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blindmagdalena · 3 days

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Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter four)

18+ 4.2k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter 4/8. gif credit. fic directory. AO3.

Lovesick and giddy, Homelander makes quick work of sharing the news of his freshly established relationship. Meanwhile, you're left alone in his penthouse with one goal in mind: escape.

Homelander’s absence is like a too-heavy coat slipping from your shoulders, allowing you to breathe again.

You shake the tension out of your hands as you walk back down the hall, thinking more clearly than you’ve been able to all morning. It’s 8:30 now, which means you have a little over six hours to figure out something that might help you escape.

There is a balcony, but you shut the door to it as quickly as you opened it once you realized there aren’t any railings. The concrete slab outside the glass door is more like a ledge than it is a balcony, and the roar of the winds outside instantly made you feel like you’d be knocked clean off of it if you stepped outside.

Definitely not an option.

You do find a landline—who keeps a landline anymore?—but when you bring the receiver to your ear and press a few buttons, the line remains silent.

The phone is plugged in, every cord connected, the little green light in the corner lit, but there must be some kind of mandatory input in order to dial. You slam the receiver back down with a frustrated growl.

Prowling through the penthouse with the urgency of a caged animal, you check every drawer you come across. Every cupboard.

You run your fingers under the edges of furniture, and—seeing his absurd collection of annotated law reports and Oxford dictionaries—resort to tugging books from their resting places and flipping through their pages, hoping you might trigger some secret switch or find a hidden compartment.

Instead, a slip of paper comes loose from one of the volumes, fluttering to the floor by your feet.

You dip down to pick it up, brows pinching. It’s a photograph of a little blonde boy, maybe five or six, standing next to an older gentleman with a partial crown of thinning light hair around only the sides of his head. He’s gesturing to a spot on the wall next to the boy, who holds a blanket to his chest.

You squint, tilting the photo, as if it might help you see what the man is pointing at outside of the frame.

There are a handful of crayon drawings scattered on the stark white walls, though the quality and age of the photo make them difficult to interpret, and hidden in the spaces between—and presumably beneath—them are what look like crisp black scorch marks.

Looking back to the boy, you realize there’s a distinct crimson gleam to his eyes.

Homelander…?

He looks frightened. His little face pinched in an anxious expression like he might cry at any moment, but he’s holding it back.

You try to imagine what sort of life experiences would cause a child so young to be so disciplined with their emotions. Flipping the photo over, you see that it’s signed and dated.

Dr. Jonah Vogelbaum “Project Odessa” 1986

Unsettled by the image, you carefully slide the photo back between the pages of the book.

If Homelander had the kind of destructive powers he has now at such a young age, it isn’t a stretch to imagine he would have needed to be carefully cared for and observed. Taken to some sort of facility.

What average parent stood a chance against a tantruming child with laser vision, or the strength to flip cars?

Still, you can’t shake the awful feeling of dread the photo gives you. Just what the hell does “Project Odessa” mean? Why name the doctor, but not the poor boy in the photo?

You’re lonely, he’d said. You don’t have to be.

How personal those words had sounded. You’re not sure now that he was actually talking to you, even if he had been right. You are lonely at times—but doesn’t everyone get lonely? Loneliness has been a recurring theme in your life for as long as you can remember. You’ve never been tempted to kidnap anyone over it, though.

Taking a breath, you haul yourself back to your feet and dust off your knees, frustrated with the wealth of questions and dearth of solutions you’re left with. You’ve already spent over two of your allotted hours combing both floors of the penthouse.

Now what the hell do I do?

There’s a pep in Homelander’s step as he strolls through the halls of Vought Tower.

“Hiya, Danny!” He greets merrily, startling a young PA so badly that the man nearly drops the tray of coffee he’s carrying. “Whoa-ho, hey, watch it, kiddo,” he laughs, giving Danny a swift pat on the back.

“Th-thank you, sir,” he says belatedly, watching Homelander continue on with a look of thorough bewilderment.

Maybe even awe.

He doubts the chump ever thought Homelander even knew his name—which he didn’t before now. He just so happened to catch a glimpse at his name on the lanyard dangling around his neck before he said anything.

He’s having a good day, which means Danny may as well, too.

Everyone should have a good day today because for once, life is finally headed in exactly the right direction.

He’s still thinking about how you felt in his arms all night, how soundly you slept against him. He’s thinking about the smell of breakfast and how beautiful you looked cooking breakfast in his kitchen.

Every bit of it exactly the way he envisioned. Not to mention the fact you finally showed him a little gratitude. He grins to himself, eager to share the excellent news. So eager, in fact, he can’t stop himself when he catches a flash of red hair disappearing into an elevator.

Well… Maybe not everyone deserves a good day.

He barely manages to shove his hand into the closing doors, allowing him to step inside before it descends. He grins broadly at his target—who he’s now got nice and cornered—and Maeve offers a withering look in response.

He can’t help but laugh, sidling up next to her. She looks tired, black flecks of makeup smudged under her eyes, and he can smell booze on her breath.

Christ, it’s not even 9:00am.

“What?” She asks preemptively, her tone sharp.

“Golly gee, Maeve. Good morning to you, too! Someone shit in your pillowcase?” He asks, knocking his eagle pauldron on her shoulder. His tone is bright, his smile even brighter.

It’s been over a year since things ended between them, and he’s been able to smell every twink and whore she’s rubbed herself up against like a bitch in heat since. Finally, he has something to rub her nose in.

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “What’re you so chipper about?”

He leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “I met someone,” before he pulls back, his shoulders and brows lifting with barely contained giddiness.

It’s an odd expression that comes to Maeve’s face, some muddled mixture of surprise, disbelief and wariness. “Someone I know?” Her tone is guarded. As if he’d bother with the nobodies she keeps her bed wet with these days.

He waves his hand dismissively, blowing a raspberry. “No, no. Please. The only people you know these days reek of jizz and methamphetamines.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s just an excuse to break eye contact. To hide from him. “Well. My condolences to them,” she says, crossing her arms. If she were any more sardonic she’d come full circle to genuine.

“Ohhh, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve. Is that a note of jealousy I detect ?” He purrs, bringing his face close to hers.

She leans back, scoffing a laugh that’s more disdain than humor. “Oh, please. Get over yourself,” she says, but there’s something odd about her tone. She actually sounds relieved. Even her shoulders are less tense.

“You’re the one who’s gonna have to get over me,” he says, feigning a sympathetic tone. “She’s perfect. Sweet, affectionate, loves to cook. In fact, she made me breakfast this morning,” he says, lips spreading in a slow Cheshire grin.

Maeve is quiet for a beat, staring at him like he’s more puzzle than man, working out the truth of what he’s saying. He twists side to side, cape swaying lightly, reveling in how bewildered she looks by his joy.

Did she really think he’d never find anyone after her? Fuck, he could sing aloud for how sweet this victory feels.

“Huh,” she says at least, looking away from him. She laughs softly, a more genuine sound than anything he’s heard from her in a long, long time. “Well, thank God for that.”

He blinks, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. She’s done nothing but desperately try to fill the gaping hole of misery in herself with drugs and liquor and sex ever since they broke up.

The only reason he allowed it is because it felt more like a self-imposed punishment than anything else. The news that he’s found something real should devastate her.

Jaw tight, he turns to properly face her, itching to wrest back control of the conversation. “This means no more moping around the tower soaked in whiskey, hmm? You’re supposed to be a hero, for god's sake.”

“A hero,” she echoes incredulously, the word somehow rotten coming from her. “You know what?”

She meets his challenge, turning to face him head on, her hands on her hips. “I’ll get right on that,” she says, her voice dripping with condescending sarcasm, though he can’t help but see some spark of genuine relief in the wicked slant of her unkind smile. “You really do know just what to say, captain.”

The elevator comes to a stop with a ding, and Maeve takes a step forward as soon as the doors open. Quick as lightning, he snatches her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She whirls on him, fist coiled like she might strike, but she has the good sense not to.

“I’m serious, Maeve,” he says, tone severe, his smile vanishing. “Get your fucking act together before you embarrass us both any further.”

He lets go and she takes two steps out of the elevator, lingering there a moment before she smiles viciously back at him, lips pressed tightly together. She turns around, and the doors close on the image of her walking away from him.

His gloves groan with the tension in his tightly coiled fists. He exhales a shaky breath, anger hot in his chest.

When God closes a door, He opens a window, he reminds himself, looking to the rows of elevator buttons. He presses floor 99.

Next stop: Madelyn Stillwell’s office.

Eventually you opt for taking a shower, figuring it’s best to do it now while Homelander’s out.

Before stripping out of your pajamas, you give the bathroom a sweep, testing the mirror and checking for cameras the way they always warn you to do when you stay somewhere strange.

Glad to have turned up empty handed in this particular endeavor, you twist the shower knob—a golden eagle’s head, unfortunately—and shed your sleepwear, feeling exposed in the large glass box he calls a shower.

Nonetheless, the hot water still helps you feel better than you had before. The fluffy navy towels you wrap around yourself afterwards are soft and oversized, every luxury carefully thought of.

It doesn’t make you feel any less like a captive. Just a pampered one.

The clothes you choose fit just as well as the sleepwear did, the fabric sleek and comfortable. The opulence of them evokes the same wicked spite from you that breakfast did, though a distant part of you does quietly enjoy the feel of them on your freshly cleaned skin.

You wander around the penthouse a while longer inspecting the statues and the paintings, reading any slips of paper you find, checking under the blank trophies you can’t identify, but there’s no grand discovery.

No miraculous code for the door hidden somewhere.

You’re well and truly stuck.

Plopping down on the couch with the weight of defeat heavy on your shoulders, you pick up the television remote from the coffee table and stare at it. Its buttons are riddled with logos: Vought+, Voughtify, Voughtoons, VNN, all of them cluttered looking on the remote.

However, one familiar logo in particular catches your eye: two red overlapping O’s. It’s Vought’s web browser, OperaGX. Your heart jumps into your throat as you quickly flick the television on, pressing the button immediately.

All televisions are Smart these days, connected to the internet in order to provide this myriad of streaming services.

Even the fridge is hooked up to the wi-fi.

If you can access an internet browser through the television, you should be able to log into your email or one of your social medias and get a message out to someone.

The reality of your situation will probably be more believable to your friends and family than the notion that you suddenly decided to go “off the grid” backpacking through Europe, though you’re not entirely sure that you love what that says about your life.

You nearly shout with triumph as the screens on the wall flicker to life, the browsers home page displayed clearly. You ignore the headlines plastered all over the different boxes and dive straight for the address bar, tapping in vmail.com as quickly as the remote allows for.

Christ, is there any aspect of your life not tangled up in Vought? You’d never realized until now.

You smash the enter button, and the little icon in the corner of the tab spins for what feels like a millenia, loading.

RESTRICTED

The smile drops sharply from your face. Dread replaces your fleeting elation, and you fumble with the remote in your haste to type in a new address.

RESTRICTED

You try progressively more obscure social media, forums, anything you can think of that might have a means for posting or messaging.

RESTRICTED

Tears well in your eyes.

Come on, there has to be something not on this stupid list of restricted sites!

You try again and again and again, but every single time you’re met with the same message. Of all things, something as innocuous as a parental block of all things stands between you and potential freedom.

This time you do shout, but it’s in frustration as you hurl the remote at the collection of screens. Part of you hopes that the impact shatters it, but so meager is your outburst that it simply bounces off of it, the message stubbornly persisting, mocking your upset.

You have nothing. You are nothing. Homelander has the powers of a god and all the measures that wealth like his can afford to take at his disposal.

The tears that roll down your anger flushed cheeks burn, and you wipe aggressively at them with the backs of your hands.

As you simmer, you come to the conclusion that it isn’t so much that certain sites are restricted, but that only certain ones are allowed. The connection has been narrowed exclusively to what might entertain you, but not allow you any form of outside communication.

Tucking your legs up onto the couch, you bury your face in your hands and let yourself sob out the horrible feeling of defeat.

“Gooooooood morning,” Homelander practically sings as he strolls into Madelyn’s office without so much as a knock, smiling brightly. He swings the door to her office shut behind him.

Arching a shapely brow, Madelyn looks slowly up at him from her work, leaning back.

Her blonde tresses are nicely curled, the ends of them barely brushing her shoulders. She’s wearing a patterned button up blouse tucked into a high waisted skirt. Her lips are painted in crisp red lines, and she takes her glasses off in a fluid motion to look at him.

She always looks like this—perfectly unobtainable.

“You’re in a good mood,” she notes, a detectable edge of suspicion in her voice despite the warmth of it.

“Sure am,” he says evasively, downright giddy to play this little game with her. It’s so rare that he has the upperhand between the two of them. He meanders about her office to admire the photos on her wall. Most of them are of him.

Her ruby lips spread in a patient smile. She rests her elbow on her desk and interlaces her fingers atop it. “Any particular reason?”

“I met someone,” he says too soon, too excited to draw the game out properly. He looks at her, eager to see the change in her expression, whether it be displeasure or—if he’s lucky—clear cut jealousy. He’d accept either. Instead, he finds her expression doesn’t change much.

“Is that so?” She asks in her same gentle way. He meets a lot of people every day. It’s part of his world. But they both know he means something more than a miscellaneous encounter. “Tell me about them.”

“She’s beautiful,” he says, turning his back to Madelyn. He strolls idly about, feigning indifference as best he can while his delight bubbles irrepressibly in his chest. He wants to rub Madelyn’s nose in it. To make her regret keeping him at arm's length.

Fuck, he’ll relish it.

“Clever. Funny, too. She likes to cook.”

“She sounds like a dream,” Madelyn says, sounding distracted. The tell-tale sound of papers shuffling punctuates her response. Turning around, Homelander frowns. She already has her glasses back on, her expression downcast at the documents spread out on her desk.

“She is,” he says, his smugness giving way to defensiveness, and then derision as he continues, “I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad time? I was under the impression we have an appointment.”

“We do. These are your talking points for the gala on Friday, and these are your notes for your save this afternoon,” she says, lifting a handful of the documents towards him.

His lip gnarls into a sneer. “Are you even listening to me? I said I met someone.”

“And I’m very happy for you,” she responds, her level of patience enduring. She places the papers down on her desk, the corners hanging off the edge, inviting him to take them.

“Is she one of our supes?” She leans back in her seat, observing him in a way that always makes him feel small.

“No,” he says, jaw tight.

She hums, her calm serenity becoming maddening.

“Do you intend to be seen together?” She continues to press, and all at once he understands the angle she’s coming in from.

She doesn’t care a lick about what he’s doing, or who with.

All she cares about are the optics. Like he’s no different from The Deep fucking everything with a wet hole. She thinks you’re just another mess she’ll have to sweep under the rug.

