before it broke out, and triggered a deadly rage in both Cassian and Azriel. One the world might never see again. 

-

They never missed starfall. 

“You’ll still get to see me once a year.” She waved her hand towards the sky, about to say the most ridiculous love-sick words he’d ever heard, “I’ll be waiting for you, my spirit still traveling between worlds. We’ll find each other in whatever comes after, in the next life, maybe even shoot through time and space together.” 

Cassian’s mouth quirked up at one corner, before he picked her up and spun her in circles until she flicked his wing. 

Cassian braced his forearms on the railing, eyes fixed on the sky. “Which one do you think is her?” He didn’t need to look to know Az was right beside him. They asked this question every year, and each time came up with a different answer. He liked to think she was switching forms, maybe trying to play a joke on them, or play another game. 

-

Azriel peered down in the Cauldron again, after pulling Amren out. He’d hoped, foolishly, that she might be in there too. 

He knew Amren, even spluttering and catching her breath, caught his movement. Azriel tried to avoid her, but she eventually caught up to him and Cassian.  

“She wasn’t there,” the sorrowful, almost pitying, look in her eyes pissed him off. 

“I didn’t ask,” he said coolly. 

“Maybe not,” she assessed him. “But there’s your closure.” 

“What … what does it mean, she wasn’t there?” Cassian asked. 

“It means her soul isn’t trapped in limbo.” 

Azriel really, really didn’t want to speak about this, but Cassian kept going. “So she’s moved on?” 

“No,” Amren said sharply. “It means she’s waiting for you idiots,” Amren really never missed the chance to throw an insult in there, “in peace.” 

Cassian caught Azriel’s eye. In peace. It was a small comfort, like a bandaid stuck on a gaping wound. He knew she wanted him to move on, to go find his “peace,” but it was never the same without her. An empty space inside of him he couldn’t fill. For years, he avoided every reminder of her, did everything he could to drown out the screaming abyss threatening to tug him under. It took Cassian to pull him out, to knock some sense into him and tell him she’d be pissed off. 

-

“Cassian and Azriel had a mate.” Rhys told her quietly. Feyre paused. The sorrow in his voice threw her off. Had. 

“What happened?” She asked softly. 

“She died. Y/n was my cousin, Mor’s younger sister.” 

A part of her heart shattered. She hadn’t known he had another cousin, or that Mor had a sister. They never spoke of her. Feyre didn’t … she didn’t like that. Not that she hadn’t been told, but that they weren’t keeping her memory alive. Maybe that was unfair of her, all things considered she hadn’t been around them that long, and some wounds never truly heal. 

“Will you show me her?” She let Rhys read the silent request in her eyes; I’ll make a portrait. Her mate swallowed, before giving a short nod. 

Winter Solstice came, and to say Feyre was nervous would be an understatement. She’d decided to pull Azriel and Cassian aside before, not certain if they’d want a vulnerable moment like this in front of the rest of them. 

She handed them two identical portraits, wrapped in soft paper. 

Cassian shot her a grin, “Finally take up the offer to paint me in the nude?” 

Feyre snorted, huffing out a laugh. “Open it.” 

They both did. Pure silence filled the room, and Feyre shifted on her feet, wondering if maybe she’d crossed a line. 

For the first time, she felt like she could see every raw emotion going through Azriel’s features. 

Rhys had shown her a specific image, the three of them perched on the roof of the Townhouse, her feet swinging back and forth over the edge, a glass of wine in one hand. Azriel’s shadows subtly pinning her - keeping her from tumbling into the rose bushes. She leaned to the side, Cassian standing trying to snatch the glass from her - a wide grin on his face. Azriel watched from behind, amusement lining his features. An open emotion she hadn’t seen frequently from the male. Her mate had flown in, catching the perfect angle. 

Cassian carefully placed the painting on the table - like it was made of pure gold, and wrapped her in a tight hug. 

taglist: @infinitely-kate @foreverrandomwritings, @anuttellaa @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @justasillylittlegoofyguy, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @bookishdeer @sidthedollface2 @mis-lil-red, @acourtofbatboydreams @blessthepizzaman @hallucynatiing @summerloversposts @i-am-infinite @fanfiction-for-my-soul, @brandywineeeee, @oktievia @inloveallthetime, @sleepylunarwolf

[furiousgoldfish]

which one of these did you believe was normal throughout your childhood:

Parents telling you that you're a financial burden to them

Parents insisting you need to work if you want to live in their house

Parents threatening to kick you out if you don't do as they say

Parents threatening death to you

Parents convincing you that you would die without them

Parents expecting you to know information you've never been taught or shown

Parents convincing you that you're unlovable

Parents telling you that any harm done to you is deserved

Parents not caring if you're sick/injured and shaming you for it

Parents expecting you to not have needs

Parents telling you that you're 'crazy' when you remember something traumatic they did to you

Parents acting like you're not a part of the family whenever is convenient

Being told to keep silent to 'keep the family together'

'What happens in my house stay in my house'

Parents inflicting physical abuse, marks and injuries on you

Parents having the right to do whatever they please to their kid

Parents insisting they must be automatically forgiven for everything

Parents telling you that you're the abusive one if you disobey

Parents throwing rage tantrums and screaming hateful atrocities at you in the 'heat of the moment' then later pretending thats normal and forgivable

Parents being allowed to act immature while children are not

Parents simply 'not noticing' when you have emotional/mental issues

Being suicidal and nobody caring or paying attention to it

Struggling with eating disorders/mental illnesses/disability and only being shamed and blamed for it

Parents insisting that their right to hurt you is above law and reason and that you are the only one who can be punished

Idea that 'everyone has it this hard' and 'you're the only one who is being this badly affected by otherwise normal treatment of children

Being told that it would only be worse for you somewhere else and you're lucky that you're only having 'only that amount of abuse'

Parents comparing their parenting to worse examples and wanting gratitude that they're 'not as bad'

Parents telling you that you'll never amount to anything and undermining everything you've done in life continually

Parents acting like your experience and perspective don't matter, or insisting you don't have the right to one in the first place.

(none of these are normal. this is brainwashing)

[captainjonnitkessler]

Hello again.

I just saw a very vaguely worded prison abolitionist post talking about how 'if you just make the system better, then the amount of people in jail would shrink' which A) feels rather reform-y for a post starting off talking about how no reform is possible, the system is a lost cause...and B) it feels that these people don't get that there are just assholes out there?

Because it goes on this long rant at the end talking about all the things in the system that would need to be fixed, like helping the homeless, having healthcare focused on the mentally ill, lifting up impoverished communities. And honestly, you know what, sure I approve of all of that...

But then the phrase "Next we tackle sexual assault" is uttered without any context or ideas of how to handle it. And I was like oh for fucks sake... Everything else in this post was like, here's the magic button on how to fix this but then SA is just dropped at the end.

I don't know why prison abolitionists lock up and get defensive when it comes to the question of "what about rapists?" but it seems as though they never fully take it seriously. And while I cannot speak to the full intricacies of the prison abolitionist movement, I'm only starting to be exposed because of someone on my dash I'm considering unfollowing, I can speak to statistics when it comes to sexual assault and incarceration.

Because the fact of the matter is that the vast majority of perpetrators of sexual assault will not go to jail. And so handwaving the idea of the few who have have in fact been incarcerated feels so incredibly dismissive of the hell that survivors have to go through to even get a perpetrator in court. It devalues the incredibly hard work done by the survivor to make sure that the perpetrator doesn't skip off into the sunset.

I don't know, it just got my hackles up. I know too well of how many pupatrators slip through the cracks and of how incredibly hard it is to even get a conviction in the first place. And yet prison abolitionists dismiss even the small percent as an afterthought not worth nuanced discussions.

Sorry for dumping this all into your askbox, it just seems to help to be able to type everything out so it's not just swirling in my head...

The constant pattern I see from prison abolitionists is that someone asks okay, so what are we going to do with the murderers? "Well, if we improve social conditions there won't be as many murderers!" Okay cool. But what are we doing with the remaining murderers? "You know, most murderers aren't even caught, so most of them aren't in jail anyway!" Okay cool. So what are we doing with the murderers we do catch? "You know, putting people in jail doesn't bring the victim back. Most murderers don't murder again!" Okay cool. So what do we do with repeat offenders? "Oh my god, I'm so sick of people constantly asking that question when I've answered it a million times!"

And I think it's because at some point you have to argue either a) you are a genuine prison abolitionist and don't believe serial murderers and rapists should be incarcerated, which is insanely unpopular and will cause 99% of people to stop listening to you, b) some murderers and rapists SHOULD be incarcerated, at which point you are arguing for prison reform and not prison abolition (and this will make you A Liberal, which is the worst thing a person can be), or c) if we solve all of society's problems, nobody will ever commit a violent crime ever again because humans are Good At Heart and only ever do bad things out of necessity or poor social conditions.

I think c) is a ridiculously naive view of the world, held by people who shape their view of reality based on their ideology instead of vice-versa, but it's the most palatable option for a lot of people. So you have to pretend that there's some fixable underlying condition that causes people to rape, because otherwise c) won't work and you're back to the other two options.