“And if I do?” He presses, seething. Anger is easier than hurt.

“She’ll need to be vetted,” Madelyn replies matter-of-factly. “Likely have her socials expunged of anything that could be damaging to your image. What’s her name?”

He hesitates, the cold sting of regret lancing his gut. Looking Madelyn in the eyes, he suddenly doesn’t want her to know anything about you.

She could tell him to get rid of you.

Worse, she might choose to do it herself. This was a stupid and impulsive move, and he could swiftly pay the price for it. He hates how easily she unsteadies him.

“You’ll learn it when you meet her,” he says, forcing aloofness into both his tone and his body language, crossing his arms.

Madelyn’s look of tolerant reservation softens. She slides her glasses off and stands in a fluid motion, walking around her desk. “You know I’m only being protective of you, don’t you?” She asks, putting a hand on the jut of his elbow.

He purses his lips, gaze flickering away. He stares stubbornly out her window, fighting the urge to melt into her touch. She’s so busy these days. It’s made her even more withholding, and he has to cling tightly to his upset in order to keep himself from folding into her rare displays of warmth.

“You know that I only want for you to be happy,” she continues to coo, voice low. Gentle.

He closes his eyes, inhaling a deep breath. When he looks at her again, there’s a note of defeat in his expression. He doesn’t know how true that really is these days. He doesn’t feel it. He had to go out and find his own happiness—and you have brought him that.

The feel of your body against his as you slept made him happier than he’s felt in years. He hasn’t been able to stop daydreaming about your silhouette this morning as you cooked for him in his once vacant, soulless kitchen.

You’re the spark of life he’s been desperately missing.

“Then you’ll let me have this,” he says, an underlying stress behind every word that makes something in Madelyn’s gaze shift.

“Okay,” she says with an air of reluctance. “I can see that this is important to you… You’ll have to let me in eventually,” she says, stroking his arm in slow, disarming movements.

“I will,” he says, eagerness slipping into his voice in the wake of her acquiescence. “When I’m ready.”

She smiles, but not in the way that she does when she’s pleased with him. This smile is an hourglass, and her patience is the sand falling through.

Her hand slips away and he feels the loss of it like a physical blow, immediately aching for more comfort. Instead he’s offered the notes she tried to give him earlier.

“So long as you’re where you need to be when you need to be there, what you do in your off time is your own business,” she says, and though her tone is placating, he can’t help but feel that he’s disappointed her.

Hurt her, even.

This isn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted her to care beyond the metrics, beyond the work they do. He wanted her to ask him to be with her instead so that for once, he might be the one in a position to withhold.

He takes the papers while Madelyn watches him, the judgemental weight of her gaze leaving him feeling cold, childish, and terribly small. Reading through the talking points she prepared for him, he frowns.

“Something the matter?”

“I mean… C’mon, this whole Kumbaya schtick?” He lightly slaps the page with the back of his hand. “We should be showing strength, not our bellies. People want leadership, not this–this noncommittal PC garbage. It’s not even saying anything!”

“It’s saying exactly what we need it to.” Her nonchalance sets his teeth on edge.

“We need to commit,” he insists, lowering his tone.

“We need to appear moderate,” she counters. “You aren’t only addressing your audience. Every dove and Democrat in Congress is going to be there, and it’s your job to make us look good to them, too.”

“I’m a fucking superhero, Madelyn!” He snaps, but there is neither strength nor anger in his voice. It’s a petulant desperation that sounds sour even to his own ears.

Her calm rebuttal of his every thought makes him feel powerless in a way someone of his caliber has no right feeling. His fists clench.

“They should be on their knees! Not deciding whether or not I’m worthy of their fucking votes!”

Her hand settles on his cheek. The warmth of it startles him, tampering a measure of that building indignant anger.

“I know. I know it isn’t fair. Someone like you… you’re above these silly games,” she says, taking a step closer to him.

“But that’s why we need you. It’s why Vought needs you. You’re the one who’s going to show them the truth. Show them that you are the future,” she says, her thumb lightly stroking back and forth on his cheek. “Just give them a little time to catch up, okay?”

He deflates under her touch, gaze dropping to her lips, her throat, her chest, where her heart beats steadily in his ears. Every inch of her she does not first offer is off limits to him.

If he is all she says he is, how can she be so content to watch him starve?

“Okay,” he yields flatly, rolling the papers slowly into a tube. He bounces it off of his temple in a half-hearted salute, desperate to save face. Her hand falls away, leaving the spot cold. He swallows those empty feelings back like bile and clears his throat.

Defeated, he heads for the door, his tail tucked firmly between his legs.

“And Homelander,” Madelyn calls just as he reaches for the knob. He turns, looking at her with uncertain eyes. “Let’s keep this between you and I for now, okay? This little… acquaintance of yours. It would be a bloodbath if the press got a hold of her before we could prepare.”

“I told Maeve,” he admits right away, guilt and shame making his voice quiet.

“I’ll take care of it,” she assures him, though it does little to make him feel better. “Be good today.”

“Okay,” he says again, gut churning with a tumultuous mix of emotions. Stepping out of her office, the last thing in the fucking world he wants to do is plaster on a smile and let himself be blinded by a thousand camera flashes.

What he desperately wants now is you.

#i've been trying to stick to 3k chapters but they just keep getting longer and longer lol #reader and homie don't interact at all this chapter SORRY but it's some important character work #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #x reader #my writing #yandere boyfriend #yandere x reader #homelander

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ffverr · 21 hours

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Ok so let me add my two cents to this and say how it isn't a good reference to Ororo and Scott's dual or history.

To do that I'll also compare McKay's reference in Avengers (2024) #18, which is a just the proliferation of a fanon cliché at best, with Hickman's reference in House of X and Powers of X, which actually understands the context of the source material.

Storm and Scott's dual in issue #201 of Uncanny X-Men happens in a very specific context that both modern writers and fanon either forgot, don't know or misinterpreted it over time.

I-The necessary context:

Jean grey dies

Scott is deeply hurt by that

Over something like a dozen issues he decided to actually leave the X-Men as he doesn't feel up for it anymore.

The leadership of the team is naturally passed down to Storm that has always acted as a second in command to Scott. He often asked her opinion on plans and she often found last resort solutions when he was backed up against a corner.

On his "hiatus", Scott meets Madelyne Pryor. They fall in love, get married and Maddy is pregnant with a child as we learn when they reappear on the team in the mini: Alpha flight Vs X-Men.

Storm acts as leader of the team but goes through many changes, like losing her powers, which rattles her to her core and gives her some insecurities about her place in the X-Men and as a leader.

An Asgard adventure tells the story of Storm and the new mutants getting kidnapped by Loki.

This emergency makes the rest of the X-Men call Scott back to the team's leadership for a rescue mission.

Madelyne is brought to Westchester to wait for the return of her husband.

After the X-Men's comeback from Asgard, The trial of Magneto is happening in Paris, where they are attacked by evil Mutants. They're immediately teleported to that emergency.

Charles Xavier almost dies, but is at the last minute rescued by the Star Jammers and his love interest Lilandra in order to get emergency care.

Charles is stranded in space, and no X-Men knows if he's even alive

This hurts Cyclops enormously.

During this long absence on the X-Men, Madelyne gives birth to their child, Nathan, alone at xavier's mansion as Scott is gone fulfilling his momentary duty.

After their return, Madelyne feels like this huge absence from Scott and his half frequent comebacks to the team is making her lose him bit by bit.

So, with Charle's status as presumed dead, Scott, very paranoid and depressed, does the only thing he sees fits at the moment. Come back as leader because the team needs him without Charles around. This is Scott's pathetic attempt at regression to familiarity as Charles being dead and him becoming a father is a COMPLETELY new and very scary situation he's not sure to handle.

Becoming a leader again is a delusional idea considering he has pledged his presence and loyalty to his wife and newborn, in ALASKA, and Storm is already leader of the team.

Madelyne, with her insecurity over her husband's presence in their family, begs Storm to challenge him in a duel in order to banish the thought of leadership from Scott's head.

II- THE MISCONCEPTION ABOUT THE DUEL:

Storm didn't initiate it! She did not challenge Scott because she thinks she's a better leader than him or because she wanted to prove herself or gain the leadership for the first time.

She was ALREADY leader and completely agreed with Madelyne that Scott had to stick to his new family and responsibility as a father and husband.

Thus, she complies with Madelyne's request and beats Scott in a duel for leadership.

#201 Uncanny X-Men

He snaps out of his delusional state ( in which he couldn't even bring himself to communicate with Madelyne or be happy about the birth of his kid). He feels completely lost and dejected and comes back to his family. His relationship with Madelyne becomes distant and strained.(This plot continues in X-Factor).

Storm continues being leader of the X-Men and goes through her own hardships and journey for self determination.

So, no. Mackay's vision as this moment in time being "Storm can't go back to being under Scott's leadership because she's better than him or too cool to be a part of an X-Men team she doesn't lead" is utter bullshit.

III-Text, meta and fanon:

This fanon vision of the duel and later history between the characters just further carves the drift between storm and her friends that is already prevalent because of how many writers like to dehumanise Ororo as a character and limit her personal relationships to the X-Men to a maximum.

Her and Scott have a deep friendship built out of mutual respect and their shared grief over Jean's passing.

God loves, man kills

She doesn't believe that her and Scott "can't go back to getting orders from one another" that's just a misconception....

The truth is, neither one or the other would mind taking orders from each other considering they work insanely well as co-leaders. (As they did during their time on the team as leader and second in command from #94 to Scott leaving the team)

The Meta problem :

The issue, of course, is meta-textual, and shouldn't be baked into the text.

Storm hasn't "outgrown" being on an X-Men team or being submitted to hierarchy. This is just mixing up meta textual and text.

Yes, as a character, Storm deserves to be pushed forward as a leader. It's a spot that suits her and puts her in a very interesting head space. It would be unfortunate for FANS and for the journey of the character to keep her subordinated to other leaders.

HOWEVER this isn't a feeling she has in comics. That just makes her relationship with Scott more bitter when in actuality, there is none of that.

Not to say they both don't enjoy a little fun teasing competition as "who's the best leader?" But it isn't that deep. It's not something they actually querelle about.

McKay's reference just feeds into the misconceptions about them and it sucks because they love working together! And this vision of their relationship just puts a useless drift between them that would, in the long run, take away their interactions from us.

IV-Hickman:

Hickman's reference though is quite good! Not perfect, but it holds an overall good understanding of that spot in their relationship. (And their friendship in general)

In hoxpox Scott says "Once, I thought I was strong -- a leader of mutants. And then you showed me what strong was."

This line stays up for interpretation. But for me, it's Scott recognising that at that time, because of Jean's death and Charle's presumption of death, he wasn't in the right headspace to be a great X-Men leader. He was still dealing with a lot of codependency of Charles and jean and didn't just yet actually stand on his two feet in a way that wasn't fragile, strained and harmful for HIMSELF.

Meanwhile, Storm had lost her powers! She was going through a very very hard identity crisis. Dealing with imposter syndrome and overall depression. But that didn't completely hinder her leadership like it did Scott. She rained in her problems and handled the team the best she could.

Scott running away from his responsibilities as a father because of how complicated his bond to the team's leadership and members is, wasn't real strength. But Storm dealing with these life changing moments and still holding her ground was strength.

And that duel taught him this lesson. And that's why Hickman's reference is great. Not because Storm is an objectively better leader than Scott or whatnot, but because the two of them learned lessons about personal strength and perseverance from each other.

Storm responding with "I learned it watching you" is the cherry on the cake because she did. To a certain extent, on a tactical aspect, Scott taught her a lot about leading missions and that's undeniable.

Anyways, ted talk done.

Stan Ororo and Scott! The greatest leaders of the X-Men! Don't pit them against each other and leave their friendship feeling odd and distant for no real reasons. They'll never grow over cooperating.

#Scott summers #x talks #ororo Munroe #xmen #marvel #avengers

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gabessquishytum · 1 day

Note

Hob desperately wants his neighbor, dream. Only one issue: dream is his friend orpheus’s dad. But he’s recently divorced, a total dilf and the second hob turns 18 he goes for it.

hob comes over with cookies when Orpheus goes to his mom’s for the holidays and they got a little drunk and next thing Dream knew hob was on his knees, making him feel better by sucking his brains out through his cock. He spends the rest of the week in Dream’s bed, letting Dream work his frustrations out on all his holes.

Now it keeps happening. Hob would feel bad about it, but dream has an exceptional dick and good credit. Hob can’t get enough of him. He’ll beg for more, spread himself out on his bed and take Dream’s cock until he’s coming dry.

Aww Hob is just being a good citizen! Helping poor ole divorced Dream recover from his trauma! Who else is gonna put food in the fridge and make sure that Dream doesn't go off the rails?

Hob does feel like he's being a little manipulative. See, Orpheus is going off to university and Dream is hyper aware that he's gonna be all alone. Hob, however, has no plans to leave town. He'll be working at the grocery store, collecting his minimum wage, heading around to Dream’s work after work with a six-pack of beers. He's dependable, he won't let Dream be lonely. He bakes cookies on his days off and feeds them to Dream in bed, sucking chocolate chips off his thumb and getting crumbs between the sheets. When Dream threatens to end the affair Hob just smiles and nods understandingly, knowing full well that Dream will be calling him to come over at 2am.

The problem is that they're so damned compatible. Hob’s a nasty little slut, always ready to go again, always wanting to try something new, always drooling for more. And Dream is so happy to be wanted. He also thinks that Hob is the most gorgeous thing. He might be a god of some kind, with all that golden youthful skin. One evening they're laying in bed and Dream pulls out a ring box, pushes a diamond ring onto Hob’s finger before he can even say yes or no. He grumbles when Hob tries to kiss him. He doesn't grumble quite so much when Hob sucks his dick and swallows every drop of cum. He keeps his engagement ring finger wrapped around Dream’s dick the whole time.

Hmm. Maybe they'll have a spring wedding.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw age gap

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whitedarkmoonflower · 3 days

Text

Forever mine

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I'm not gonna lie this didn't come easy but I'm glad I managed to write it. It's somewhat like a first step back to writing and it's S2 Sihtric again as he is my absolute comfort character. @volklana it's for you darling for inspiring me to write again.

Warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Sihtric being a sweetheart as always

Summary: A young Dane awakens something long buried in you, but the truth threatens to shatter your stolen moments. Can love survive built on lies?

Word Count: 7,8 K

Pain had always been a constant in Sihtric’s life—a relentless reminder that he was still alive. He had learned to endure it, to push it aside and keep moving. But now, with every laboured step, he knew it was different. A heavy grunt escaped his lips as he stumbled, the growing heaviness in his limbs warning him that the injury was far worse than he’d initially thought.