So yeah, I think a lot of abolitionists - at least the ones I've interacted with - can come off as though they don't care about victims of crime, because admitting that there are serial perpetrators that will not stop as long as they have access to victims really kind of undercuts the entire abolition argument.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Push the Sky Away - Part One

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical violence. Mention of loss of virginity. Smut. Word count: ~6.5k

Summary: We are getting to know Aemond in this chapter. Some scene setting and world building, not much to be found of our OC until she is introduced towards the end. Laying the groundwork for what's to come later. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Fire and Blood, the infamous words of House Targaryen. It is a phrase that both haunts and eludes Aemond Targaryen from an early age, with its promise of greatness and constant reminder of all he will never be. 

The Targaryen name is the only thing of any value that Viserys has ever bestowed upon his sons. Aemond ponders whether his father’s disinterest in him is a result of the illness that weakens his body by the day, or if he simply has no room in his heart for the children borne of his second marriage. When he watches him interact with Rhaenyra, how he lights up in her presence in a way that he does not for him or his other siblings, he knows it is the latter.

The fireplace warms his skin, uncomfortably so, and despite the septa’s caution that he not sit so close, he refuses to budge. Sweat prickles the back of his neck, dampening and curling the ends of the hair that sticks to it. His discomfort is of little importance to him, he needs to remain within this proximity to the hearth in order to keep his egg warm, to ensure it hatches. It is a vigil he has kept for as long as he can remember, not moving until he is forced to bed with aching joints and soot covered hands. Unable to understand why it had never hatched in his cradle, he is certain that if he does his due diligence then soon he will have a dragon of his own.

His mother is alerted of his disobedience, and Alicent regards him with sadness in her large brown eyes, as she reaches for him.

“Come away, my dearest love, you will have a dragon of your own one day.”

He simply shakes his head. She could not understand. He does not want just any dragon, he wants his. There must be a reason why this particular egg was imparted upon him, otherwise it is all for nothing.

Despite this, day after day the hardened scales remain cool to the touch, little more than a rock between his tiny fingers. Perhaps placing it within the flames themselves will yield the result he hopes for?

He leans forward into the fireplace, heat blazing against his pale cheeks, and an acrid stench fills his nostrils. It is not until he is pulled forcefully back by the firm grasp of the septa that he realises the ends of his long, fair hair have singed, charred and blackened by the heat of the fire.

The egg is taken away after that, and Aemond weeps bitterly at the unfairness of it. It is his birthright, his only birthright, and now his sole purpose for being has been snatched from him; it seems there is little point to his existence now. He never sees the egg again, but he often wonders what would have happened if he had been left uninterrupted to place it upon the flames.

When Aemond is a little older, he begins to frequent the Dragonpit, for what is a Targaryen without their dragon? If he no longer has his own egg then he will find another, or perhaps claim a riderless mount of his own.

The warmth beneath the Grand Sept is different from that of the fireplace. It is dank and humid within the pit, the odour of droppings hangs heavy in the air, mixed with sulphur and ash. The smell sticks to his clothes when he returns to the Keep each evening, and momentarily he feels his chest swell with pride as his mother winkles her nose in disgust at the scent. It is the same look of distaste that she bestows upon both Helaena and Aegon when they return from flying, and for the briefest of moments he can pretend that he has too.

Yet still he goes to bed each evening dragonless, and begins each day anew with the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth as he watches his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, interact with their dragons, Vermax and Arrax. Targaryens are considered to be closer to gods than men, so it feels like a cruel twist of fate that his half sister’s bastard offspring should be blessed with eggs that hatched in their cradles when his did not. Rhaenyra’s children have the favour of the Seven, whereas they seem to have turned a blind eye to him.

Aemond’s heart soars with hope when the dragonkeepers reveal to his sister that Dreamfyre is gravid. If she produces a healthy clutch of eggs then he can claim one, one that will actually hatch. In spite of the warnings that the she-dragon be left in peace during this sensitive time, and Helaena’s frustrated and repeated requests to stop disturbing her, he cannot resist the pull towards where she roosts within her darkened cave. If she is to lay an egg, then he wants to be the first to see it, to ensure he can take one for himself.

The blistering heat of the flames that Dreamfyre expels with her mighty roar of anger as he approaches yet again causes him to stagger backwards, wide eyed and slack jawed. But Aemond feels no fear as gazes into her fiery maw, his only thoughts are that one day soon a beast of his own will do much the same.

When Aegon claps a heavy hand upon his shoulder, steering him forward, and claiming a dragon has been found for him, he does his best to remain calm. He is used to his brother and nephews’ cruel japes at his expense. But as he stands at the top of the slope to the Dragonpit, he cannot help the way his heart races with excitement at the possibility that it might be true.

His hopes are dashed when a pig is led out to him, trussed up in wings, having been jokingly named “the pink dread”. He bows his head at the raucous laughter of Aegon, Jace and Luke around him, humiliation flushing his cheeks for having dared to believe it could be true.

The echoes of Aegon’s mocking pig grunts ring in his ears all the way home, and he stands dejectedly as Alicent delivers yet another scolding for him having dared to disturb Dreamfyre. He is usually silently accepting of her scorn, confident he knows better, and prepared to defy her all over again the next day. However, this time he can no longer bear the injustice of it all.

“They gave me a pig!” He cries, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes. “They laughed, they all laughed.”

The warmth of his mother’s embrace does little to comfort the inferno that blazes inside of him. Today is proof of the fact that his own brother does not view him as equal - how could he? Aemond is a second born son and has no dragon. He is worth nothing.

If he is not destined to be a dragonrider, then Aemond decides he will give his all to becoming a fearsome warrior instead. He excels in the training yard with each daily practice, every strike of his wooden sword against the straw stuffed target more ferocious than the last. The proud glint in the eye of Ser Criston Cole as he watches diligently, offering guidance on both stance and technique, serves to spur him on. He will be the best at this, he has to be.

Much to his displeasure, the allotted time for sparring is shared with his nephews. Though they learn under the watchful eye of Ser Harwin Strong, there is still a competitive element, and an underlying sense of animosity between Criston and Harwin that he does not quite understand.

Aegon later tells him it is because Ser Harwin is the true father of Rhaenyra’s children. He feels a smug sense of satisfaction at being privy to this information, and it brings him and his older brother closer together. The two of them share rare moments of comradery each time they don their armour and pick up their practice blades. It’s the only time that Aemond ever genuinely laughs or smiles.

There is an obvious divide from that point onwards, Targaryens uniting against Strongs, and as the tension grows between the boys, it does between their mentors too, until one day it reaches a boiling point.

At first Aemond titters along with his brother as they watch Criston scuffle with Harwin, but his smile quickly fades upon seeing how valiantly their father fights for them, knowing his own would never do the same for him. As he looks up into the solemn features of Aegon, he knows the sentiment is shared. It is yet another privilege that Rhaenyra’s children possess that he does not have; the love of their father.

They journey to Driftmark when they receive the news that Laena Velaryon has passed away in childbirth. The icy, coastal winds that whip Aemond’s hair around his face as the stone coffin is committed to the sea are as bleak as the mood that envelopes them all. He seeks warmth near the brazier, attempting to catch the eye of Jace, who stands on the opposite side. Despite the tension between them, he hopes to offer condolences, knowing the loss of both Ser Harwin and his aunt play heavily upon his nephew’s mind.

He realises it is a futile gesture the moment that Jace turns away in disgust, and once more Aemond is reminded of how alone he truly is, that he has nothing. Luke will inherit Driftmark, and their mother has betrothed Helaena to Aegon. Luke snivels at what he is offered, claiming that when Driftmark passes to him it means everyone will have died. Aegon scoffs at the notion of being married to Helaena, claiming they have nothing in common.

It angers Aemond, to be overlooked in favour of those who are so ungrateful for all they have. If he were set to inherit anything, he would do everything in his power to prove he is worthy of it and bear the title with honour. If his mother had betrothed his sister to him, he would do his duty and ensure the match produces heirs that would make House Targaryen proud.

His attention is drawn to the clifftop when he sees the spread of enormous wings and hears the mighty rumble of the creature atop it. Vhagar. Laena Velaryon’s dragon is now riderless, and the pull he feels towards her is one he simply cannot ignore. At last, he has found his purpose and his desire to claim a dragon is reinvigorated with new strength.

Aemond waits until nightfall. Sea spray has made the rocks slippery beneath his feet, and he ascends carefully, though determined, towards the top of the cliff where Vhagar roosts. Windswept and breathless by the time he reaches the top, he stands awestruck at the sleeping dragon. Even partially submerged in sand, she is a magnificent sight to behold. She had appeared massive when looking at her from above, but it does nothing to prepare him for the sheer scale of her up close. She is gargantuan.

For a moment, icy fingers of fear grip Aemond’s heart, and he considers simply turning back, he has made a dangerous mistake. He shakes the thought from his mind the moment it presents itself.

I am no craven.

His approach is tentative, palms outstretched to communicate that he does not present a threat, as the elderly beast grumbles and shakes sand from her back. He stares transfixed as she opens her jaws, the white hot inferno that swirls within their depths makes that of Dreamfyre’s seem like a mere campfire. He feels as though he is looking into the very mouth of the Seven Hells themselves, but instead of fear Aemond feels kinship. Vhagar is without purpose, as is he, until now.

“Lykirī,” he calls out, the wind carrying half the sound away with it. Yet she hears, and she stills, eyeing the child before her with keen curiosity. Be calm.

Emboldened by her calmness at his command, Aemond steps closer, fingertips ghosting against the heat that radiates from her scales.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar,” he tells her, voice trembling. This is the same dragon ridden by the great warrior, Visenya, the conqueror’s wife. She is battle hardened, and with the smallest of movements could snuff out his short life. Serve.

The faintest sound of displeasure reverberates through Vhagar’s body, yet she remains still. Aemond’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he grips the ropes attached to her saddle and begins to pull himself up. If he had thought the climb to the top of the cliff difficult, it proves nothing compared to this. His arms ache with exertion, the expanse of the great beast he is attempting to summit is vaster than anything he has ever climbed before.

By the time he pulls himself into the saddle, Aemond’s palms are red raw with rope burn and his skin is damp with perspiration. There is barely time for him to catch his breath though, as the moment Vhagar feels him settle on her back, she rises to her feet, vast quantities of sand slipping from her back and wings in drifts.

The movement startles Aemond, and he fears he will fall. His sore hands cling tightly to her reins as he shouts his final command to her. 

“Sōvēs.” Fly.

As she rises into the air with an effortless flap of her wings, he feels as though he has left his stomach on the ground below. The rush upwards is dizzying, frightening and exhilarating all at once. Aemond begins to laugh as he grows used to the weightless sensation of every ebb and flow through the air as it whistles past his ears, and chills his skin to the bone. He is finally complete, he has his dragon, and for the first time in his life he is genuinely happy.

That happiness is short-lived.

The moment he reaches solid ground, his cousins, Baela and Rhaena, are waiting for him, alongside Jace and Luke. He had anticipated this, and is well prepared.

“It’s him!” Rhaena shouts as soon as she sees him.

“It’s me,” he responds calmly, confident there is nothing to be done now that Vhagar is his.

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride? It would suit you.”

He is startled when Rhaena angrily charges towards him, though he is bigger than her and pushes her to the ground with ease. A punch from her sister, Baela, catches him off guard, the pain in his face enraging him and causing him to hit back so hard she falls over.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” He snarls angrily.

Jace and Luke rush at him, and in a moment of confidence Aemond thinks he has bested the both of them, until all four children knock him down and begin to rain their fists down upon him.

He is the rider of the world’s largest dragon, and his new found confidence coupled with the surge of adrenaline allows him to fight them all back. He grasps a rock, holding it above Luke’s head as he grasps him tightly by the collar.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did. Bastards!” He hisses.

“My father is still alive!” Luke wails.

Aemond smirks, rock still held above his sobbing nephew, and he glances to Jace. “He does not know, does he, Lord Strong?”

Jace unsheathes a dagger, to the protestations of both Rhaena and Baela, and the distraction is enough for Aemond to knock it from his hand. His dedication in the training yard has paid off and he quickly gets the better of Jace, snatching up the rock once more, prepared to bring it down upon his skull should he try to attack him again.

In Aemond’s mind, the matter is settled, they should accept what has happened and retire to bed.

Unfortunately, his nephews do not share the sentiment. He winces, staggering backwards as Jace throws sand in his face, and before he has had time to fully recover, Luke is racing towards him, Jace’s dagger in hand.

The pain is excruciating as his nephew slashes upwards, and suddenly his vision shows blackness on one side, instead of his surroundings. He falls to his knees, a shriek of agony leaving him as blood seeps through the fingers of the hand he clasps to one side of his face.

His only focus is the searing, torturous pain he feels, waves of nausea rippling through his prone body, until a clamour of armour alerts him to the presence of the Kingsguard. As a knight kneels beside him, coaxing his hand away, his pale, horrified expression and exclamation of “Gods be good” are all Aemond needs to know that his face is ruined forever.

The fire in the hall of Driftmark is warm against his skin, and he does his best to focus on that sensation instead of that of the Maester extracting his eye from his skull. Though he has been dosed with milk of the poppy, he still feels every cut, every tug, and the pierce of the needle as it’s pulled through his skin repeatedly to stitch up the wound.

Aemond is unsure if it is the milk of the poppy that dulls his senses, or the satisfaction he feels at having claimed the world’s largest dragon, but he does not feel anger or sadness as he expects he would have when he is told his eye is lost forever.

When his mother snatches a knife and charges towards Rhaenyra, he is certain she has more blood of the dragon coursing through her veins than his coward of a father does. She is willing to risk everything to avenge his disfigurement, while Viserys makes excuses and appears more affronted at his eldest daughter’s children being called bastards. The loss of Aemond’s eye seems of little importance to him.

It is in that moment that Aemond feels the tiny semblance of respect he had for his father wither and die. As he takes in the harrowed expressions of Alicent, Aegon and Helaena, he knows they are all he has left.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” he says softly, rising to comfort her, though unsteady on his feet as he adjusts to his partial sightedness. “I may have lost an eye, but I have gained a dragon.”

A scar mars the flesh of Aemond’s face, but also ravages its way through the Targaryen family. Rhaenyra and her children leave King’s Landing, settling upon Dragonstone with Daemon and his daughters. Meanwhile, the health of Viserys continues to decline and the instances he is not bedridden grow fewer. Aemond does not miss his presence.

Worry hangs over his mother, a permanent shroud of anxiety, while Aegon becomes more debaucherous, sinking further into his cups with each passing day. Helaena retreats deeper into herself, rarely speaking unless spoken to, and bristles at any initiation of physical touch.

Slowly, Aemond heals, though it is not without struggle. He must learn to do everything anew. His favourite books become a chore to read, no longer able to pore over their pages for as long without suffering a terrible ache in his head.

Criston has to begin his training with the sword all over again. There is a newfound blind spot to account for when he fights. Not only does he have to learn how to balance, pivot and wield his weapon with accuracy, he also has to develop hyper vigilance and an acute awareness of where his opponent is at all times, to prevent them from drifting to the side from which he cannot see, and besting him.

Even flying on dragonback is difficult, though he only has one flight to compare it to. He learns fast, and is grateful that Vhagar’s advanced age makes her placid and more forgiving than a younger mount might be. When Aemond is airborne he can almost forget his disfigurement entirely, until he returns to the ground and the world is half blackness once more.

It is enough to make Aemond want to scream in frustration and give up at times. However, he is accustomed to a life of feeling out of place, of having to work harder than everyone else to prove his worth. There is nothing to be gained from a defeatist attitude, so he hardens himself to the challenges he faces, determined to be better with one eye than he was with two.

If his vision of the world is now limited, then he will simply expand his mind beyond that. He loses himself in tomes of history and philosophy, ignoring the dull pain that plagues his skull as he reads into the small hours.

In the training yard, he is quick to learn to keep Criston within his line of sight at all times, and wields his sword viciously, relentlessly, always striving to be faster, stronger, more precise. The proud look upon the Knight’s face means little to him now. The only person he means to prove anything to is himself. 

He reasons that a warrior must appear as fearsome as they fight, and takes to wearing a sapphire in the empty socket of his eye, when it is not covered by a patch.

The single matter that Aemond is never able to quite grasp is that of the fairer sex. Aegon has always seemed to have an overly indulgent interest in women, moreso what lies between their legs, but he has never understood his brother’s obsession with fornication. He has read about the mechanics of it in books, and the idea makes his lip curl in disgust. However, he reasons that Aegon is older, and perhaps his own appetite will develop in much the same way as he ages.

Aegon reasons that women’s skin is soft, they smell nice, and when you find one that has the perfect pair of tits and legs then there is little else that matters. While it is agreeable to Aemond that women are indeed more pleasant to look upon than men, he questions why he should not take an interest in their education or how they like to pass the time. His brother argues that once you are sheathed inside a woman, it is not what is in their mind that matters in the slightest.

Upon Aemond’s thirteenth name day, Aegon slaps him on the back and informs him that it is “time to get it wet”. The very idea makes his guts churn with unease, yet he dons the clothes of common folk just the same, pulling a hood over his head, and allows his brother to guide him to the Street of Silk.

The walk through Flea Bottom reeks of urine, with men staggering half drunk through the narrow cobbled streets, while women in varying states of undress beckon them forward into darkened hovels. Aemond keeps his head bowed, dreading what is to come, and is thankful when the establishment that his older brother guides him to looks slightly more respectable than the half a dozen they have passed by already.

The pleasure house is dimly lit and the heady scent of cheap perfume burns his nostrils, though it barely covers the smell of another undesirable stench that he assumes is the byproduct of what goes on here. He half wonders if it will stick to his clothing, much like the smell of sulphur and ash does when he returns from dragonback. He sincerely hopes not. 

His throat runs dry when Aegon staggers away with a busty woman, full of giggles, leaving him alone. The brothel’s madame has a kind smile, though it does not meet her eyes, and when she places her hand upon his shoulder it makes him shudder. He feels her touch there like a brand long after she has taken it away.