Warm, sticky blood trickled through his fingers as he pressed his hand harder against the wound in his side, trying to staunch the flow. The gash throbbed with a fiery intensity, each pulse sending fresh waves of agony through his body.

The scouting mission had gone terribly wrong, and he had only himself to blame.

Slipping away from the camp, determined to prove he was the best scout among them, had been reckless. But he wanted – no, he needed – to prove himself to his new lord, to show his worth, to show he was more than just a follower, more than a shadow.

Yes, he had found the Danes, but they had found him too. Now, the burning pain in his side served as a cruel reminder of his foolishness.

Each step harder than the last, the forest around him slowly turned into a blur of green and shadows as his vision dimmed. Sihtric clenched his jaw, forcing himself forward – if he could just make it back to camp, if he could just hold on a little longer.

Was he even heading in the right direction?

Sihtric stumbled, his legs barely able to hold his weight, and this time, he couldn't catch himself. He crashed to the ground, the thick moss cushioning his fall, but the sharp, searing pain that tore through his side forced a strangled moan from his clenched teeth.

He lay there for a moment, sprawled on his back, chest heaving. Above him, the thick canopy of leaves let in slivers of golden light, the first signs of dawn breaking through.

The sun was rising, marking the beginning of a new day, a day he might not live to see the end of.

Yet, he felt no regret.

Even now, with life draining from his body, he would make the same choice again. If this was where it ended—alone in a forest, bleeding out into the moss and leaves—so be it.

He had chosen this path.

For the first time in his life, he had given his oath freely, not out of fear or obligation, but out of loyalty and honour. He wanted to serve, to be worthy of Uhtred’s trust, to prove that he deserved his place, that Uhtred had made the right decision accepting him. That was worth any pain, any price.

His vision blurred, but Sihtric kept his eyes fixed on the shifting patterns of light above, with a shuddering breath he rolled over and slowly forced himself up on his knees.

He had no intention of dying here, not yet. He still had something to prove.

There it was: the small, crooked house that resembled a giant mushroom, leaning precariously against the mighty oak tree beside it.

The villagers called it the Witch's Lair. The old house greeted you silently, as it always did, the only constant in your ever-changing life.

Perched on the outskirts of the village, right at the forest’s edge, the house was hidden from sight by a tangle of towering trees and dense bushes.

It had stood empty for years, and no one could remember who had last lived there. Its roof was thick with moss, the window shutters hung crooked, some hinges rusted and loose, and the steps leading to the entrance were so rotten they had collapsed the first time you set foot on them.

You remembered every word of the gruesome tales whispered around the village fires—the stories of the witch who had lived in the house, stealing children and casting curses on anyone who dared to approach.

They said her ghost still haunted the place, luring in unsuspecting travellers and never letting them leave. On nights of the full moon, it was said you could hear their cries, calling for help that would never come.

No one dared to approach the cursed house, let alone step inside. Perhaps that was the very reason you had chosen it as your safe haven, your refuge.

This was the one place no one would ever dare to look for you. Of that, you were sure. Yet, as you approached, the house looked so peaceful, so calm, almost as if it were inviting you in.

You pressed your palm against the weathered wood of the outer wall, feeling its roughness under your skin, and listened to the quiet.

The sun hung high overhead, but its light barely penetrated the thick canopy of trees that loomed over the house like ancient guardians. Their tangled branches stretched out, like strong veiny arms, casting long shadows and shielding the house from the outside world.

A strange sense of peace settled over you as you pushed open the door. It creaked loudly in protest, a long, drawn-out whine that echoed in the stillness but yielded to your touch.

For a fleeting moment, you wished the stories were true—that you could disappear behind these doors and never have to face the world again.

Inside, you moved with practised ease, avoiding the sagging floorboards that threatened to collapse underfoot. You crossed the dimly lit room, heading for the large, dusty cupboard by the window.

It held your most cherished possession: an old, leather-bound Bible, the only thing you had managed to save from the fire that had consumed your home, your past, your life.

The weight of the book in your hands was familiar, a comfort that pulled you back to memories of a time before everything had changed. You held it close, the leather cool against your skin, savouring the past swirl around you – a fleeting, almost forgotten feeling of a home, of a place to belong to.

But today, something felt different.

A faint sound reached your ears—a muffled moan, barely audible, coming from the other room.

You froze, your heart pounding, a chill running down your spine. Your legs felt weak, as if rooted to the spot, even though every instinct screamed at you to run.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling in the silence, yet the sound hung in the air, sharp and intrusive, like a blade slicing through the stillness, violating the house's sacred peace.

There was no answer.

Just silence, thick and suffocating.

A shaft of light broke through the dust-laden air as you placed the Bible on the table by the window. The book landed with a dull thud, and at that precise moment, you heard it again—a moan, clearer this time, unmistakable.

Panic thundered in your mind, urging you to run, to flee before it was too late. But instead, to your own surprise, you turned and headed directly toward the other room, the source of the sound.

The deafening cry you let out as the mountain of blankets on the bed suddenly came to life, sprang to its feet, and tried to grasp your arm, would have made anyone in the village run for their lives. But here, in the eerie silence of the old house, it only seemed to echo back at you, swallowed by the dark, empty rooms as you fought to pull away.

You drove your fist into the stranger’s stomach with all the strength your fragile frame could muster.

He doubled over, and you yanked your arm free, sprinting towards the door.

Behind you, there was a loud thud as his body hit the floor, followed by an agonised moan.

“Please, help me,” the stranger’s voice, unusually soft and melodic, was laced with desperation, making you stop and turn back.

The crouched figure on the floor was a young warrior, clearly a Dane judging by his distinctive haircut and clothing.

As your eyes widened with growing fear, you took in the scene: his hands pressed tightly against his side, his face contorted with pain. He made no effort to stand.

“Please…” His whisper trailed off into a groan.

Driven by an inexplicable urge, you took a cautious step toward him.

“I’m no threat. I will not harm you. Please, help me!” Each word came out with difficulty, mingled with ragged breaths. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his body trembled.

You crouched down, raising your hand slowly.

The young Dane flinched, instinctively trying to pull away, but the movement only made him wince in pain. His eyes—one a striking blue, the other a deep brown—watched your hand with a mix of fear and uncertainty as you gently placed your palm on his forehead.

It was burning hot.

“We need to get you back into bed,” you said with unexpected certainty, surprising even yourself.

There was no rational reason to help someone who might, at the next opportunity, return to burn down your village. Your mind screamed to run and alert the others, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Hold on to me,” you murmured, slipping the stranger's arm around your shoulders as you tried to help him to his feet.

Each step drew a muffled whine from the young Dane. He struggled to keep up, dragging his feet with great effort, his breaths growing more laboured with each movement.

He collapsed onto the bedside and sank back into the blankets, exhausted.

Your eyes wandered over his lean, almost gaunt frame, the muscular arms exposed by his sleeveless leather armour, and his strikingly handsome, youthful face.

What was he doing here, in your secret hideout?

A pained groan pulled you out of your thoughts, your eyes drawn to the blood staining the blankets.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” you said, already moving toward the door.

You chuckled at your own foolishness.

“As if he has a choice in his condition,” you muttered to yourself.

The hearth hadn’t been used in ages, and it was a miracle no birds had nested in the chimney. After a few failed attempts, you finally managed to light a fire, and soon the water in the kettle began to bubble.

Finding clean rags proved to be more of a challenge. You’d decided against returning to the village to avoid awkward questions and there was in fact no time for that, which left you with only one option—to sacrifice your underskirt.

You returned to the room, your makeshift rags in hand. The young Dane was still lying on the bed, his breathing ragged and uneven. His eyes met yours, filled with pain but also a hint of trust, as if he had decided to place his fate in your hands.

“We need to get you out of this armour,” you said softly, kneeling beside him.

His face tightened in a grimace, but he nodded, his jaw set in determination.

Gingerly, you began to unbuckle the leather straps of his armour, your fingers moving quickly yet carefully with a practised ease. Each movement was met with a wince or a sharp intake of breath from him, but he made no sound.

You bit your lip as you peeled back his tunic, revealing the wound. A deep gash ran along his side, the skin jagged and torn. Blood oozed slowly from it, staining his skin and pooling onto the bed.

“This is going to hurt,” you warned, your voice trembling slightly.

He merely nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a steady gaze.

You cleaned the wound as best as you could, using the rags and hot water from the kettle. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, and his breathing grew more laboured, but he didn’t flinch. He endured it silently, and you could only marvel at the self-restraint the young Dane showed, holding himself with a stoic resolve and refusing to cry out.

Next came the stitching.

You had never imagined that your sewing kit, meant for mending your best dress—now faded and threadbare—would be used for something like this. But here you were.

You threaded the needle with steady hands, even as your heart pounded in your chest. You had never done this before, but now was not the right time for uncertainty.

The first stitch drew a low hiss from his lips, his eyes squeezing shut. You kept going, each pull of the thread through his skin accompanied by a muffled groan or a shuddering breath. He clenched his fists, gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t move, didn’t protest.

Minutes passed, feeling like hours, until finally, the wound was closed.

You wiped away the last traces of blood, bandaging his side as carefully as you could. He was sweating, his face pale, his eyes glazed with pain, but still, he managed to look at you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

As the words left his lips, his eyes rolled back, fluttering closed, and he collapsed against the pillows, losing consciousness.

You sat back, releasing a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, and your hands shook slightly, adrenaline still coursing through you.

What on earth were you doing?

The thought pierced through your mind, sharp and unrelenting. This was madness—helping a wounded Dane, an enemy.

And yet, as you watched his chest rise and fall, the tension slowly leaving his chiselled, muscular frame, you couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief that washed over you. Against all reason, you felt a flicker of accomplishment, knowing you had saved his life, at least for now.

None of it made any sense.

The moment he opened his eyes, Sihtric’s first instinct was to run, but his body refused to cooperate. His limbs felt as if they were filled with lead, collapsing under him after just a few steps.

Memories returned slowly, emerging from the fog clouding his mind like fragmented images.

He had been injured, certain he was going to die.

The solitary house on the edge of the forest had seemed like a possible refuge, even though it looked empty and abandoned. As his strength faded and the cold seeped under his skin, the bed with its old, tattered blankets had seemed so inviting.

He heard footsteps approaching and turned his head towards the sound. His eyes found you—the face he recognized now.

The beautiful, slightly pale face, the gentle voice, the big, fearful eyes brimming with determination and warmth. He remembered the way your fingers had trembled as you held the needle. He remembered everything, yet none of it made sense.

Why had you saved him? A Dane, a stranger, an enemy. And yet here you were, holding a steaming bowl in your hands, concern evident in your eyes.

“Take it easy,” you said with a soft smile, one that made Sihtric feel like he was losing himself in its warmth. “You need to eat to regain your strength. Let me help you.”

As much as Sihtric hated to admit it, he was in no condition to even hold the bowl himself. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he accepted your help, allowing you to feed him.

The real trial, however, came when you returned with clean wraps, clearly determined to change his bandages.

Sihtric's eyes widened as you approached, a wave of discomfort washing over him.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said quickly, his voice betraying a hint of panic.

He tried to sit up straighter, but his body protested with a sharp jolt of pain, forcing him to lie back down.

“What’s your name?” you asked, your hand gently resting on his forehead to check for fever.

“I’m called Sihtric, lady,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

He felt himself melt into the unexpectedly comforting tenderness of your touch. It had been so long—he couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness and care.

“Nice to meet you, Sihtric,” you replied, as simple as that.

No questions, no suspicious inquiries, just another soft smile and eyes filled with compassion, tinged with a hint of sadness.

If not for the persistent pain in his side, Sihtric might have believed this was all a dream.

“It’s alright,” you replied softly, setting the linens down beside the bed.

“You need proper care if you’re going to heal.” your voice was strangely calm as you furrowed an eyebrow as if sensing his unease although you couldn’t quite grasp the reason for it.

Sihtric swallowed hard, his gaze shifting away.

“I can manage,” he insisted, though the strain in his voice betrayed his struggle.

You sighed, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

“I know you’re strong, Sihtric. But even the strongest need help sometimes.”

You moved closer, your hands reaching out to remove the old, bloodstained bandages.

His body tensed, and he mustered enough strength to grasp your hand, holding it tightly.

“Why are you so kind to me? Why are you helping me?” he asked, his voice low as he drew a deep, shaky breath. “I could have been your enemy.”

The question caught you off guard. You tilted your head slightly, studying him—the handsome young man before you, his large, expressive eyes locked on yours, searching for answers.

Could you admit that you’d been asking yourself the same question over and over? Could you confess that, in saving him, you had unknowingly saved yourself from the emptiness of your own life—given it purpose, given it meaning?

“Maybe,” you replied softly, “but you’re not my enemy. You needed help, and I was here. Sometimes, it really is that simple.”

The moment of silence stretched on.

Sihtric didn’t release your hand, his grip tightening briefly as if holding on to some last bit of resistance. But then, with a heavy sigh, his defences crumbled, and he loosened his hold, surrendering to your care.

Gently, you reached out and began undoing the bandages.

Sihtric’s gaze followed your movements, a blend of curiosity and something deeper—gratitude mixed with a hint of awe.

“There,” you said softly, tying the last knot. “All done.” You looked up and met his eyes.

The coolness of the fresh bandages against his skin seemed to ease his tension, and he exhaled, the pain dulling under your careful touch.

Sihtric cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted, his voice low. “Being taken care of.”

Your expression softened as you met his gaze. “Everyone deserves to be cared for,” you said gently.

He looked down, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You’re kind,” he said, after a moment. “Kinder than I deserve.”

You shook your head, dismissing the doubt in his words. “You deserve kindness, Sihtric,” you replied firmly. “Just like anyone else.”

Sihtric’s fingers brushed yours, hesitantly, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Sensing your acceptance, he took your hand in his, slowly lifting it to his lips.

The kiss he placed on your palm was tender, almost reverent, and lingered longer than you expected.

He wanted to say more—to spill everything he was feeling, to let you know how your kindness had shaken him to the core. He had never met anyone like you.

There was such a beauty in your warmth, in the way you looked at him, in how you cared.

He wanted to tell you that he would give everything he had, even his life, just to see your smile again. To feel deserving of your compassion.

A small, tentative smile finally curved his lips—the first real one you’d seen since he woke. “Thank you,” was the only thing he managed, his voice rough and unsteady, eyes dropping to the floor again.

A week had passed since the young Dane had stumbled into your life.

You had feared he wouldn’t make it.

His sleep was restless, plagued by fevered dreams. He tossed and turned, drenched in sweat, painful moans escaping his lips.

The fever refused to break, and the greedy midwife had demanded a small fortune for a potion that promised to reduce the fever and ease his pain. You paid for it anyway.

Sihtric was incredibly sweet, reminding you of a big child—a big, neglected child, you had to admit.

The first thing he did upon waking was try to leap out of bed, but he didn’t get far, stumbling after the first unsteady steps. You couldn’t help but notice the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks as you helped him back into bed.

The crimson in his cheeks deepened every time he had to accept your help, whether it was eating the broth you prepared or when you insisted on changing his bandages.

He seemed so confused, even lost, his eyes never leaving you as you moved around the old house. You could feel his gaze, a blend of curiosity and wariness, as if he were trying to make sense of this unexpected sanctuary and the stranger who had offered it.

Yet beneath the confusion, there was unmistakable gratitude and awe in his eyes, and you clung to it like a drowning man grasping a plank in a stormy sea, letting it become your anchor, something to wrap around yourself like a warm scarf, shielding you from the coldness of the night.

You didn’t ask any questions.

Part of you was too afraid to hear the truth—who he really was, where his injury came from. And another part of you dreaded being asked the same in return.

It was he who eventually broke the silence, telling you that he was Lord Uhtred’s sworn man, wounded during a scouting mission.

Did you believe him? No, not really. But you didn’t let it show.

It was easier this way—two strangers brought together by the unpredictable currents of fate, waiting for the next tide to carry them apart again.

And yet the questions came.

“You know about me,” Sihtric began, his voice tentative, “but I hardly know anything about you. Tell me about your family.”

You hesitated, your hands pausing over the cups with herbal tea you were making. You forced a smile and turned to face him.

“Oh, there’s not much to tell,” you said lightly. “I come from a big family. My father runs the mill in the village and often works late, so I have to help my mother with the household and look after my younger brothers and sisters in the evenings. It keeps me busy,” unable to explain to yourself why it mattered at all, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the truth.

Sihtric nodded, his eyes softening with understanding.

“That must be hard, all those responsibilities. But it must also be nice to have such a big family.”

“It is,” you replied, feeling a pang of guilt for the lie. “There’s always something happening, and never a dull moment.”

He smiled, and for a moment, the room seemed to brighten. “It must be nice to have so much noise and life around you. I never had that.”

You nodded, looking away to hide the conflict in your eyes.

“It has its moments,” you said, keeping your tone casual. “But it’s nice to have a bit of quiet now and then, too.”

You knew this couldn’t last.

It felt like a dream—one you dreaded waking from each morning as the first rays of sunlight touched your closed eyelids.

Suddenly, your lonesome refuge had become a home, a place to return to, something to care for. You were needed.

Each morning, it was as if your feet had grown wings, carrying you swiftly to that old, decrepit house. And each evening, as you reluctantly left Sihtric behind to return to the village, your heart sank with the fear that he might be gone by the time you returned the next day.

Deep down, you knew that day was coming, faster than you wanted to admit.

It was one of those evenings when the moon hung low, perched on the treetops, so large it seemed as though you could touch it if you just stretched out your hand.

Sihtric had been unusually silent all day, and as you prepared a simple meal in the kitchen you struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel it.

The wound on his side had healed remarkably well, thanks more to his youth than your limited healing skills.

“I... I need to…” Sihtric’s voice came from behind you, hesitant.

You paused, hands stilling over the vegetables, and quickly wiped away the salty tears that had slipped down your cheeks. Forcing a smile, you turned to face him.

He stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I know,” you said, your voice was calmer than you felt inside. “It’s time. You’re well enough now.”

Sihtric nodded, his expression softening. “It is,” he murmured.

There was nothing more to be said.

You nodded, turning back to the table in an attempt to hide the conflict swirling in your eyes.

You didn’t want to cry.

It was foolish, really.

You had known from the start that it would end this way. You were strangers from different worlds, barely knowing each other.

Yet, the ache in your heart told a different story.

You heard Sihtric move closer until he was just behind you, so close that his warm breath grazed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your grip tightened on the knife as you resumed chopping the vegetables, forcing yourself to focus on the rhythmic movement. Up and down. Up and down. The blade moved faster in your hand, each swing becoming more erratic as your emotions tangled.

Suddenly, two large palms closed gently over yours, halting your frantic motion.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to steady yourself. Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, and you blinked hard, willing them away.

“You’re different,” Sihtric’s voice was soft, his thumbs lightly brushing against your hands. “You could have turned me away, but you didn’t. I owe you my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, but whatever words were forming on your tongue dissolved into a silent sob that you quickly masked with a sharp inhale.

Sihtric had never been this close before, never intruded into your space so intimately. His muscular frame pressed gently against your back, steady and comforting, but what caught your attention most were his hands—his hands were trembling, just as yours were.

“I don’t know how to repay you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, filled with something raw, something that tugged at your heart. “But I want to.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to remain calm. You could feel his warmth against your back, and every part of you wanted to turn around, to face him, to let everything you’d been holding back spill out. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

“There’s nothing to repay,” you said softly, your voice almost breaking. “You don’t owe me anything, Sihtric. I helped because you needed it. That’s all.”

The sensation of Sihtric’s right hand slipping away from yours, travelling slowly up your arm, sent your heart racing wildly.

There were no delicate butterflies in your stomach—there were frogs, leaping and tumbling inside.

His trembling fingers brushed your loose hair aside, revealing your shoulder and neckline.

You sucked in a sharp breath as Sihtric’s warm lips grazed your sensitive skin.

You closed your eyes, a soft whine escaping your lips, mingling with your uneven breath as you involuntarily tilted your head, giving him better access to your neck. A strange heat consumed your senses, making it impossible to focus on anything but his touch.

Sihtric’s breathing quickened, his body pressed more tightly against yours.

You steadied yourself, bracing your hands against the table to keep from losing balance.

“Sihtric...” you breathed, a surprised whimper slipping out as you instinctively pushed back, only to feel the unmistakable hardness of his growing arousal against your body.

Sihtric instantly pulled away, and you finally turned to face him, his hands slipping away as embarrassment flickered across his handsome features.

It wasn’t a conscious movement on your part, but more an instinct—driven by the fear of losing this moment, of letting go of something you had both craved and feared all along. Without thinking, you reached out, grasping his hand and pulling him closer, your other hand reaching for his chin as your foreheads gently touched.

“I... I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sihtric whispered, his gaze dropping as his breath warmed your skin. His voice was hoarse, raw, and even somewhat trembling. “Please, just tell me to stop. Tell me I’m a fool for wanting something I have no right to.”

“Sihtric, look at me,” you murmured, biting your lip as the ache in your chest grew.

Slowly, you reached out cupping Sihtric’s face in your palms, gently guiding his head back toward you. You didn’t speak, but your thumb traced the curve of his lips, silently urging him to understand that you felt the same pull, the same desire.

“I... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...” he stammered, uncertainty rippling through his tense body and before he could pull away or before doubt could grip you both, you rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, cutting off the words that never came.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped him, melting into the kiss.

You had imagined this moment so many times.

Foreign hands roaming your body, bruising demanding, you had dreamt of this gentle, hesitant kiss like a promise waiting to be fulfilled, soft and filled with reverence you hadn’t expected.

It was everything you’d longed for, and more.

As the kiss deepened, the sweetness gave way to something more urgent, more consuming. Sihtric's initial surprise and hesitation melted into raw passion.

Your fingers tangled in his braided hair, pulling him closer, drawing another delicious moan from his lips.

His rough, calloused fingers caressed your back, tracing slow, deliberate paths along your spine, his breath growing heavier, more rugged, betraying his youthful eagerness.

You knew this would be the last time you’d see him. There was no future for the two of you—just this fleeting, fiery moment.

The thought twisted in your chest, knowing it would leave your heart aching, raw with longing for what could never be. But it didn’t stop you. It only made you crave him more.

It was anyway more than you could dream of, more than someone like you deserved.

You didn’t care anymore about keeping up the charade of the modest miller’s daughter. At this moment, it didn’t matter.

You were who you were, and you craved him—this young, handsome and strong, yet sweetly hesitant man who touched you as if you were made of fragile glass. You wanted this to be a memory worth keeping, for both of you.

With a confident tug, you hooked your fingers into the hem of his breeches and pulled him flush against you, crushing your lips to his in another kiss that was hungry, deep, and filled with all the passion you had kept inside.

In a swift, determined motion, you turned him around, pressing him against the table.

He let you.

Sihtric would let you do anything. His world was spinning.

From the moment he’d first opened his eyes and met your gaze, filled with warmth and care, he had craved you. He had craved this.

Even the dull ache in his side couldn’t stop the way his body responded to your touch, how his breeches grew tighter each time your hands brushed his skin while tending to his wound, his blood staining your fingers.

He had nothing to offer in return for your kindness—no riches, no freedom. And yet, if he could, he would pull every star from the sky and lay them at your feet.

But even himself, he could not offer. Bound by his oath to Lord Uhtred, he was not free.

He was sure you wouldn’t accept him anyway. After all, he was a Dane, a bastard and a warrior, and you—a Saxon maiden, with a life rooted in the stability and safety of your village. A life where there was no room for the uncertainty that would surely follow if you were bound to him.

It was a mystery to him why you were even tending to him, why you were here at all.

And now, your lips on his had set his mind spinning in a whirlwind of emotions he had never felt before.

Sihtric’s wide eyes tracked your every movement, his breath catching in his throat as your hands skillfully untied the laces of his breeches.

“Oh, gods,” he hissed, and you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched him shudder, his sharp breath filling the air between you as your hand boldly slipped inside, stroking his fully hard length before freeing it from the confines of his breeches.

You kept stroking it, slowly, teasingly from root to tip, as you licked your lips, listening to the soft gasps, escaping Sihtric as his beautifully formed and thick cock twitched and pulsed under your touch.

You leaned in, rolling up his tunic as your teeth lightly grazed the hard muscle of his abdomen.

A heavy moan escaped him, and you felt him suddenly hold his breath.

Smiling, you let your lips trail further down, but just as quickly, his hands shot out to grasp yours, stopping you.

“Wait... no, let me...” he murmured, his voice thick. "Let me take care of you."

In one fluid motion, Sihtric pulled you back to your feet and spun you around with such ease, it stole the breath from your lungs.

You had always suspected he was strong, despite his slender frame, but the way he handled you like you weighed nothing sent a shiver down your spine.

Sihtric’s fingers brushed along your jawline, his rough palms framing your face with a tenderness that nearly broke you and you blinked back the tears threatening to blur your vision.

“Will you let me have you?” his voice was soft and pleading, eyes dark with lust, searching yours for an answer.

Suddenly unable to find your voice you just nodded, letting your teeth graze your bottom lip as your fingers slipped under his tunic, eager to explore again the tight planes of muscle beneath his skin.

This time, your touch wasn’t filled with the care of tending to his wounds, but with burning passion, with unrestrained desire.

You needed him closer—needed to feel his breath mingling with yours, his lips on your bare skin. You longed to hear him moan your name, to feel his breath hitch as he made you his, even if it was only for this brief moment of shared bliss.

A low hiss escaped your lips as Sihtric’s hands began to hurriedly bunch your dress up your thighs, his calloused fingertips grazing your skin. His eyes flicked up to yours, questioning, as if giving you a moment to reconsider—to stop him.

Impatience coursing through your veins, you took over, pulling the dress over your head and discarding it carelessly on the floor. The same urgency drove your hands as you pulled his tunic off and helped him get out of his breeches, leaving nothing between your bodies.

Sihtric’s large hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you down on the table. The half-prepared supper clattered to the floor, forgotten, as he hastily cleared the space for you.

You spread your legs, inviting him closer, craving the warmth of his body against yours.

“Please, let me taste you,” the raw, husky tone of his voice made your core clench around nothing.

“You can do whatever you want with me, Sihtric. I’m yours,” you whimpered as you let him urge you down until your back met the rough wooden surface of the table.

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he placed a wet, open-mouth kiss on your ankle.

You closed your eyes, shivering in lust, as his lips travelled up your leg. You gasped loudly, feeling his lips getting closer to your pulsing core, placing a lingering kiss on your inner thigh.

His hands took hold of your hips and then with a soft whimper he licked over your slit.

You moaned, your hands gripping the edge of the table, back arching against the wooden surface. It felt so sinfully beautiful, like a forbidden pleasure you knew you shouldn’t want but couldn’t resist, like tasting temptation itself and craving more with every breath.

Each lap of Sihtric’s hot tongue against your pearl drew another loud moan from you.

You slid your fingers into his hair and pulled hard on them.

Sihtric hissed, not letting go of you, as his tongue started to circle your pulsing bundle and his lips nipped and sucked at it, making you squirm and whine as stars exploded behind your tightly closed eyes.

He took you gently, slowly, almost hesitantly pushing forward into you, his eyes locked with yours, his sweaty, shaky palms, pinning your hips down on the rough surface of the table, betraying his nervousness.

You gasped, feeling his length stretching and filling you, your core throbbing with a greedy need.

Sihtric moaned as he finally sheathed fully inside of you. He stilled. Eyes locked with yours he savoured your walls taking him in and clenching around him.

The feeling of him buried deep inside of you made your walls flutter in arousal and need, you dug your fingers into his flesh, pushing your hips against him, begging for more.

And he gave you more.

Sihtric pulled out, before pushing forward again and then again, his movements tormentingly slow but thorough, driving you mad with want and desire.

Spurred by the lewd sounds rolling over your lips, his thrusts started to pick up pace until he was pounding into you, his hips meeting yours with every move.

“Oh god, Sihtric, you feel so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you mewled, clawing at his skin.

You glanced up at the young Dane through your lashes, taking in the sight of him as he thrusted into you—his flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes rolling back into his head, breath catching and lips parted in deep, intoxicating groans—worshipping you like you had never been worshipped before.

He was completely entranced by you, utterly under your spell, and the sight of him like this—vulnerable and beautiful—was one you knew you would never forget as you cursed and thanked fate in equal measure for bringing you together in this secluded, forgotten place.

“Please, don’t stop, don’t ever let go of me,” you whispered, barely aware of the words escaping your lips, lost in the moment, already too far gone, too close to the edge.

“I won’t. You’re mine. Forever mine,” Sihtric’s voice reached you through the haze clouding your mind, his words wrapping around you like a promise, solid and unwavering, making your walls start clenching around him.

Sihtric pulled you up, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to thrust into you, his strong arms holding you close, securing you against him.

His lips found your neck, kissing, sucking and bruising your soft skin with his teeth, his breath panting and his moans growing stronger and heavier with each thrust, mingling with yours.