“Choose any of my girls that you like,” she tells him.

Timidly he eyes all of them. He wants none of them, but how can he say that?

When he hesitates, she chooses for him, pushing him towards a room with a girl that cannot be much older than he is. Her hair is the colour of straw, her skin reeks of the same perfume that lingers thick within the air, and there is wine upon her breath.

The fireplace burns low in the room as he lays upon the bed, and he keeps his eye fixed upon it until it is over. He has enjoyed none of it, the finish feeling little more to him than the satisfaction he experiences when scratching an itch. He cannot understand why Aegon makes such a fuss about it, if that is all there is to it then he never wants to partake in such an act of vulgarity ever again.

He leaves without saying a word, and walks as quickly as his legs will carry him back to the Red Keep. In the bathtub that evening, he scrubs until his skin is red raw, wanting nothing more than to erase every trace of what he has endured that day.

When he is served his favourite meal for his name day feast, roasted haunch of venison, he finds he has no appetite. Sickly perfume fills his nose and turns his stomach, and he leaves his plate untouched.

From that day forth, Aemond decides that he has no taste for depravity, and dedicates his time to reading, training with the sword and taking flight on Vhagar. Despite the nagging ache at the back of his mind that Aegon is set to succeed their father when he passes away, despite neither wanting nor deserving it, he feels a sense of fulfillment in knowing that he is making both their mother and House Targaryen proud.

There are few books in the Keep’s library he has not read at least twice, and he trains daily in the yard with Criston, now at a point where he is the victor in almost every sparring match.

The years pass, and Aemond is content with solitude, assuming that is his lot in life. Fire and blood course hotly in his veins, and in spite of his disfigurement he feels every inch a true Targaryen.

Viserys deteriorates to the point that Aemond’s grandsire and Hand of the King, Otto, now oversees most of the royal duties, and he has begun in earnest to plan with Alicent for Aegon’s eventual coronation. It comes as no shock to Aemond the day that he is beckoned to the Small Council Chamber, though he is surprised to find it is just his grandsire that sits at the table, there is not even a cup bearer present.

“I trust you are aware of the plans to crown Aegon once your father passes?” Otto asks, once Aemond is seated in the chair nearest to him.

Aemond sits up straight against the backrest, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, as he regards Otto impassively. “I am.”

“Good,” Otto nods, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. “Then I am sure you must know of your own duty to the realm.”

Aemond purses his lips, eyeing the older man carefully. “I will do what I must to ensure Aegon’s claim to the throne goes unchallenged.”

Otto sighs, leaning back and regarding Aemond with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Rhaenyra is sure to challenge your brother’s birthright, as your father foolishly named her heir, but there are means to remedy that.”

Aemond says nothing, waiting for Otto to say what he means. He watches as he fills both their wine cups, before setting the jug down. He takes a deep drink from his own, but Aemond leaves his untouched, wishing his grandsire would just get to the point.

Otto clicks his tongue before continuing. “To strengthen Aegon’s claim, we must curry favour with the other Great Houses of the realm.”

Aemond lowers his gaze, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the armrests of his chair. “You wish for me to marry.”

“Yes, Aemond, you are to be betrothed.”

The tone of voice in which Otto says this has such finality, it sounds as though a match has already been decided. His eye flickers upwards to meet the unyielding gaze of his grandsire.

“To who?”

“Your mother and I thought it best not to present you with suitors, we know you would not enjoy such a spectacle.”

You know all of them would take one look at me and be horrified by the very notion of being married to me.

Otto continues, “So we have chosen for you. The daughter of Lord Rickon Stark, Lorra. She is a pretty girl, and having the allegiance of a Great House of the North will weaken Rhaenyra’s claim.”

Aemond stays silent as his mind races.

House Stark. Their sigil is a dire wolf, their words are Winter is Coming.

Beyond that, he knows nothing of Northerners, what could he possibly learn about his betrothed from a book anyway?

He wets his lips, resigned to his fate. “When?”

“She will arrive in King’s Landing in two weeks, so that you can begin your courtship of her.”

“I will do my duty.”

“I trust that you will.”

Aemond retires to his chambers for the remainder of the day. He had anticipated that he would have to marry to form a political alliance at some point, however, the thought rattles him all the same. 

He is a solitary creature by nature, what on earth will he do with a wife? He supposes life will stay much the same, if his mother and father and Aegon and Helaena are to be used as examples - both couples married, yet living entirely separate lives. It is a mere formality. He will not be expected to spend time with her.

They will be expected to produce heirs, however. Nervousness swirls in his gut at the thought. He does not want to endure what happened to him at the brothel each time he couples with his wife, yet he cannot leave her childless either.

Lorra is a highborn lady, however, not a common whore, so perhaps he will be able to find pleasure in the act. Doubt niggles in his mind as he ponders his inexperience. A Prince must know what he is doing if he is to produce children, and Aemond possesses neither experience nor interest in the act of procreation. He will need to prepare if he is to perform his marital duties as anticipated without embarrassing himself or his wife.

The thought of returning to Flea Bottom makes him shiver in revulsion. He has no desire to part with coin for an act that sickens him. He will need to find an alternative.

There are plenty of maidservants around the Keep who are pretty enough, and of a similar age to him. He does not wish to be like his brother, however, and will not take what is not freely given. He has observed the way that Aegon expresses interest in the women that attend to them during mealtimes and decides to deploy some of the same tactics, though in a much more subtle manner.

At supper the following evening, he spots a young woman who is pleasing to him. She has a slender neck and pretty face, her large eyes framed by thick lashes. He watches her carefully as she rounds the table, filling each cup with wine, and when finally she approaches him, he deliberately reaches forward, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her wrist as she pours from the jug she holds. She glances down at him and he looks up, holding her gaze, the faintest of smirks on his face. A slight blush creeps up her neck, dusting its way across her cheekbones and he knows she is interested.

He spends the rest of the meal catching her eye whenever he can, and when the evening draws to a close, he lingers in the doorway, beckoning her with the slightest tip of his head when she looks at him, before walking back to his bedchamber. Aemond does not have to wait long for the knock at his door.

“Your grace, will you be needing anything else this evening?” She asks with a polite smile.

He closes the door behind them, steeling himself before turning to face her. “You understand why you are here?”

She nods, reaching up to cup his face as she leans in. He turns away, pulling back slightly.

“I have no need for you to kiss me.”

She nods in understanding and moves towards the bed, slipping out of her clothes. Aemond stands in silence as he watches her disrobe. She is attractive to look at, much more desirable than the girl he had coupled with in Flea Bottom. Smooth skinned, with subtle curves and firm breasts. He wonders how many others have looked upon her in the same manner that he has.

“Lay down,” he instructs her, once she is fully bare before him.

She moves to position herself face down, but Aemond steps forward, halting her actions.

“Let me look at you.”

“As you wish, your grace,” she whispers, blushing again, and repositions onto her back.

Aemond stands over her, his eye raking over her form as he takes in the way her chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the narrowness of her waist expands outwards towards her hips.

Tentatively, he reaches forward, fingers trailing lightly over the plush flesh of her inner thigh, tugging gently.

Obediently, she spreads her legs and he sucks in a breath at what glistens between them, curiosity guiding his actions as he spreads his fingers through the slick folds. She sighs in pleasure, and he looks back up at her face. Her lips are parted, eyes hooded with desire. Admittedly, though this is a much better experience than what he’d endured when he was thirteen, he still feels little in the way of excitement. Aemond appreciates that she lays there quietly, however, allowing him to take things at his own pace, and he feels his body respond to her regardless of his lack of emotion.

When his cock strains almost painfully against the lacings of his breeches, he unfastens them, crawling over the maidservant to cage her body in with his. She feels better against him than the whore had, her skin is more supple and her scent not quite so overpowering. He grunts as he pushes himself inside of her, her tight, wet heat gripping every inch of him as he slides forward.

The inside of her is different from the grasp of his own hand. Aemond is no stranger to the act of self pleasure, using it as a means to clear his mind or lull himself to sleep on nights when rest evades him. It is not a carnal act for him though, he simply focuses on the sensation, guiding himself to release. Despite the pleasant warmth of her body, he does not feel driven to desperate passion as he had anticipated, as he has so often heard Aegon describe.

As he rocks his hips into hers, back and forth, the growing ache he experiences is nice enough, but it does not light a fire within him. He is simply rutting against another person. The dulcet sounds that fall from her lips as he pistons into her sound too performative, and he feels resentment as he looks upon her face, just wanting to put an end to it.

He speeds up, and her sounds grow louder. Annoyance prickles at his skin.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses.

She falls silent and the room fills with the sound of the slap of his skin against hers, until finally he spills inside of her with a quiet gasp. He is quick to withdraw from her, standing and tucking himself away.

“You can go now,” he tells her, turning away.

He doesn’t watch as she dresses and quietly leaves his chamber. Aemond feels disappointment that he is unable to derive pleasure from such a carnal act. He has read that it is supposed to evoke excitement within a person, and from the way Aegon behaves he knows it is certainly true. So why does such a feeling evade him?