“Forever mine,” he breathed in your ear, the sweet promise in his words adding the last weight to tip the scales and sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your climax hit you with a force of a tempest, filling you with pure bliss as tears welled up in your eyes.

Thighs trembling and head spinning, your whole body shook while hot waves of pleasure washed over you as Sihtric fucked you through your peak, his panting breath, laced with strained, twitching moans, hot against the skin of your neck as he came only a few moments later.

You knew the old house would be empty, greeting you with the same heavy silence it always had. And yet, as you pushed open the creaking wooden door, you held your breath, a flicker of hope still lingering in your chest.

“I will come back. You’ll see. There’s nothing in this world that can keep me away from you,” he had whispered, holding you tightly against his chest.

“Not even your oath?” you had asked, lifting your gaze to meet his.

He didn’t reply at first, his mismatched, searching eyes darkening as he looked down at you. Then, almost hesitantly, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

His embrace was strong but gentle, as if he still feared you might pull away. But you didn’t.

You leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat against yours, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones.

“Not even my oath,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

Did you believe him? No, not really.

Now, your footsteps echoed through the empty rooms, a hollow ache settling in your chest as the crushing truth hit you.

Your gaze fell on a single, delicate white flower in a vase on the table. It stood out against the emptiness, a painful remainder of something gone, something lost forever.

Slowly, you sank to the floor, the weight of it all breaking you. Uncontrollable sobs shook your body as a loud cry tore through you, the tiny shimmer of hope you had clung to slipping away with each tear.

The tavern buzzed with activity that evening, a small party of warriors having stopped in the village.

Their presence initially sent villagers into their homes, shutters drawn tight in fear. But the clink of silver flowing freely from the warriors' hands as they ordered food and ale quickly spread, and the fear began to dissipate.

Curiosity took hold, and soon the tavern filled with villagers eager to strike a bargain or sell their wares. It promised to be a profitable night for everyone—especially the tavern’s ladies.

Hearing how generous the strangers were, you had pulled your best dress from the old chest, carefully checking for any loose stitches before slipping it on.

The voices and laughter from downstairs grew louder as you descended into the bustling, lively room, mingling easily between the tables, your eyes scanning for the strangers in hopes of catching their attention.

A booming voice cut through the din, drawing your gaze to a table where several men sat, one of them clearly the leader.

The girls had whispered that the others called him "Lord."

You mustered your most enticing smile as you neared, eager to catch his eye—until a snippet of their conversation froze you in place.

Your eyes went wide, shock coursing through you, the noise of the tavern fading as the weight of what you were hearing settled in.

“Sihtric, you did what you could. Sometimes you just have to accept things as they are,” the man said, stepping aside and placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

“There isn’t even a mill in this village. There’s no point in asking for the miller’s daughter. She didn’t want to be found.”

“It can’t be,” Sihtric’s voice trembled, his grip tightening around the ale mug. “She told me... she said she loved me. The night before I left, she said she loved me.”

"Maybe she loved your cock,” came a mocking chuckle from a bearded man with a thick Irish accent, earning a desperate, angry glare from Sihtric.

“Sihtric,” Uhtred interjected, his tone gentler now, "none of what she told you about herself or her family was true. I spoke to the innkeeper. You need to forget her."

Sihtric’s gaze lifted slowly from the floor, his cheeks flushed with the weight of shame and disbelief. As he turned to face Uhtred, his eyes caught the figure of a young woman standing nearby, unmistakably one of the tavern's whores.

You wanted to run, but your body refused to obey. Your feet felt rooted to the floor as you watched recognition and surprise flicker in Sihtric's eyes as he stood.

It seemed impossible, yet it was true—your dearest dream and worst nightmare had collided into reality.

With the last remnants of your strength, you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs wobbled like jelly as you stumbled toward the door, using the tables for support. Behind you, Sihtric's voice called your name, spurring you forward.

You reached the door, shoving it open before tumbling down the steps outside. You hit the ground but scrambled back to your feet, desperation driving you. Shame and embarrassment burned at your heels as you broke into a run.

"Wait! Please, stop!" Sihtric’s voice rang out behind you.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you back against a broad chest.

You fought against it, struggling to free yourself, pounding your fists against the leather armour covering him. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Let me go!" you cried, your strength and resistance fading as his unyielding grip held firm. "Now you know!" you sobbed, your voice cracking. "Now you know everything. Just... please, let me go."

Hurt etched across Sihtric’s handsome face as he loosened his hold, but your strength had left you.

Without his support, you sank to the ground, trembling with sobs.

"So it was all a lie?" you heard him ask, his voice strained. "You didn’t mean it? But why?" His voice nearly broke with the question.

"Why does it matter?" you cried, burying your face in your hands. "You'd never want me if you knew who I really am."

"But you know that's not true," Sihtric said, crouching down beside you, his hands grasping your shoulders. "Look at me. Please, just look at me," he pleaded, his voice so full of emotion it made your chest ache.

Slowly, you withdrew your hands from your face, tears blurring your vision, as you reluctantly met Sihtric’s gaze.

His eyes, though pained, were full of something you hadn’t expected—understanding. His hands tightened gently on your shoulders, steadying you as you trembled.

“Do you think I care about that?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.

Your breath hitched, disbelief swirling in your chest. “But I lied to you, Sihtric. I told you things that weren’t true. I’m not who you thought I was.”

He shook his head, his grip on you firm and unwavering. “You are exactly who I thought you were. You’re the woman who saved me when I had nothing, who didn’t judge or despise me for what I am, who cared for me when I was weak. You’re the woman I can’t stop thinking about.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, but you still felt the weight of shame dragging you down. “But I’m not the miller’s daughter. I’m no one. I’m just...”

Sihtric cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle but insistent. “You are everything to me,” he whispered, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. Sihtric’s fingers gently trailed the contours of your face, his thumb lightly pecking your lips, as he lifted up your chin.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The hurt, the shame, the fear—they all melted away under the weight of his words. His touch was steady, his presence grounding. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him soothe the storm inside you.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmured, barely able to voice the words.

“Maybe I don’t deserve you,” he countered softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek.

His lips met yours in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it sent a wave of warmth through you, stirring something deep inside—a longing so powerful it left you breathless.

With trembling fingers, you cupped his face, pulling him closer, as if you couldn’t get enough of him. And when you finally pulled away, a sense of lightness washed over you, as if a burden you had carried for far too long had suddenly lifted.

“What now?” you whispered, your voice trembling with both hope and uncertainty.

“Don’t you remember?” Sihtric chuckled softly. “You are mine, forever mine.” His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Did you believe him? For the first time, yes, you did.

#sihtric #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #sihtric x you #sihtric smut

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loveanddeepspaceimagines · 2 days

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Little accident

Rafayel x fem!reader School!AU

Characters are 18+

This was the only thing i had in my drafts ,it's shit but had to post something 💀

You and Rafayel have been friends for years, sitting next to each other in many of your classes. Ever since you had laid your eyes on him, you had developed a secret crush on the tall, handsome boy with purple hair.

One day, during a break between classes, your teacher assigned you two to clean the classroom. So that's why during last class You sat in your seat, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall, counting down the final minutes until the bell rang. Until you got to be alone with your crush.

When the bell finally rang, everyone grabbed their things, saying goodbyes before leaving while you sat waiting for Rafayel who had different class today.

After while he walked in grinning ," so partner you ready for work?" He asked stretching his arms, you rolled your eyes playfully "yeah,yeah, so ready" you mutter and he chuckles.

As you began to sweep the floor ,clean board ,you found yourselves joking around and teasing each other.

After while you decide to clean the top shelves bringing chair to stand on.

As you climbed onto a chair to clean the top shelf, Rafayel callously remarked, "Watch your step, or you might fall."

Your smile widened, playfully retorting, "And then, you'll catch me, right?"

"My arms are open," he responded, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes playfully cheeks tinting pink ,turning to continue your work. after few minutes of silence he spoke up, "soo, I've heard that you got a crush" he grins looking up at you and you froze eyes widening, laughing nervously .

"As if" you huff turning to clean the shelf. "Oh come on, who do you have crush on? You can tell me we are friends" he insisted

You bit your lip, anxiety building ,you turn around "i told you i don't like any-" before you finish your sentence you lost balance chair wobbling beneath you. In that moment, Rafayel lunged forward, his arms wrapping around you, the chair crashing to the floor.

The chair toppled over, sending you both to the ground. Your heart pounded as you landed on top of him, body pressed firmly against his. The room spun as your lips met in a brief, accidental collision.

For a moment, you froze, both unsure of what to do next. You tried to regain your composure, your cheeks flushed, as you tried to sit up mumbling apologies.

But Rafayel wasn't done. He pulled you back down, your lips meeting again, this time with purpose. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his tongue slip past your lips.

He broke the kiss, his eyes searching yours "y/n ,I've liked you for a long time. I know that you like someone else but i couldn't live with myself if i didn't tell you" he murmurs.

His confession hung in the air between you, Your mind raced, your heart pounding in your chest. You had no words to express the rush of emotions washing over you.

However, your body spoke for you ,arms wrapping around his neck as you deepened the kiss. Pulling away you murmur against his lips "You idiot, you are the one i like"

At your words his eyes widen grin forming on his face" Really?" He mutters and you nod.

At your nod He moves hand on your neck pulling you back in another kiss ,hand trailing down your side, taking in the curves of your body.

Suddenly grabs your hips flipping your bodies so he's on top of you now, "good, because you are mine now "he mutters leaning down.

#love & deepspace #love and deepspace #love & deepsace x reader #love and deepspace imagine #love & deepspace x you #love and deepspace rafayel #imagines #rafayel #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads rafayel

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justmymindandstuff · 1 day

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Bounded by fire and love - Helaena Targaryen x Aegon II Targaryen (18+MDNI; smut)

This is a sequel to bounded by fire and pain but can be read as a standalone.

Summary: Aegon has tried to be a good brother. He knows he hasn't always been successful. Now the day he had feared has come, his wedding day. He must marry his sister and do his duty. Now he will drag her into his dark abyss with him. But Helaena surprises him with her desire and he manages to find comfort in her arms.

Warnings: age up characters, hurt/ comfort, self-hate, thinking about suicide (briefly), dark!, angst, family issues, Aegon is a product of family issues, Alicent is a bad mum but she tries, , drinking, sexual trauma, blood (briefly), marriage night, loss of virginity, insecure Helaena, incecure Aegon, sibling incest (obvious), p in v sex, oral (f), fingering, innocent/virging Helaena, innocence kink, pet names (?idn Aegon calls Helaena good girl once), smut, 18+, MDNI!

Words: 10.066

A/N: My Helaegon brainrot starts as a joke, but guys its not a joke anymore. I can´t stop thinking about them and the crumbs the show gives us doesn´t help.

English is not my first language// Gif not mine// AO3 // This turned out much darker than I originally intended.

I will write Dragons and Roses 03 over the next few days I promise (and there will be a part 04 bc I have no self control)

Since the fateful night at Driftmarkt, something has shifted in Aegon. Since that night, he is trying to do better. He tries to be a good brother.

He is no longer mean to Aemond and Heleana. Aegon even took Aemond to the brothel at his 13 nameday. Just like his father had done with him. Viserys had said that this is a Targaryen men tradition. Aemond was angry, but Aegon tried. He also has learned to listen to his sister. Her riddles still confuse him, but he knows that he can make her happy with a new insect, and he even tried to learn something about the little crawlers. But the book that the teacher had given him was so boring that he gave up after two chapters. He prefers to listen to Helaena as she explains why certain beetles cannot fly while others can. He tries to remember as much as possible. He is really trying.

But Aegon likes it best when all three fly on their dragons together. Sunfyre's back is his only source of happiness. Experiencing this happiness with his siblings gives Aegon strength. For hours the three dragons fly over the Crownlands.

However, there has been no time for that in the last weeks. The last few weeks have been filled with wedding preparations. Every day Aegon escapes from the Keep. He wants to avoid reality. He spends his days with Sunfyre, and every time he takes his golden dragon to the skies, he thinks for a moment about flying away. But Aegon comes back every afternoon. One bath and a cup of wine later, he has usually disappeared from the Keep again. He spends his nights with drinking, gambling and prostitutes.

But he cannot run away from reality. When his mother waits for him in his chambers three days before the wedding, holding his elaborate embroidered weddingshirt Aegon feels unwell.

"Mother I don't want to get married," he says but tries on his wedding outfit without complaining. The tailors bustle around him, and one accidentally pricks his skin with a needle. Aegon flinches but bites his lip to suppress a curse.

"It must be," Alicent replies, smoothing the embroidered fabric over her chest before taking a step back and looking at her eldest son. Aegon cannot read her facial expressions. He has never been good at that. How is he supposed to recognize emotions when he can't even sort out his own feelings?

"Why?" he asks defiantly. A thousand times he had asked this question and never received an answer. Now his mother sighs.

"Leave us alone." she commands and all the tailors, pages, and servants leave Aegon's chambers. The feeling of relief only lasts a moment.

His mother moves through his rooms as if they were her own. She goes to the table and first pours herself a cup of wine, and then Aegon. Aegon takes a few steps towards her, takes the cup, and waits so she finally answers his question. Aegon knows that Helaena did not ask for this wedding either. This is all his mothers doing.

"You want to protect your sister, right?"

"Of course." but why doesn't his mother understand that Helaena needs to be protected from him?

"Do you know who is her alternative?" she sounds exhausted.

Aegon didn't even know that there was an alternative. But everyone is better than him. Maybe he could arrange for that other man to marry Heleana in his place? He can smuggle her out of the Keep and bringt her to the man who she deserves. Bring her to a better man. He shakes his head and is already making plans on how he can get Heleana out of the Keep.

"Jacaerys Velaryon."

Aegon's plan is falling apart like a house of cards. He would never allow that his sister have to marry that bastard. All his defiance and anger towards his mother dissipate, and Aegon lets himself fall weakly into the next chair.

"Oh."

His mother doesn't punish him at all. She doesn't punish Helaena either. Alicent protects Helaena.

"Yes. Oh. And even if it weren't Jacaerys, it would be some other Lord who takes her away from us. Do you want that? Do you want to say goodbye to your sister?"

"No," he replies softly. His mother is right. He hadn't looked at it that way before. Aegon sighs and concedes defeat. "I will marry her," he whispers.

Alicent sighs, approaches him and sets down her untouched cup. Her hand caresses gently over his cheek. Her lips are twisted into a sad smile. "You don´t have a choice in this."

Her words should perhaps provide comfort, but they only drain all strength out of Aegon and ensure that he drowns himself even deeper in wine by evening. Only after he has vented all his frustration on one of the prostitutes and is back in his chambers he can cry. He lies on the softest bed linens in all of Westeros, surrounded by expensive food and fine wine, his clothes feel soft against his skin, made from the finest material, surrounded by jewelry and every luxury someone can imagine, yet he smells like a beggar, is as powerless as a small child, and feels as broken as a dead man. Aegon closes his eyes. He wishes he could just disappear, sinking into his mattress as if he had never existed. That would be better. Then all the suffering he has caused would not exist either. Helaena could then be free from him. Perhaps Mother would then marry her to Aemond instead of the Strongbastard.

Aemond. His little brother Aemond. Aegon opens his eyes again, tears streaming from them into the pillows. Aemond wouldn't make it without him. The stubborn, headstrong, disciplined Aemond. Aegon can hardly help but laugh at the thought. Aemond wouldn't know what fun is without him. He would throw himself into his training, obsessed with being a warrior and a scholar. An impossible task. Aegon knows that Aemond does all these things to distract from the fact that he is broken. Aemond is broken in a different way than Aegon. But still broken. He can't leave him alone. His little brother needs him.

Helaena is the only one among them who isn't broken. Helaena is perfect, pure, kind. Helaena is the only one who is good.

And in two days she would be his wife, and he would ruin her. Aegon just manages to turn to the side before he expels the contents of his stomach. It's almost all wine, his esophagus burns from the acidity, and the disgusting taste lingers in his mouth. Aegon would prefer to throw up again, but nothing comes out. He turns onto his back and just stares at the ceiling. When sleep comes Aegon is glad, and just before he loses consciousness he wishes for a second not to wake up again.

Aegon chambers are full of servants, pages, tailors, and maids. His brother Aemond sits in an armchair by the fire, looking around with a bored expresion. Aegon know it is his mask. Aemond is already wearing his festive attire, yet he still has steel at his belt around his waist. Aegon has already been bathed and smells of the oils and perfume in which his servants have soaked him in. He is rotting inside. The chaos around him causes a headache, and an uneasy feeling crawls through his stomach. His hands tremble and he longs for a cup of wine. Aegon focuses his gaze on his brother's drumming fingers. On the outside, Aemond appears calm, just like Aegon, but inside he is also tumultuous. Aegon tries not to pay attention to the fact that his chambers have already been rearranged and many of Helaena's belongings were brought in. From this evening on, these will no longer be his chambers but their shared ones, their marital chambers. One of the maids pulls at his hair as she clumsily tries to cut it. Aegon grimaces as his scalp tightens.

"Enough," he says, roughly pushing her away. "Get Helaena. Heleana always cuts my hair," he says. Quickly, the maid curtsies and runs out of the room.

"Our sister will surely prepare for the wedding herself." Aemonds voice comes from the fireplace.

"Probably and she will surely find it lovely when so many people are swirling around her and touching her," he replies grimly. A tailor's apprentice stumbles against a chair while turning, causing a pile of sewing materials to fall to the floor and the chair to scrape against the stone floor with a disgusting noise.

Aegon can't take it anymore and explodes.'"Everyone out of here! I don't want to see anyone anymore who isn't part of my family." he screams and jumps up from the chair. For a second, no one moves, and Aegon tries to calm his heartbeat with heavy breaths. Then the hustle begins again as everyone grabs their things and disappears from Aegon's chambers. Aegon takes two steps and reaches finally for his wine cup. In just a few sips, it's empty, and Aegon pours himself another right away.

"Mother says I should prevent you from drinking today."

"Try to stop me." they both know that Aemond could do that with ease. But hje just shrugs his shoulders.

"Don't worry, not today."

Aegon lowers the cup from his lips and looks at his brother. Aemond's expression is unmoving, but compassion is reflected in his eyes. Aegon does not want his pity, but the fact that it is there calms the fear in his gut just a little bit.

The doors are open again and Helaena steps in. She wears a simple dress made of green silk, yet her hair is already intricately braided and tied back, with a diadem perched on her head. The light catches in the green gemstones. Helaena glances around briefly and then smiles. Aegon is relieved that she is smiling.

"Jen said you want me to cut your hair," she says. Aegon fills his cup with wine once more and then returns to his chair.

"Yes, please." he says and drops himself onto the chair. Helaena takes the scissors and walks over to him.

"She says you were mean." cautiously as always, she begins to cut his hair. Aemond huffs from his spot by the fireplace, which makes Aegon roll his eyes. Helaena remains unruffled. As her hands gently glide over his scalp, Aegon briefly closes his eyes. He rarely allows Helaena to touch him, but in those moments, he wonders why. "Aegon?"

He flinches slightly but then responds. "They annoyed me."

"You should still be nice. They are here on Mother's orders."

"I really tried to stay calm."

"I know. It's all right."

He feels like a little child being scolded by his mother. Only that his mother never explained with gentle words what he had done wrong, she had just screams at him and slaps him. He now he deserves every hit from her.

Helaena sets the scissors aside and gently wipes the loose hairs from Aegon's shirt. His wedding outfit is still lying on the bed. Aegon cannot bear to look at it.

"Thank you," he says and stands up. He is glad that the only mirror he has in his chambers is turned around. He cannot bear to look at himself. "Would you like a cup of wine?" he asks. He knows that Helaena actually has to return to her own chambers.

She nods anyway, and they sit down with Aemond by the fireplace. Quickly Aegon pours wine for Helaena and hands her the cup. He made sure that he always has her favorite type of wine in his chambers. Aegon stares into the fire.

"You both look like you're going to your own funeral." Aemond suddenly says. Aegon and Helaena both look up and then at each other. They look that way because they both feel that way. But then Helaena straightens her shoulders.

"No. I'm doing well," she says then. Aegon doesn't believe her. He takes a sip of his wine to avoid saying anything but Helaena addresses him directly. "Aegon. I am truly doing well. And you?"

He sets down the cup and shrugs his shoulders. The nervous feeling in his stomach is getting worse again. Everything in him screams to run away. But he stays seated and instead starts to play with his fingers. Then he forces a smile onto his face.

"I'm doing well too," he says, managing even to look directly at Helaena. He doesn't know if her smile is genuine.

"Today is not our funeral. Not today. I haven't dreamed of today, and I only dream bad things," says Helaena, and her tone makes him perk up a bit, but the strange feeling disappears right away as he remembers his wine. But before he can take another sip, the doors to his chambers are flung open again. Out of the corner of his eye, Aegon sees Aemond's hand going straight for his sword, and he is ready to jump up but his tense posture disappears immediately when he recognizes their mother.

"I thought you were here, Helaena," Alicent says, sounding relieved. Ser Criston closes the door behind them. Then Alicent's gaze shifts from her daughter to Aegon and the cup of wine in his hand, she grimaces. "Aemond, I asked you to make sure he doesn't drink so much."

"That's his first cup, Mother," Aemond lies, and Aegon sends a silent thank you to the gods for his brother. "We thought we would drink to today's special occasion as siblings."

Alicent nods, "Fine." she agrees. "But Helaena mus get ready now."

Helaena sets down her cup and smiles at her brothers once more. "See you in the Sept." she says. Alicent steps forward and grabs the wine jug from the table before taking Helaena by the hand and leading her to the door. "See you in the Sept" Aegon whispers as Helaena walks past him. His mother stops once more.

"Ser Criston, please make sure that Aegon changes and accompany him to the sept, and remind him that Sunfyre is being guarded by additional guards today," she gives the order before leaving the chambers with Helaena. Aegon sighs, now he has a babysitter too. But at least it's Criston.

"Sit down." Aegon stands up and points to the spot that Helaena has just left. The sworn shield of his mother takes its place. Aegon walks through his chambers and retrieves a new jug of wine from the cupboard. As if he had no reserve. He filles Criston, his brother, and himself a cup and then sits back down in the chair. He would need one more cup of wine before he could put on his wedding attire and make his way to the sept.

Aegon first looks at his brother, then at Criston. He has known this man his whole life, as far back as Aegon can remember, Ser Criston has been his mother's sworn shield.

And as far back as he can remember, he has dutifully carried out her orders. So it is today. He makes sure that Aegon puts on his wedding attire and then takes away the wine so that he doesn't stain the light fabric. The ride in the carriage to the Sept is silent. Aemond rides alongside them on horse back.

Only after Aegon has walked down the long aisle of the great sept, nodded to a few of the Lords and Ladies, and stood next to the Septon at the front, does Ser Criston leave his side and take up his position. Aemond stays next to Aegon, he is glade about his presence. It grounds him. Let him feel less lonley. It takes a moment, but then his mother appears. She smiles when she sees him and nods, then she takes her place next to the king. The Sept becomes quiet. Aegon feels as if he is about to vomit.

Helaena enters the Sept next to her grandfather Otto Hightower. The King felt too weak to walk her down the aisle.

As Helaena steps through the large door, Aegon looks from his brother to the entrance. He has to swallow. Helaena had pinned a delicate veil over her hairstyle, the cream-colored lace cascading down her wedding dress and flowing to the floor. It has the same color as his outfit. They are perfectly matched, as if they belong together. And maybe they do that? Aegon never wanted to admit it, always forbidding himself from even thinking about it,but now he can't help but acknowledge it. Helaena is beautiful. As she gets closer, he realizes that all the people make her uncomfortable. It reveals how she holds onto Otto's hand, her knickles white because of her tight grip. Helaenas gaze shifts restlessly back and forth. But then she looks at Aegon, he is glad that he is smiling at this moment because Helaena also starts smiling. Aegon takes a deep breath and suddenly Otto stands before him, handing over Helaena's hand. Her skin is cold. Aegon carefully pulls back her veil. She is paler than she was an hour ago, yet she bravely keeps a smile on her face.

The Septon begins to speak, but Aegon can hardly understand him. He has a ringing in his ears, he tries to focus on his breathing, but because he can hardly control it, it only makes things worse. Pull yourself together! Breathe in, breathe out. It gets a little better, but it is only the gentle pressure of Helaena's hand that brings him back to the moment. He takes the dagger from the Septon's hand and cuts into his palm, then he hands it to Helaena, and she does the same, grimacing for a brief moment as the blade slices through her skin. When she hands the dagger back to the Septon, her hand trembles. but when Aegon takes her hand, her grip is firm. For a brief moment, Aegon feels her blood running over his hand, but then it mixes with his own and he gets used to it. The Septon binds their joined hands. The only Valyrian part of this wedding ceremony is over, and the Septon is following the script of the Faith of the Seven.

Helaena and Aegon speak the words. They leave a strange feeling on his tongue, but they don't sound wrong. The kiss is nothing more than a slight touch of their lips, and then it’s over. They are married.

He looks at Helaena, she nods and smiles. Then he turns her halfway, and those present begin to clap while the newlyweds walk back down the aisle. Aegon keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead. He cannot look at his mother. Outside a carriage is waiting to take them to a banquet at the Red Keep. Aegon is not hungry. And he doesn't want a banquet, he doesn't want to dance. He would prefer to have something to drink.

Aegon chokes down a bit of the food. Helaena, who is sitting next to him at the high table, hardly touches her food too. Alicent instructed the servants not to give Aegon any wine, but Aemond and Cristion always manage to secretly slip him a cup. Aegon thanks all the gods for the two of them.

Speeches are being given and music is played. Aegon dances exactly one song with Helaena before he flees back to his seat and takes a sip of his wine.

He hates it here, finds all of this repulsive. He can hardly stand to stay in this room for another moment. But he pulls himself together and clings to his chair and his wine.

His gaze sweeps across the room. Helaena is talking with her old nanny. A woman long past her fortieth nameday and one of Helaena's confidants. Alicent couldn't bring herself to send her back home when Helaena got older, so she stays at the Keep in Helaenas services.

Aegon looks at his hands, the nail beds are bloody, yet he can't help but keep picking at his skin. To distract himself he looks at his mother to see if her hands are bloody as well. Alicent sits in here seat next to the king, watching the dancing people. Her foot is tapping to the beat of the music. Aegon had heard that his mother, when she was young, had danced for hours on end with his half-sister. But Viserys is old and sick and hasn't danced in a long time. So his mother doesn't dance anymore either.

The thought is not yet fully formed when Aegon is already on his feet and walking over to his mother. He remembers his courtesies and bows slightly before the queen and the king.

"You allow your Grace?" he says to his father, but he looks at his mother while saying it. She looks surprised at his outstretched hand. Viserys laughs briefly beside him and then suppresses a cough before he responds.

"Of course, of course." his voice almost breaks with joy. Alicent reaches for Aegon's hand and allows him to lead her to the dance floor. The other couples respectfully make room and limit their dancing to the sidelines.

Aegon hopes that enough of the hated dance lessons have stuck with him so that he doesn't completely embarrass himself. But his body seems to remember the dance steps. After a moment of uncertainty he manages to lead his mother safely to the music. She shows a radiant smile, tears welling up in her eyes. Aegon is not quite sure, but he hopes that she is happy.

"I don't know if you remember," Alicent begins to speak softly. "But when you were little, we always danced in my chambers. You were standing on my feet. I hummed the melody because we didn't have any musicians. You always laughed so much." she swallows and her smile trembles.

"I remember it." Aegon lies, feeling a lump forming in his throat. For a brief moment, he does not see his mother, the queen, but Lady Alicent, the young girl she once was. Then guilt overwhelms him, because he is the reason she is no longer that young girl. Through him, she has become a mother. He forced her into the role of a mother.

"And now you are married and grown up." she sounds sad, and Aegon doesn't know what to say. His mother sighs softly, but then confidently executes her dance steps with a quick turn. When Aegon can look at her again, she smiles again. "I am glad that Helaena has you as her husband."

Everything in him wants to scream that she is mistaken. Helaena cannot be happy that he is her husband. But Alicent keeps talking.

"I know that you will protect her. You will be good to her. Because you are my little boy and she my little girl." she sobs and can't manage to keep her smile up. "I'm so sorry."

Aegon is glad that the dance is over at this moment because he feels frozen. His throat is dry, but he knows he has to say something. He wants to say something, but he doesn't know what. His head is empty. And after a blink of an eye, his mother put on her perfect smile again and wearing it like a mask. She takes a step back, and as her hand slips out of his, he feels as if she is slipping away from him. I will not fail you. He wants to say it, but it's too late. Alicent smiles and curtsies, then turns around and walks back to her place next to the king. Viserys claps his hands, and immediately everyone turns to him. Aegon is glad about his father for the first time in his life because he still cannot move.