It matters not, he supposes. He will treat his wife in the same way he has the maidservant this evening. He will not take her by force, and he will be gentle with her. The act will be for the sole purpose of producing heirs, besides that they will live their lives as they please. He did not choose her, and she did not choose him, so he is confident that this will be an arrangement she finds satisfactory.

The next two weeks pass by without incident. Aemond reads, he trains and he flies, and thoughts of his betrothal scarcely enter his mind.

Upon the day of Lorra’s arrival to the Red Keep, he gathers in the Great Hall, with Alicent, Otto, Aegon and Helaena to greet her upon her arrival. He stands straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back, eye scanning the room impatiently. He hates the formality of it all, and wonders what could possibly be taking such a long time.

He will, of course, be dutiful and stand here for as long as necessary, but irritability simmers within him as he exhales heavily through his nose, wishing to be anywhere else right now, the library, the training yard, on dragonback. Such a display seems wholly unnecessary for an arrangement that is a mere formality.

When finally the doors open to the steps that ascend into the Hall, he faces forward, eye fixed upon the Kingsguard that file in. Until he sees her.

Draped in a cerulean cloak, trimmed with grey fur, she seems as though she is floating, rather than walking as she approaches. Her ivory skin is tinged with the faintest of pink against her cheeks and the curls of her ebony hair are braided down her back.

Aemond’s throat runs dry, his heart pounding quickly against his ribcage, and he realises he is holding his breath. The last time he felt such a powerful combination of fear, awe and longing had been the night he had first laid eyes upon Vhagar. It unsettles him, and he is grateful that his hands remain behind his back, otherwise he is certain that she would be able to see how they tremble.

“Lady Lorra of House Stark,” comes the announcement to the Hall, but it sounds distant and far away to Aemond as he stands, transfixed by her.

His blood pumps like liquid fire through his veins. Her eyes, so blue they could almost be sapphires, meet his and he feels a shiver run through him. After a lifetime of resonating in the warmth of flames, he is chilled by the ice that is reflected back at him.

[grison-in-space]

It's never too late. We are beginning to think about how and why we exploit animals, and how it is not morally consistent with our values; several prominent anarchists and communist bloggers on Tumblr have admitted that veganism is ethically and financially superior on every level, though they don't participate in it, which is sad. All it takes is a little extra work. The collapse of capitalism will also bring the collapse of the animal industry, or vice versa. The meat plants subjugate both humans and animals, causing persistent trauma- in fact, it has the highest rate of trauma among every category of labor. If you support abolition, you should support all abolition: children, psych people, and animals. On a site like Tumblr, we have an opportunity to promote the breakdown of all positions of power. We are all equal.

Honey, you have the wrong fucking blog to the extent that I can only assume you are spamming this message to everyone you think might listen. I have gone on the record several times to say:

I am a pragmatic empiricist. I care much less about ideological consistency than I do about observed outcomes. There are traps there, too—sometimes people get too much into the weeds about observing proxies for desired goals—but essentially I do think that careful observation of the world around me is much more valuable than starting with a consistent ideology and assuming that good intentions will yield good outcomes.

I am motivated by animal welfare. For me, part of that involves meeting animals on their own level, using their own species-specific signals to assess stress and comfort, and understanding animals within their own social context. Therefore,

I am opposed to animal rights narratives that encourage people to project their own imagined emotional responses onto animals without assessing the animals' actual signals in context. Additionally,

I believe as a behavioral ecologist that, for good and for ill, humans are essentially animals participating in a broader ecosystem that includes us. I do not think humans are special or exist outside that broader web, and I think that ecological intervention works most effectively when we see ourselves as part of nature rather than as some kind of twisted unnatural personification of original sin. Conflict and death are part of life. You won't make a better world by pretending otherwise.

I am a disabled person ("psych people?!"), and more specifically an autistic and neurodivergent person. I literally spelled out for you last night that I have difficulties eating and that imposing more barriers to that ("a little extra work") is a significant burden for me. Your easy dismissal of this point is, in context, amazingly and blithely ableist. Wow.

"psych people?!" I am happy to critique coercive psychiatry and medicine more generally, but that one's new on me. If you're not brave enough to use the language of mad/crip pride, are you entirely sure you understand the points of the dialogue? Your demonstrated grasp of disability justice is already extremely poor; this ain't helping.

I am not anti-state (i.e. I am not an anarchist; I am a democratic socialist) and I routinely criticize daydreams about burning entire systems to the ground and replacing them with a vague new system. Those criticisms are usually based in historical analysis of attempts to do exactly that, which have typically resulted in a lot of bloodshed, generally from the most vulnerable people in society. They also often yield a new and not necessarily more egalitarian power structure that continues to oppress people, sometimes more aggressively than the institution preceding it.

For the same reason, I am not a communist. I think communism offers too many opportunities for unscrupulous people to seize power, creating more inequality under the banner of equality itself. Again, this position comes from reading the history of communist states from as many perspectives as I can get my mitts on.

I frequently critique assumptions that capitalism is the only root of social problems. This does not mean that I am pro-capitalism. It means that I think you have to think deeply about problems, especially when it makes you uncomfortable, to understand how to solve them. Many problems that capitalism exacerbates are actually rooted in problems about impulse control (as with Ideas Jerry the other day), basic human social dynamics, emotional regulation, complex traumas, and many other things. You must understand how these problems arise before you can construct a structure that guards against them effectively.

Fundamentally, I think you are probably optimistically spamming this message to anyone that you think will listen. I invite you to consider how effective that is as a tactic to advance your politics: when you pick the wrong person, at best you leave the impression that people serving your ideology are essentially self centered and bad at listening. At worst, you wind up pissing people off enough to sit down and lay out exactly how many points they disagree with you on. Coalitions of solidarity are based on listening carefully to one another and finding the places we agree on; shit like that is antithetical to building them because it sends a very effective signal that you are either very, very bad at listening or uninterested in doing so.

Either way, get out of my house.

[delusionisaplace]

hii could you please do prompts for (highschool) students who have to work together but A is basically a grumpy black cat while B is a golden retriever yk. and like A is “annoyed” by B and wants to push him away but B doesnt budge and wants to be her friend. so sorry if this is confusing😭 i love your work btw, you’re great <3

ahhhhh thank you thank you thank you for your kind words!! here it is:

𝙜𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙮 𝙭 𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚: 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥 𝙙𝙮𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙘 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨

have fun with these :) | if yall want more prompts like this, jus drop an ask nd ill respond as soon as possible | tag me if you use any bc i love seeing what you guys write :))

“How are you always so…happy?” “There’s no point wasting time being sad!”

“Do you know when to stop?” “Not at all!”

“I have to work with you of all people…” “I guess we both got lucky then.”

“Can we just get this project done?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of pretending everything’s fine?” “It’s not pretending if I genuinely feel that way.”

“Can’t you take anything seriously?” “Only when absolutely necessary! Life’s too dull otherwise.”

“I need a new partner.”

“You’re so tiring…”

“Don’t you have anything else to do besides bother me?”

“Have you ever tried smiling? Being positive? Something like that?”

A constantly side eyes B whenever they’re together (despite the fact that they’re getting used to B’s positivity)

"I don’t understand how you can smile all the time." "Frowns take too much energy."

“Hey, I finally made you laugh!” “That was a scoff, that doesn’t count.”

B finding A outside of class to have lunch, using their project as an excuse.

B always walking with A just to talk, even if A just sighs and rolls their eyes.

"You never seem to stop laughing…are you okay?”

B inviting A to do things with them and hang out with their friends just because they don’t want A to be alone.

“Your smile is starting to scare me…can you like, stop?” “Never!”

B opening up to A at random moments, just say that A knows that they can do the same if they ever want to.

“Are you ever gonna stop trying to be my friend?” “Nope! Might as well just accept it now.”

stop bc i had so many ideas for this im def gonna use some of these in lotstr 😭

[gloomwitchwrites]

Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical cursing, pretend oral, protective Price, vaginal fingering, sex with a condom, asking permission, hand necklace, doggy style, slightly possessive Price

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Part Five of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Made an offering, Price does his best to protect you. Alone together, the two of you finally give in.

Chapter Four // Chapter Six

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

You’re trapped. Caged. Like swine in a muddy, cramped pen.

You have no power here. No control. The only other person in this situation who might be able to protect you is Price, but his reasons for being in this room with Dimitri are elusive. While you are aware that Price is after Dimitri in pursuit of a larger target, his reasons are a blank space. Empty paper.

In that safehouse, Price never revealed anything specific. You aren’t even knowledgeable about what happened to Nikola. Not that you particularly care about Nikola, but you’re more concerned with what Price and his team did with the man once they got what they needed. Just because Price saved you, just because he touched you and said things that turned your resolve to goo, doesn’t mean all of Price’s intentions are sincere.

You are in the dark on his motivations. What is clear is that Price is trying his best to divert Dimitri away from this idea, that he isn’t interested in you sinking between his legs to fall to your knees.

But Dimitri is adamant, and the gun on the table is a silent threat.

Why does Dimitri care? Aren’t you supposed to be his favorite? That’s what Nikola said. That’s why Nikola stole you away, because—in his fucked-up brain—he wanted to get back at the man for letting him down.

Yet, how is Dimitri letting Nikola down. Dimitri is a dangerous man. You know this, and you’ve always done your best to stay out of his business, to keep yourself detached and indifferent. But you can’t turn away. Not when Nikola dragged you into this.

Survival. This is all about survival. You need to remember that. This will pass once Price secures what he needs.

Slowly, you step forward, and Price flexes his hips, lifting off the couch slightly as he spreads his legs wider. The movement is downright sexy. Teeth-rotting. Heat flares in your stomach and bursts outward, moving to your core and your chest, your body remembering his mouth between your thighs.

You’re not even upset that it’s calling out to him. You’re not even frustrated. What sits in the back of your throat is a calm acceptance, that Dimitri must be obeyed if you want to make it out of here with your life intact. Being on the receiving end of Dimitri’s displeasure is a blood-beast. An ill omen of certain destruction.

As you start to sink between Price’s spread legs, your hands go out to steady yourself. They land against the tops of Price’s knees, a slight tremor shivers through your fingers as they make contact. It isn’t because you’re itching to touch him but because you’re afraid of Dimitri, and what he might do if you don’t do this.

Under your palms, Price is warm and strong. An anchor. You try not to look at his face, deciding it might be best to focus on a different part of him like his chin or neck. But you utterly fail, only needing to know that you’re not alone in this, that Price understands. That he will be gentle with you.

Price stares at you intently. On the surface, he appears impassive, but you notice subtle signs that tell you otherwise like the twitching muscle at the back of his jaw, and the tension in his thigh muscles beneath your hands.

What is he thinking? What is he planning?

Your knees do not hit the floor.

With a movement that startles you, Price’s arm shoots forward, his hand grasping the back of your neck. His fingers lightly dig into your skin. Inhaling, you immediately tense in his grip. Whether Price notices is unclear. He draws you up his body and buries his face against the side of your head. In this position, it might look like he’s inhaling your scent or perhaps kissing your cheek.

Price is not doing either of those things.

“Follow my lead,” he murmurs in your ear. He’s nearly inaudible, and it’s a wonder that you hear him at all.

Lead? What lead?

There is only a moment to guess. Only a moment to consider the options in front of you. The tips of your fingers press into the fabric of his pants as Price lightly squeezes the back of your neck. It’s not a possessive or even pushy movement. It is a reassurance, a silent momentum that is urging you to trust him.

And you don’t want to trust him. Yet, at the same time, you know that you should.

It’s a goddamn annoyance.

While keeping his grip on the back of your neck, Price adjusts his hips again, reaching between your bodies to undo the front of his belt. Shifting his hold slightly on your neck, Price pulls back enough so that your faces are close and your gazes are locked.

Price says nothing. He doesn’t need to. Everything that needs to be communicated is relayed through his gaze alone. It tells you to trust him, to dive in and follow his lead just like he said to do. There is a soft pleading lurking within that makes itself known. Dimitri is a dangerous man, and Price knows, which is why he is asking you to allow him this.

When the belt is undone, and the front of Price’s pants sit open, he shoves your head down. Price is forceful, and the sudden push startles you, causing you to stifle a squeak. The sudden, surging urge to resist and bite back is immediate. It flares, bright and hot and angry before extinguishing when you realize that Price does nothing else.

He may have shoved your face against his groin, but that’s as far as it goes. Instead, Price’s arms adjust, the hand on the back of your neck shifting upward to gather and guide your hair over to once side.

It’s…a cocoon. Price is shielding you from their gaze.

Understanding seeps in, and you slide your hands up his thighs, adding another layer to the barrier. The situation is precarious. Delicate. One slip up, and Dimitri and friends will know the two of you are completely faking this.

Price’s hold on your hair stiffens, and then lightly presses before backing off.

Right. You’re pretending, which means you can’t stay in place.

It’s an awkward angle, but you manage a slight bob of your head. The moment you do, Dimitri’s wicked laugh drifts into your ears to settle like dust. Your cheeks heat and it’s not because your lips are dangerously close to the outline of Price’s dick.

You’re fucking fuming. You’d love to take that gun and shoot Dimitri where it matters.

“Now that you have what you want, let’s talk business.” Dimitri’s voice is smooth and venomous.

Price’s answer is a muted grunt.

You stay course, not daring to move more than necessary, not daring to try to change direction or speed or anything. Eventually you’ll have to do something. How long can you do this before Dimitri suspects that nothing is happening beneath Price’s makeshift protective barrier?

“The buyer is on a tight schedule. I need a guarantee that the exchange will happen at the scheduled time.” Dimitri’s tone is neutral. Distant.

Price’s fingers that brush against the side of your throat tense. “You’ve received a small advance. Was that not satisfactory?”

“It was.”

“And yet you take issue with guaranteed delivery?”

Hearing the slight tremor of annoyance in Price’s voice, you freeze. After a few seconds, Price is lightly pressing on your head again, and you resume, realizing your mistake.

Not knowing what Dimitri is doing is agonizing. Having your back to him twists your stomach and makes you question if you’re actually safe with Price. This could just be an illusion of safety. A way to make yourself feel better when the situation is anything but.

“No issue,” answers Dimitri in a slow drawl. “The buyer is particular and doesn’t take it well when something doesn’t go his way. I’m sure you understand.”

Price’s hips shift beneath you, and a low rumble vibrates in his chest.

Dimitri’s smug laugh sends your blood boiling. “We should wrap this up before things get…messy.”

Price doesn’t acknowledge Dimitri’s comment. “The location and time remain the same. The inventory will be loaded onto the ship once the wire clears. That is the arrangement.” Price is speaking through clenched teeth as if you’re truly making him come undone.

The acting is impressive. You have to give him that.

There is a delayed pause before Dimitri speaks again. “I’ve sent a partial payment to the account. As a thank you for the small advance.”

Price’s hold on you tightens, pressing you a bit closer to his groin. It’s an awkward angle and your neck is starting to cramp. You won’t be able to keep this up if it worsens.

There is the distinct clinking of bottle against glass. “As a thank you for making this process so…smooth, feel free to take her to the private room.”

Price’s hand immediately slides between your face and his groin, covering up the front of his pants. In the next second, Price is guiding you away from him. His gaze lingers on Dimitri before slowly sliding to you.

“You heard what he said,” says Price with a slight growl, his head tilting almost imperceptibly toward the room in question.

You know Price is acting, yet you don’t appreciate his domineering tone.

Using Price’s spread thighs for support, you push yourself to standing. You ball your hands into fists, attempting to stifle the gentle shaking taking shape in your fingers. Price must realize this because he stands abruptly, grabbing your arm and promptly forcing you to follow him.

“Make him happy, Sparrow,” singsongs Dimitri over his shoulder, bringing his vodka glass to his lips.

At the back of the large VIP room, next to the raised stage, is a plain black door. Olivia steps away from the pole like she’s going to cut Price off. There is genuine concern and fury in her eyes. Of everyone here, Olivia is the boldest, but this is not her fight.

When the two of you lock gazes, you shake your head and Olivia stops, silently asking if you’re sure. Price isn’t going to force himself on you. This you know.

“I’m fine,” you silently speak to her, overenunciating a bit so that Olivia can pick up on your meaning.

Olivia frowns but she returns to the pole, glancing back over her shoulder one more time as Price yanks open the door and shoves you inside. He slams it shut, and remains there, head turned in the direction of the door. His chest moves rapidly, up and down until, finally, he engages the lock and drops his hand.

Price doesn’t look at you. His face is turned to the side, his eyes focused elsewhere. Bringing his left hand up to the side of his face, he presses two fingers to the inside of his ear, the middle of his brow pinched.

“You hear all that, Simon?” Price pauses. Listens. “Send a drone for recon. Find snipe points and pinpoint potential exits. I want both teams prepped, ready, and in position before Dimitri arrives.” He pauses again. Nods. “Very good. Zero-six going dark.”

With that, Price removes a small earbud no larger than a pea from out of his ear. He drops it to the floor and then crushes it under his shoe. Bending at the knees, Price picks up the broken tech and deposits it in the small, hidden trash receptacle in the wall.

Then, he’s turning toward you, looming large as he invades your space. Price’s hands hover just shy of your upper arms like he wants to touch you but isn’t sure if he should.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, the middle of his brow softening. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m not hurt.” You shrug. “Well—my pride, maybe.” An awkward laugh escapes from your throat and you immediately cringe.

Price closes the distance, his hands coming to rest on your arms. His gaze roams over your face with concern, then drop to other parts of you. It’s not a heated look, but one of deep worry, as if your words are not enough to calm him. He looks you over once, then twice, and only then does his hands drop. Finally, he glances away from you, taking in the small room.

Price frowns. “What is this?”

You shrug. “All the VIP rooms have them. They’re for more private interactions.”

Price glances at you briefly before turning his attention back to the small room. The space is cramped. There is a neatly made queen-sized bed with black sheets penned in by three walls. Above the bed, both on the walls and on the ceiling, are mirrors. The lighting is dim. Moody. You and Price stand in the only open space and that isn’t even very large. There’s roughly four feet between the end of the bed and the door.