"It's time. We have decided that there will be no bedding ceremony, so we will now bid farewell to the newlyweds here." Viserys hadn't decided anything at all, it was all his mother. She would probably have burned down the Red Keep before she would have allowed strange men to lift Helaena and tear her clothes off her body. Aegon is glad about that. The attention of the people turns to him, Aegon looks around and is relieved that Helaena is already approaching him. He reaches out his hand and she grabs it. This time her hand doesn't tremble, she stands so close to him that he can feel her body heat. The king stands up unsteadily and reaches for his cup. "Let's drink to the prince and the princess. For health and a good and fruitful marriage." The bystanders also raise their cups. "To the prince and the princess." Helaena and Aegon can only stand there and receive the false blessing. No one cares about them. Aegon can hardly stand it any longer and leads Helaena out of the hall.

Aemond, Ser Criston, and two other Kingsguards follow them to his cambers. He closes the door to his chambers behind Helaena and hin and leans his forehead against the wooden door. He takes a few deep breaths.

Aegon knows that Aemond will now withdraw, just like the Kingsguards. Ser Criston would stand by the door. Aegon's skin crawls at the thought that Criston's task tonight goes beyond just keeping watch. Aegon is not sure if Helaena knows that they are being listened to. He doesn't want to tell her. He is not even sure if he is capable of fulfilling his duty.

Despite it he turns to Helaena. She had taken off her hair ornament from which the veil was hanging and placing it on the table. Her gaze wanders to her things that are already here. Skeptically, she furrows her brows as her fingertips glide over the fabric of the veil.

"Nothing has gone broken." says Aegon. That must surely worry her right? He wishes he could read her thoughts. Are they as confused as her words?

"Tomorrow they will bring the rest of my things," says Helaena, turning her head to look at him. "I'm sorry that you have to share your chambers with me now."

Aegon shrugs his shoulders. It had been a decision, his decision. It doesn't bother him. It is not foreign to him to sleep next to Helaena in a bed. Countless nights, the siblings had crawled into each other's beds. On particularly terrible nights, Aegon had even bring it over him to show up at his mother's doorstep. She never rejected him when he stood before her with tear-streaked cheeks, reeking of wine. She would alway pull him into his arms. No one talked about these nights. It is a silent agreement between Alicent and her children. Aegon imagines that it can be nice to never have to sleep alone again.

"I like having you with me," he says, wanting Helaena to not feel guilty for moving into his chambers.

The two of them are standing indecisively in the room. Aegon would prefer to run away. Instead, he goes to the table and reaches for a cup. "Wine?"

"Mother took your wine with her." Aegon goes to one of the dressers and takes out a carafe with Helaena's favorite wine to pour it into the cup.

"If there's one thing that's for sure it's that I always have some wine hidden somewhere." as he hands her the cup, she smiles gratefully. Helaena takes a big sip while Aegon pours himself a drink. He notices that his hands are not trembling. Only after he has drowned his cup does he dare to say what has been swirling in his mind all evening.

"The dress is beautiful." he takes a deep breath. "You look beautiful."

Helaenas eyes widen in surprise and blood rushes to her cheeks, Helaena begins to play with the fabric of her dress. Now in the candlelight, it shimmers more gold, and Aegon has to swallow at the sight.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Is she insecure? Did he unsettle her? Words form on his tongue, but he swallows them down. He stares at Helaena, he knows he should look away but he can't. Forget it. That's just Helaena. His Helaena? He has known her her whole life. She is now his wife. She is now his Helaena. Or maybe she has always been his? Always been a part of him?

"Is it okay if I say that kind of things?" he feels dumb and insecure. A smile appears on Helaena's face. Aegon is sure that it is real.

"Yes, it's okay. I just didn't expect it. You've never said that you think I'm beautiful."

Aegon takes a deep breath. He chooses absolute honesty, only then does he feel like he is not failing. He has always tried to be better than he is. Now he has to be better than he is. For Helaena. He has no other choice.

"I have never thought it. I forbade myself to see you this way years ago. But today I couldn't help it," he explains. Helaena nods and then takes a sip from her cup before pushing it aside.

"I chose the color of the fabric myself, and then Mother had your festive outfit coordinated with it. It was nice to be able to make a decision." Aegon furrows his brows, trying to find the deeper meaning in her words. Is there even one?

"Can you help me take it off?" It's a bit heavy. Or should I call the maids?"

"No, I can help you," he says quickly. When the doors to these chambers are opened once more, he knows that he cannot hold himself back and would run.

Helaena turns around and Aegon begins to untie the laces of the dress at her back. To his surprise, Helaena starts giggling after a moment.

"What is funny?"

"I was just thinking that you've probably done that a few times already." again, she giggles. She doesn't seem to be angry at all that he has already been with other women. Aegon's lips also curl into a smile.

"Yes. I've done this a few times," he admits as he carefully pulls the fabric over the loose strings, causing the dress to slip from Helaena's shoulders. His breath catches for a moment before he forces himself to take a step back. Helaena pulls the dress off her body, the fabric pooling around her feet, and she steps forward out of her shoes and the dress. Aegon suppresses the need to take a step back again.

Under ber dress, Helaena is wearing a silk nightgown. Aegon can't help but stare at her.

"We can talk around it for half the evening now, but you know what still needs to happen for me to truly be your wife."

Aegon flinches slightly at her words. She is clearly braver than he is. He starts fiddling with his hands again.

"You are right," he says softly.

"I don't know what to do." Helaena says, fiddling with the white fabric of her nightgown.

They dressed her up for him, and that's wicked, and it drives him crazy that it works. He forces himself to turn his gaze away from the almost transparent fabric and the curves beneath it.

Aegon thinks about the whores he takes. Always fast and hard, he never looks them in the eyes, they always have bruises when he is done. He looks at Helaena's pale skin, and when he imagines that it is also stained with bruises, he wants to crawl out of his own skin.

"I don't know either." Silence spreads before Helaena hesitantly begins to speak. "But you already have done…I mean, I often hear about your visits to the brothel."

Aegon laughs joylessly. "Yes," he answers to her unasked question.

He doesn't even need to ask if Helaena is a maiden. Not only did she grew up under the watchful eyes of her mother as a princess in the Reed Keep, but she is Helaena, the girl who sometimes can hardly bear it when her mother holds her hand. Helaena in a passionate embrace with a man? Aegon can't even imagine it. And in the next moment, he realizes that he has to do the unimaginable today.

"So you know what we have to do?" her cheeks are flushing and stand in contrast to the radiant white of her nightgown. On top of that, the way she looks at him with her big eyes paints the perfect picture of innocence.

Aegon knows that he will be send into the deepest of the Seven Hells because he cannot suppress the burning desire that this sight awakens in him. He wants to take away her innocence. He is a wicked man.

"What happened in Silk Street and in the brothels are things that you don´t do to your wife."

"Oh."

He glances at her briefly, and this time he is sure that she is insecure. He doesn't want her to feel that way. It is now his task to take that from her. He will not fail. Aegon briefly closes his eyes to sort his thoughts before he speaks.

"There are two ways we can do this. We can see this whole thing as an obligation. We handle it like a task or we try to find passion and pleasure in it. "

"Pleasure? How?"

Aegon must pull himself together so that his thoughts don't drift off to all the ways that could worship her body. Instead he takes a step closer to her. Aegon hesitates for a moment, then places a hand on her cheek. She does not flinch at his touch.

"I can't explain it. I want to show it to you. May I kiss you?"

Helaena nods slightly, and Aegon leans in further and places his lips on hers. The kiss is only brief, like a test. Aegon doesn't know what he had expected, but not that a pleasant warmth would spread within him. And also not that Helaena follows him when he wants to withdraw. He stops and her lips are already on his again.

This kiss is more passionate than he had expected, and Aegon feels a shiver run through him as she parts her lips for him, allowing his tongue to glide over hers. Breathless, Helaena pulls away from him. She rests her forehead against his, Aegon's thumb caress over her neck.

"Did I do it right?" she asks softly. Aegon feels that the only appropriate reaction would be to sink to his knees and pray to her. Instead, he curses quietly before he answers.

"That was perfect. You are perfect."

He strokes her cheeks and kisses her briefly once more. Helena's hands wander over his clothed chest.

"Can you take that off?" she asks, a slight blush already shimmering over her cheeks. Aegon feels the need to relieve some tension from the situation.

"Should the answer to this question ever be no, please take a dagger and stab me," she giggles softly like he had hope. Aegon begins to unbutton his shirt, but Helaena places her hands on his. They are a little warmer than before.

"May I?"

Aegon nods at her question, and Helaena opens his shirt. Her fingers gently glide over the exposed skin, and a shiver runs through Aegon's body. It tickles slightly, and Aegon can't remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. Gently Helaena strokes his upper body, and Aegon places his hands on her hips. She stops a his chest for a moment they simply stand there breathing in each other's scent. Aego feels calm like he hasn't felt in weeks or was it months?

"Can you let your hair down for me?" Aegon asks into the silence.

Helaena smiles and nods. Then she takes a step back and starts pulling hairpins out of her hairstyle. Aegon's hands lose contact with her hips, and he has to suppress a sigh. While Helaena undoes her braids, she walks back to the table and places her hair clips on it. Aegon pushes his shirt off his shoulders. He runs both hands over his face and takes a deep breath once more. Then he looks over at Helaena. She had already undone almost all of her braids, and her blonde hair was falling over her back. Aegon slowly approaches her. When she undoes the last braid, he places his hands back on her hips and gently pulls her closer to him. She leans into his touch. Aegon stands behind her and gently brushes her blonde hair from her neck and over her shoulder with one hand. Slowly, he leans down and kisses her neck.

Helaena gasps for air, goosebumps rise on her neck.

Aegon is very aware of these two facts, and they send a hot desire racing up his spine. His lips wander up her neck to her earlobe. "I'm not good enough for you," Aegon whispers in her ear. "I am a sick man."

She responds in a heartbeat. "Then I am also a sick woman." Helaene's voice trembles. Aegon needs a moment to understand what she has said. She wants him, desires him. Presumably not in the same twisted way, but in her own way, she desires him. She turns to him, letting her hands wander over his bare arms and shoulders until they rest on his neck.

There is no trace of hesitancy as she speaks. "I want to choose option two. I want to try it with passion and pleasure."

Aegon can no longer resist her. His lips crash onto hers. Helaena presses herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Aegon turns them both around, his lips wandering over her cheeks to her neck. He lightly sucks on the pale skin, and Helaeana lets out a moan.

In this moment, Aegon vows to himself that he will find every spot on her body that makes her make those sounds again. He needs all his willpower to tear himself away from her one last time.

"Helaena you look like a goddess in that nightgown but you have to take it off, otherwise I will have to tear it."

Once again Aegon is relieved that she is giggling. Helaena takes half a step back and reaches for the hem of her nightgown to pull it over her head. The fabric carelessly lands on the floor. Aegon doesn't even try to stop himself from letting his gaze wander over her naked body. Of course, she is perfect for him in every way. Hot disire washs over him, like he never experience before.

"Perfect. You are perfect. Beautiful." he says before even a trace of uncertainty can appear in her. Helaena smiles. Aegon glides her to the side of his bed. As she stands before him, his arms slide to her knee pit, and with a smooth motion, he lifts her onto the bed. Helaena shifts and adjusts a bit on the soft sheets.

This morning, Aegon had observed how the maids had changed the bed sheets with fresh white sheets. Sheets just for this one night. Aegon quickly pushes the thought away. He wants to concentrate on the beautiful, naked woman in his bed now.

He follows Helaena onto the bed. His lips find hers again as he bends over her. Helaena's hands caress his shoulders and Aegon gets goosebumps.

Some of his blood has long since wander down from his brain and he feels his hardness pressing against his pants. The kiss becomes more intense and he lets a little more of his weight sink onto her. Helaena leans towards him and wraps her legs around his waist. The sudden contact makes Aegon moan softly. Helaena rubs herself against him and moans softly into the kiss. Her hands clench and he feels her nails lightly scratching the skin on his shoulders. Aegon suppresses a curse and a groan.

"Are you okay?" he asks. He has to make sure one last time that he is not completely misinterpreting this whole situation. He has to make sure that he is not failing her.

"Yes, I am fine. That feels good." Helaena answers him quietly.

"Yes." he groans. "But you have to stop." She stops moving immediately and takes her legs off him, afraid of doing something wrong, but Aegon continues. "Otherwise I'll come in my pants like a twelve-year-old."

"Is that a bad thing?" she asks innocently and strokes the hair on his neck.

"Well, that would be very embarrassing for me." he grins at her neck and moves a little lower to her breasts. Gently he presses her hips down with one hand to prevent her from unconsciously rub against him again. It turns him on so much that he would probably actually come in his pants. Aegon kisses her breast while his other hand gently strokes the other's nipple. Helaena lays her head back on the pillow and bends towards his hand. Her breathing is rapid and Aegon has never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. He would like to sink his teeth into the pale skin under his lips. He wants to mark her as his, but he suppresses this urge. She is innocent. Don't drag her into your abyss. At least try to keep her away from that abyss for as long as possible.

Instead he pushes his hand along her hips a little further towards her middle. Would she let him touch her there? His hand wanders a little lower and then he notices how Helaena spreads her legs further for him. She makes room for him and Aegon lets his hand wander the last bit. When he notices how wet she is, he groans. The next moment he lets go of her breasts and instead bends up to kiss her lips. Helaena gasps at his sudden movement. Aegon wipes his finger on the bedsheet and puts his other hand on Helaena's cheek. She looks at him curiously he also recognizes lust in her eyes.

"I want you to relax. Is that possible?"

"Yes." Helaena leans back slightly into the pillows her hands sliding from his shoulders and resting on the soft bed linens beside her body.

"Good." says Aegon and kisses her lips once more. "You have to tell me if something doesn't please you or doesn't feel right." he kisses her cheeks and plays with one of her strands of hair. "And you have to tell me when you like something and it feels good." he kisses her other cheek, and Helaena giggles softly again. "Can you promise me that?"

"I promise it."

"Good Girl." his voice is a bit rough, and Helaena whimpers beneath him. Aegon's lips wander again over her neck, his hands gently glide over her body. He takes his time. He caresses the soft skin of her perfect hips, letting his lips and tongue wander over her nipples and kissing down her belly. He enjoys the feeling of her writhing beneath him, the soft whimpering and moaning searing into his brain, and Aegon already knows that he will become rock hard just from the memory. He shifts his weight back and sits back. Helaena's breath comes heavily, and she looks at him with half-closed pleasure-drenched eyes. Aegon lets his gaze wander over her perfect body. They say Targaryen are closer to gods than humans and as she lies naked in front of him, Aegon believes it. He looks forward to all the future nights he will spend exploring every inch of her body. Then he makes himself comfortable between her legs. He places her slender leg over his shoulder and begins to kiss her thigh. Helaena gasps slightly in shock, but then reaches out to him and his touches. Aegon kisses her thigh downwards with practiced ease. If Aegon learned anything during his years in Flea Bottom and Silk Street than how to satisfy a woman. Her wetness glistens slightly in the candlelight, and Aegon can hardly wait to taste her. The desire surprises him but he allows it. Enjoys it even so he let himself dive into his lust.