To you and Price’s left and right are shelving built into the walls. One side is a fully stocked mini bar. The shelves on the other side are full of different sized condoms, various bottles of lube, toys, wet wipes, and even cleaning supplies.

Price’s frown turns upward. He steps toward the shelving full of supplies and laughs softly. “This place has everything.”

“That’s the experience Thirst likes to offer,” you say, almost mockingly.

Price’s gaze returns to you. The relaxed state of his shoulders shifts suddenly, stiffening. “Are there cameras in here? Microphones?”

“Absolutely not,” you say vehemently. “The VIP rooms are incredibly private for a reason. There are a couple panic buttons hidden in the room but that’s for guests who don’t respect boundaries.”

Price seems to calm then, his shoulders relaxing. He’s quiet a moment and you’re not sure if you should fill the silence. How long do the two of you need to be in here before you can emerge?

“I don’t think we can leave here any time soon,” smirks Price.

“I had the same thought. It would look bad on me.”

Price’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Bad on you? No.” A protest begins to form on your lips but Price keeps talking. “Two minutes and done?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Shame on me.”

The back of your neck flames. The memory of him and his mouth on you is too fresh and new and Price is too goddamn close. And there is nowhere for you to hide.

You swallow and nearly choke. Glancing at a point behind Price, you answer him. “I suppose we’re stuck here for a bit.”

Price only nods, his amused smile faltering slightly. The two of you stand in silence. Not moving. Not speaking. The stagnant quiet is stifling. Suffocating. In this tight space, the musky scent of Price’s cologne makes its way into your nostrils, filling your lungs with him.

Seeing him out of tactical gear is its own type of asphyxiation. No cargo pants or boots. No beanie or oddly endearing floppy hat.

The all-black attire speaks to subtle danger, and whatever game he’s playing with Dimitri. His shoes are neatly laced and polished. His slacks are perfectly pressed and free of wrinkles. That doesn’t include his button up shirt. With the sleeves rolled up to the elbows to show off his massive forearms, Price looks very much the part. He oozes sexiness. Your gaze scans his entire body, entirely focused on how the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a bit of dark chest hair.

Does it cover his chest? His stomach? Does it—

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that Price’s movement toward the bed startles you out of your lustful thinking. He sits slowly, pausing on the edge before reaching down to unlace his shoes. He kicks them off. After, Price eases himself up the bed, falling onto his back with a deep sigh.

His eyes are closed and one large hand rests on his stomach just below the open buttons.

You don’t move toward him. You don’t move at all. The heels you wear are lead, full of cement, and you are glued to the spot, staring at the man who causes your emotions to swirl inside you like a storm.

Price’s chest rises and falls steadily. The air conditioning kicks in, the small room filling with a quiet hum.

“Are you going to stand there the whole time or are you going to join me?” Price doesn’t open his eyes when he speaks, and his gruff voice is rougher, almost sleep-laced.

Your legs respond without prompting, ushering you to the edge of the bed. Sinking down, you pause right there, gaze traveling up Price’s perfect form.

“Staring is rude.” Still, Price’s eyes remain shut. How does he know you’re staring at him?

“Shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, laying down next to him on the bed on your right side.

Price inhales. Exhales. Inhales. Ex—

One eyelid cracks open as he turns his head slightly in your direction. He says nothing, only watching you through that small slit.

“What?” you prompt, shoving as much annoyance into your tone as you can even though you’re warm between the thighs.

Just as the question leaves your mouth, Price grabs for you. The hand resting on his stomach ensnares your upper arm. There is no resistance. The man is strong, hauling you against him. One arm slides under and behind you to secure you against him at the waist. The other slides to the back of your thigh, lifting your leg up to drape over his. Your black cocktail dress is too short, and the fabric rolls upward revealing more and more skin.

That same hand, the one that grips your thigh, slides higher, securing itself at the very top beneath the curve of your cheek. The cheeks on your face flame, and your hands dig into his shirt.

Price’s sigh, once he settles, is one of contentment and pleasure, like you’re supposed to be here. You attempt to put some distance between your bodies but Price’s hand on your thigh only tightens, keeping you in place.

This is too close. Too affectionate. You cannot allow this to go further even if the rest of you is responding to him.

“You’re tense,” murmurs Price after a minute.

“It’s a tense situation,” you reply dryly.

You can see yourselves in the mirror, and how intimate this position is with your leg draped across his thighs. With his hand on your upper thigh, and your cocktail dress bunched at your hips, you glimpse the slightest bit of your underwear peeking out from beneath the dress. If you can see it, Price can likely see it.

Price can—oh. Oh. Oh. Shit.

Price’s eyes are open. He watches you watch the tantalizing reveal of flesh beneath the fabric of your cocktail dress. Those large fingers of his dig in. Drag downward. Back up. Higher than before and closer to the delicate fabric.

Does Price intend to touch you? Does he intent to take this further? Do you even want him to?

Slowly, Price’s head shifts toward you, his face aligning with yours. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,” he murmurs.

Those eyes of his sink into your soul and rips your autonomy from out your throat. Price squeezes your thigh, prompting you for an answer, his fingers dangerously close to brushing over your pussy through the fabric.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

Your lips part but there are no words. You are fighting nothing. Resisting nothing.

Price’s fingers slide underneath the fabric, pushing it aside. In the mirror, you are bare and open. Price’s inhale is husky, almost a growl. One lone finger slides through you, and the response is a wetness you know well.

“Tell me stop,” mutters Price, his own control slipping, his eyes shifting focus from your face to the mirror.

You like Price’s attention. You like how intensely he watches you, as if he never wants to forget a single inch. Entranced, your hand upon his chest lifts away, reaching for his face. When your thumb brushes Price’s bottom lip, he opens his mouth, and the tip of his tongue swipes against your skin. The touch surprises you, and your thumb draws away just as Price’s tongue retreats into his mouth.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats again, as if you’ll answer him this time.

You inhale sharply as his middle finger presses into your entrance, stretching you perfectly, easing you open.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “Say it.”

“Don’t—” Price freezes, ready to withdraw. “Stop.”

There is sweet victory on his face. A triumphant, pleased appearance that has you softening. All lingering anticipation is gone. Price’s other hand is on the back of your neck, bringing your mouths together at the same moment his fingers fuck your pussy.

This kiss is deep and fierce. Passionate. It is not a stranger’s kiss, but one that sends a shiver through your loins, every muscle in your body singing with need. Heating your blood, this side of Price stirs a slickness in your core.

There is whiskey on his tongue, and just the slightest hint of cigar smoke.

“Fucking hell,” he groans against your mouth as your body clenches around him, insisting that he stay there.

Price claims you for himself, over and over again, with his lips and fingers. That grip on the back of your neck is entirely possessive. Wanton. There are no others words to describe this hunger that oozes from Price.

Your hands instinctually slide around his neck, and you’re drawing yourself closer until the two of you are nothing but lips, teeth, tongue, and the steady pump of his fingers.

This attraction and desperation is unfair. You should not feel so strongly in this moment. You shouldn’t want him for any reason. Perhaps this is simply fate playing a part, bringing the two of you together because it knows that after tonight, you’re unlikely to ever see Price again.

Price’s lips fall upon your neck, sucking at your skin, just as his wrist twists enough for his thumb to play with your clit as he fucks you. You whimper, and Price sucks on your neck harder. Your fingers dig and claw into his shirt, tugging, tugging so hard the few remaining buttons might pop.

He rubs your clit, swirling repeatedly until the friction sends your pussy fluttering around him, flooding with new wetness. It’s not your small death. Not yet. That sits low in your body, waiting to be unleashed like a viper hiding in the leaves.

It’ll strike when you least expect it, robbing you of all resolve.

Your nails dig into his flesh just above his collar, leaving little half-moons behind, but you do not draw blood. The sensation of his finger sliding in and out of you is fucking perfect but it’s not enough to get you where you need to go.

“Fuck, love. Look at you,” murmurs Price against your throat. In the mirror above the bed, you can see everything. The second finger sliding in, how much of him is inside you, and the way your body releases and flexes around him.

“Dimitri can only dream of seeing you like this. Because this,” Price punctuates his words with a perfectly placed flick of your clit, “is only for me.”

The stretch that comes from a second finger pulls a gnarled, pathetic whimper from your lips. It makes you weak, turns you to ash, grinding you down until the need to beg for Price is becoming difficult to refuse.

“What do you need, love?” His lips brush against skin only to draw your face to his, pressing his lips to yours.

Your brain is a miasma of noise and sensation, and filtering through it all is too difficult.

“I—I need,” you begin, only to moan softly as his thumb teases your clit, halting all thought.

“You need…what?” he teases, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

“John,” you breathe, saying his name like liquid sin. “I—I.” Your words are missing, floating up into the air to disappear. You cannot cling to them to form the thing you need to say.

Price’s groan is low. “My name. Say it again. I liked it.”

“John,” you repeat, and he lightly presses on your clit in response, sending you tumbling into the place you’re seeking.

The whimpered cry that rolls up your throat and bursts forth from between your lips is unobstructed. Your pussy squeezes around Price’s fingers even as he continues to move them inside you. His actions only prolong it, drawing it out, seeking more as your hips writhe in time with him.

The aftershocks are the worst part, not because they’re painful, but because the muscles in your thighs won’t stop twitching. Price’s smile against your mouth tells you all you need to know. He is smug, downright satisfied with how you fell apart for him.

Your fingers that dig into his collar fade away, slipping downward to rest at the opening of his shirt. Another little aftershock hits you, and your hand slips underneath the fabric to touch Price’s chest.

He does not stop you. It is the opposite. Price leans into your touch, claiming your mouth, slipping his fingers from your pussy, rolling you completely onto your back as he traps you beneath him.

Price’s hands travel downward to your thighs, squeezing, some of the stickiness rubbing off onto your skin. Your legs are spread and Price sits comfortable between them, his pelvis pressing against yours. You feel the hard outline of him, but Price makes no move to undo the rest of his belt or take off his pants.

He stays like this, forehead resting against your own, noses brushing, lips almost meeting.

“Do you want to leave?” he asks softly.

Do you want to leave? Not, we should, or I, but you. Price is asking you.

“No,” you murmur, because it’s true.

Leaving means going back out there, to Thirst, to Dimitri, and to your life with mounting unpaid medical and utility bills. No. You’re not interested in leaving. At least, not yet.

“I like it here.” The words leave your mouth without prompting, and you want to take them back. They sound too comfortable, too sincere, and Price might shy away if you appear too eager.

But he only nods. “Good.”

Giving your thighs one last squeeze, Price pushes off the bed, sliding off to stand at his full height. Staring down at you, Price reaches up to undo one button and then another, revealing more of his chest and stomach.

Price is all thick muscle, and the soft brown hair on his chest trails down his stomach to disappear below the waistline of his pants. You sit up slightly, tugging on the hem of your dress to secure it back into place.

It’s a nervous habit, a sudden inflection of uncertainty. Why are you nervous? So what if you fuck him? You’re never going to see Price after tonight. Might as well get this out of your system and be done with him.

With one fluid movement, Price removes his belt. “Tell me again. Do you want this?”

You take a deep breath. “I want this.”

His voice drops. Becomes a husky growl. “Turn over. Hands and knees.” The command is raspy and needy. It draws you to action, causing you to comply without thought. Your autonomy is gone or, at the very least, surrendered.

There is a brief rustling sound, like that of a cellophane wrapper, then Price settles in behind you, the bed dipping where his knees rest. Between then and when he touches you is agony. But when he does, it is gentle, just fingers against the backs of your legs. In the mirror, you watch Price, his gaze focused on where his hands are.

He glances up, smirks, and then those fingers become palms that grasp at your dress, shoving it up over your hips. You’re completely bare to him other than your underwear which is shoved to the side.

Your hands fist the bedding in anticipation. Price’s hands are on your waist, and then he’s lining you up, the head of his cock beginning to sink in. He splits you open, stretching you deliciously, pulling a sharp moan from your lungs.

“You can take it. I know you can,” he rasps as more of him slides inside.

Your pussy flutters around him.

“That’s it,” he coos. “You’re doing so well, love.”

As you start to adjust to his size, Price thrusts shallowly, retreating a bit before trying again, adding more of him a little bit at a time.

“Captain,” you groan, because it’s the only thing you’re able to manage.

“Captain?” he chuckles, this time thrusting hard. “What happened to ‘John?’”

“Fuck me, John. Please.”

Saying his name, drawing it out, snaps something inside him.

Fingers slide upward, and then both of his hands are around your neck. John’s fingers intertwine, locking into place. He’s not squeezing. Not chocking. Simply holding.

“If it’s too much, you smack the top of the bed, love.” Price lightly squeezes your throat. “I won’t be gentle.”

Price’s hands around your throat tightens more, enough to make your heart race but not to obstruct your breathing. Your body begins to tingle, the animalistic urge of dangerous anticipation flowering from the recesses of your brain. You sink into the feeling, allowing it to spread until your skin is buzzing with frenzy.

Using only your throat as a support, Price starts to fuck you. He keeps you in place, leaving you unable to move much as he snaps his hips against you, his cock hitting so deep you feel him in your stomach.

The sound of your bodies coming together over and over again is loud in the room, nearly swallowing up his harsh grunts and your breathy moans of pleasure. Price takes complete control. His hands might be around your throat, but he effortlessly bounces you up and down his length in a steady, rhythmic pace.

With his hands around your throat, you are forced to keep your head up at the mirrors. From this position, you can watch as Price’s cock slides in and out of your pussy. You can see the sweat on his brow, and the gorgeous corded tension in his muscles.

Price’s hands tighten around your throat a bit more as his pace increases, quickly turning into frantic, frenzied thrusts. Your breathing isn’t restricted, but you feel lighter, your body buzzing from the sheer power in each thrust.

“Fucking hell, love. Look at you.” Then, again, but more of a growl. “Look.”

The mirror reveals all, including your perfectly dazed, blissed out smile as Price owns your pussy, claims it for himself. You’ve been fucked before, but not like this. The dominating relentlessness is sinful, and the submission to it is salvation.

“Perfect,” groans Price. “Made for me.” He’s lost in it. Drifting. His pace changing as he struggles to stay afloat. But you hardly care, because watching Price’s change in the mirror is its own kind of arousal. You’re doing this to him, and that in itself is a fucking victory.

Shifting your weight to one hand, you reach between your legs to play with yourself. With Price’s hold on your neck, it’s a bit difficult, and it stretches your back, adding a bit of tension in the way he holds onto you. It only takes a few gentle circles of your clit before you’re clenching hard around him.

He groans, then slams his hips flush against yours, keeping still as you ride out your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck.” The second is drawn out, almost caught off at the end.

The moment your pussy eases up, Price goes all in, fucking you until every thrust punches the air from your lungs and your fingers twists the bedding beneath you. Through the mirror, you observe the soft flutter of his eyelids as his own end comes crashing into him.

He grinds forward, a throaty gasp escaping him as he stills.

There is a pause, a hanging in silence before Price eases up on your throat. He slides out of you and you whimper at the loss, but it is temporary. Price eases you down on the bed, your limbs almost giving out.

“Stay here,” he says.

Like you could go anywhere.

You run a hand over your face, twisting slightly to look over your shoulder. Price tosses the condom into the trash bin and then grabs a couple items off the shelf. He deposits them on the bed.

“Open for me,” he says, and you do. He begins cleaning you between your legs with one hand while the other gently rubs the muscles in your thighs.

You lay there, starting to relax, chest no longer heaving from the exertion. He tosses what he needs to in the trash, and then he’s sliding back into the bed, drawing you close to him.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” you murmur.

Price settles in, keeping you against his side. “We only have a few minutes like this.”

“I know,” you reply, suddenly feeling a slight tug of disappointment.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck did you do? Why do you keep torturing yourself like this? Why do you keep going, and sliding up to Price every chance you get? Why did you fall into his arms so easily?

You know the answer. You’re weak, and the attention is nice. That’s it. That’s all this can be. All you’re after is a bit of attention. That’s what you tell yourself, because the simmering truth is beast you don’t want to face.

Price rests his hand on your back, and you place yours on his chest, relaxing in his arms for a few minutes until he finally squeezes your hand in quiet signal.

“I’ll go first,” he murmurs, and you catch the slight tremor in the way he says it, like the words are painful for him. “Wait a couple minutes after me.” Price brushes a strand of hair out of your face, then his thumb rubs across your cheekbone. His thumb falls to your lip, and it is then that Price leans in to place a kiss there before drawing away and heading to the door.

He pauses before opening it, glancing back at you before exiting.

Not even a goodbye. Sure, Price. Whatever.

You stay on the bed, counting the seconds until you find the fortitude to sit up and stand on wobbly legs. You stare at the door, smoothing and resmoothing the front of your dress. You have to go out there. You have to.

Taking a deep breath, you somehow drag up the courage, pushing down on the handle and stepping out into the VIP room. The red lights stain everything, and Olivia still lingers at the pole. Price is back in his old spot while Dimitri and his companions laugh and pour vodka into glasses.

The best thing for you to do is to leave, and to do so quietly.

As you head for the main door that leads out into the hall, you notice Price’s gaze momentarily tracking you. Dimitri says something to, and by the look on his face, you know it’s something repulsively snarky. Yet it’s muffled, and you don’t catch anything he says, but you do hear Price.

“I’d say she’s mine now,” he snaps, breaking his connection to you to stare Dimitri down.

You nearly trip off the edge of the raised platform when you hear the unhinged growl in Price’s tone. Dimitri barks a laugh but you’re not interested in staying in the same room as the man.

Before you step through the curtain, you glance back and notice Price watching you again. You’re not sure what you see there. It’s not sadness, but something else.

A quiet contemplation.

A consideration.

But this is only tonight. It is not forever or even for another day.

You need to remember that.

Shoving it down, you swallow the bitterness until you feel nothing.

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