Just before he finally reaches her center with his lips Helaena flinches slightly and sits up a bit in bed. Aegon lets her withdraw and loosens his grip around her legs slightly as he looks up at her.

"Is that appropriate?" Helaean asks, and Aegon could die right here and now because he has seen all the beauty of this world. He lightly kisses the inner side of her thigh and lets his fingers glide over her bare skin.

"Yes" he replies then. "That is even necessary so that you have as little pain as possible."

"The pain is going to be bad, isn't it?"

"I don't know." he says honestly. He had never cared about the woman pain. Now nothing is more important to him than Helaena's well-being. "But I am as careful as I can be. Hurting you is the last thing I want."

"Okay. I trust you, Aegon." she lies back down on the pillow and stretches out toward him again. Aegon thanks the gods for Helaena before he kisses down her thigh again and finally he can close his lips over her center. Helaena gasps and Aegon pulls back slightly to give her a moment to adjust to the new feeling. Her wet middle is right in front of him and he has to hold himself back from diving into her as if she is his last meal. Aegon can hardly wait to slide his cock between her wet folds. At the thought his cock twitches in his pants. Aegon closes his eyes for a moment. He needs to pull himself together. He can´t fail now. Not with Helaena.

He leans forward again and as his tongue glides gently through her folds. He can't suppress a moan. She tastes better than anything that has ever touched his lips. She flinches slightly, but Aegon gently holds her at her thighs. He dives into her, licking carefully upwards to her clitoris. He carefully sucks on it and is rewarded with a moan from Helaena. Aegon needs all his willpower not to completely dive in. Pull yourself together! You can´t overwhelm her.

So Aegon takes his time, his tongue explores her folds, leaving no spot untouched. He lets his tongue glide over her center and her pearl, alternating the rhythm and intensity. He remembers exactly which spot, which movement elicits a whimper or moan from Helaena. She writhes beneath him, stretching out towards him.

"Aegon." his name slips from her lips as her hand buries itself in his blonde hair. It's over, all restraint is breaking down. He dives deep in. His tongue glides into her, curling inside her. Once again, she moans his name. Aegon feels her moisture running down his chin, soaking him. He licks up every single drop. She twitches, her legs begin to tremble, and her hands claw into the sheet beneath her.

"Aegon stop."

Immediately he withdraws although everything in him screams to continue. Worry floods through him. Was it too much? Did he fail? He looks up at her.

"Are you in pain?"

"No. It felt good. But there was such a tension in me, a knot. Is that normal?"

Aegon has to bite his lips to avoid cursing or groaning. His cock twitches at the thought that Helanena ruined her first orgasm because of her innocence. It shouldn't turn him on that much. He is wicked.

"Yes, that is normal. Let it happen. It will feel good." he leans forward again and sucks on her pearl. "Let yourself fall."

She relaxes again, trusts him completely with her body. Helaena lets out a sigh as Aegon glides his tongue between her folds once more, Her legs tremble again. She writhes beneath him, but Aegon only quickens his tongue's strokes. Helaena moans loudly, Aegon notices how she pulsates around his tongue and starts to twitch. And then she comes onto his tongue. Her whole body shakes as she leans toward him once more before collapsing with a groan. He carefully licks up her cum wanting to taste every drop. Only when she stops twitching and pulsating he lets go from her.

Trembling and breathing heavily she looks at him with wide eyes. He kisses the inside of her thighs, caresses her belly, her hips. Under his fingertips, she gets goosebumps. His cock pulses almost painfully against his pants.

"Are you good?"

She nods vigorously. "Yes. I´m good. It was... I have no idea what that was. I let myself fall." she sighs and lets her head fall back into the soft pillows. Her loose hair forms a crown around her head. Once again Aegon can't help but think that she looks like a goddess. How could he have been so blind all this time? "Is it always like this? I mean, if we share the bed, will it always feel this good?" she asks while stroking his neck and running her fingers through his hair.

Aegon doesn't even try to suppress a moan at her touch. He lets his lips wander over the soft skin again. He can't get enough. She leans towards him again, relaxing right beneath him. He breaks free to answer her.

"I will do my best to make you always feel like this." he says secretly vowing to himself that he will never come with his cock near her before the bed sheets are stained with her wetness and she has moaned his name at least once in a moment of passionate climax. His hand caresses her waist, she doesn't flinch. "Are you ready?" he asks before kissing her slender belly.

"For the consummation? Yes!"

He laughs softly. He would have never dared to dream that she is so eager to be dishonored by him.

"Not yet." he carefully slides a finger into her. Helaena gasps for air, but she doesn't pull away. "How does this feel?"

"It feels strange. But not bad. Unfamiliar."

He nods, pushing his finger a little deeper into her tightness, up to the second knuckle. He carefully curled his finger. Helaena stretches towards him she doesn´t even trying to suppress her whimpers and moans. Her wetness runs over his hands, he carefully adds a second finger. She is so damn tight that for a brief moment he doubts if she can take him. He moves his fingers slowly and then slightly spread them, trying to prepare her. His thumb caresses over her clitoris. Helaena cries out in pleasure and begins to move with him. Aegon stops his movement for a moment, but Helaena simply starts to pleasure herself on his fingers. He can't take his eyes off this sight. He has never seen anything so hot. He notices how she pulses around his fingers, her hips moving faster. Aegon can't wait any longer. It must be enough. He has to have her now. Aegon carefully pulls his fingers out of her. She lets out a disappointed whimper. He sits up, letting his gaze wander over her body once more. His eyes stop on her breasts with the erect nipples. He bends forward to close his lips around it. His cock is throbbing painfully again and craving his attention. Aegon thoughts start racing, he definitely doesn't want to hurt her and is afraid that he is too big for her.

"Let's switch places. You can sit on me, then you can have the control," Aegon suggests. Helaena briefly furrows her brows as she thinks, then her cheeks turn red and she shakes her head.

"What if I do something wrong?"

"You can't do anything wrong," he explains to her, stroking her cheek. She leans into his touch, close her eyes for a moment. Aegon yields to the need, leans forward and kisses her forehead.

"I am unsure," says Helaena. "Is there another way?"

"Oh sweet Helaena," he sighs kisses her cheek. Thenhe wanders with his lips to her neck and then up to her earlobe. He bites carefully, and Helaena lets out a soft moan. Her eyes stay closed as she tilts her head to the side to give him more space. "There are thousands ways and if you allow it, I will show you each and every one." She giggles softly. When he sucks on her neck, she moans.

"Yes please," she says. Aegon thinks for a second that he's going to comes like a twelve-year-old. He releases her neck braces himself on his arms to avoid putting all his weight on her, and looks at her. Her eyes are drenched in desire, a few dops of sweat have gathered on her forehead. His gaze lingers on the red hickey on her neck. It is clearly marked on her porcelain skin. He has marked her as his own. Aegon takes a deep breath and kisses her briefly on the lips. He climbs out of bed and starts to unbutton his pants. Helaena watches him. As he pulls down his pants and his member springs free, her eyes widen slightly. He is hard and pre-cum is leaking from the tip. Helaena looks like a shocked deer. Aegon knows that he is not small, above average and for the first time in his life, he wishes it weren't like this. Everything in him resists causing her pain. He comes back to bed positioning himself between her legs which she opens for him. He kisses her, and Helaena returns the kiss, their tongues playing around each other. Her hands caress his neck, running up and down his back and over his shoulders. Everywhere she touches him he gets goosebumps and his skin tingles. Aegon lets his hands wander over her breasts, his lips move over her neck, continuing down to her collarbone and then to her breasts. He sucks on her nipple while his fingers caress the other one. She gasps and stretches out towards him again, her hips twitching and her waist rubbing against his shaft. Aegon groans at her breasts. He extends his hardness into her moisture. Helaena crys and he captures her lips in a kiss. Aegon shifts his weight slightly and pushes his tip between her folds. Helaena takes a sharp breath. Aegon needs every shred of self-control not to mercilessly hammer into her. Hot desire races up his spine, he feels how his cock twitches inside her. He has to breathe deeply to avoid coming right away. His hand grips her hip, he gently presses her into the sheets to keep her still. If she twitched upwards now, he wouldn't be able to hold back. He needs it to ground himself. Slowly, he pushes himself forward. She whimpers beneath him, slightly grimacing in pain. Aegon stops in his movement.

"Should we stop?"

"No!" she claws at his shoulders, the slight pain as her nails dig into his skin makes him moan softly. "Please don't. I want the Aegon." she leans up to him and kisses him. This time it is her tongue that glides into his mouth and plays with his.

He continues to sink into her his tip gliding inside her, she is so damn tight. Aegon noticed how her wetness ran down his cock. He feels a resistance and stops. He slowly pulls out again. He caresses her body, kisses her soft skin, and then slowly thrusts in again. This time she manages to take him a little further before he pulls back again. Inch by inch he slides inside her.

Helaena tenses up a bit while Aegon tries to distract her with kisses, kissing her neck and allowing himself to nibble on her skin. Careful not to leave any bite marks. With his next thrust, Helaena bites her lip to keep from screaming as he fully enters her for the first time. Aegon's whole body is tense as his cock is enveloped by her warm tightness. He trembles but tries to stay as still as possible while she gets used to him. Helaena takes a deep breath. Then she places her hand on Aegon's cheek strokes it and smiles.

"I'm doing well," she says even though tears are welling up in her eyes. Aegon can't help but kiss her. It is a soft, innocent kiss. But only for a few moments. Helaena wraps her arms around his neck, pulls him closer, and then pushes her hips forward as a sign that she is ready. Aegon moans at her lips. He completely withdraws only to then glide fully between her folds again.

What has he done to deserve something so good? He is a broken man. A sick man. But as he sinks into the wet warmth between her legs, he is sure that the gods have forgiven all his sins and rewarding him with heaven.

He maintains a slow rhythm, even though everything in him screams to selfishly take her and spill his seed deep inside her. Helaena moves her hips with his, her breath quickens, her kisses become sloppy. Aegon reaches for her hand, intertwining their fingers. With the next thrust, Helaena moans again and wraps her legs around his hips. So she pushes him further inside her and Aegon curses against her lips. He won't last long.

Aegons hand wanders between her bodies and he begins to gently rub her pearl with the flat of his hand while continuing to thrust into her. She moves with him, fitting him like a glove. Aegon feels as if they fit together perfectly. Sweat drips from his forehead. He notices how she trembles again, her walls pulsating around him as she moans. His name falls from her lips. Aegon quickens his movements around her clit, and then she comes. As she pulls him in and starts clenching abround him, she drags him over the cliff with her. Aegon moans her name like a prayer as he comes, painting her walls white as he spills into her. He moves his hips carefully, riding out their orgasms before collapsing on top of her. He tries to keep his weight off her, but she wraps herself around him and pulls him closer. Helaena starts to scratch his neck. Aegon buries his face in the curve of her neck and takes a deep breath of her scent while trying to calm his pulse. He notices how Helaena is still pulsating around him. He gently pushes his hip a little forward. Helaena inhales sharply before she lets out a groan. A moan escapes his lips as he gently thrusts one last time, and then they both sink into each other, completely overstimulated. For a few heartbeats they remain like that. Helaena tucks a blonde strand of hair behind his ears. Aegon leans into her touch.

"You did not fail me," she whispers in his ear. Aegon notices how tears gather in his eyes. He quickly closes his eyes to prevent himself from crying. He breathes in the scent of Helaena's hair deeply and swallows his tears. For a brief moment, he still enjoys the feeling of her scratching his neck. Then Aegon carefully pulls himself out of her and rolls from her.

He doesn't know what to say. Should he say anything at all? Or would he say exactly the wrong thing now? Aegon remains silent and simply pulls Helaena into his arms instead. He kisses her lips and then her forehead. She wraps her arms around him and snuggles up to him. Gently, her fingertips glide over his shoulders. Aegon closes his eyes and pulls her closer to him at her waist.

Helaena takes a deep breath, turns slightly in his arm to look at him.

"The way you have give me pleasure." she starts. "How can I do that for you?" Aegon laughs softly and kisses her forehead. "Oh sweet wife. First of all it gives me the greatest satisfaction to see you come, and secondly, we still have enough time for that." Helaena smiles and nods. She snuggles back into his arms. Of course, her head fits perfectly in the crook of his shoulder.

"Okay sweet Husband."

It's the first time she calls him that and it makes Aegon's heart race for a brief moment. Maybe he wouldn't drag her into his abyss. Maybe she would pull him a little away from his darkness.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #aegon ii x helaena #aegon x helaena #helaegon #aegon ii smut #helaena Targaryen smut #Helaegon smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #Aegon II Targaryen smut #hotd smut

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 5 hours

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get off the floor, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You order Jeon Jungkook to get off the floor. He says, "Make me." You make him. Eventually.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; tipsy, bratty (needy) JK; wedding guests reader and JK hooking up in a random corner room bc they can no longer contain themselves, gasp; semi-public smut (fem dom!reader + sub!JK, JK becomes half-undressed while reader is still fully dressed, slight degrading talk (not really), heavy making out, dry humping) basically, I was staring at this photo and had thoughts

“Get off the floor.”

“Make me.”

Once again. No stranger to this supreme annoyance, and yet knowing that did not make it bearable. You looked down at him. Was he drunk? He stared off to the side. Looked moodier than anything. Trying to play it cool, perhaps. You caught him glancing and you stepped back, smoothing the high slit of your deep purple evening gown.

“That suit costs way too much to be on the ground,” you attempted again, his black blazer over your bare shoulders.

Jeon Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t care.”

You could feel your patience running thin. Not new, just like all of Jungkook’s antics. You felt his eyes travel up from your legs to your waist to your chest. When he got to your face, you gave him an unimpressed frown. If he hadn’t been drinking, he would have the good sense to look away. But he had, so he just ticked his head as if he wasn’t laying down in the middle of a random offshoot room in a very nice hotel. There was no one around. Time of night and because this wing had been rented for the wedding that was still going on in the main ballroom.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” you warned.

His dark eyes caught the low lights of the art deco sconces on the walls.

“Get on top of me.”

This was precisely why you had considered skipping this wedding. But, alas, common sense pulled through. You had not come with a plus one because you didn’t have one. Jungkook had not arrived with a plus one either even though you were quite sure he could have secured one. He was probably thinking the same of you as well. The look on his face when you strode in and greeted the couple was enough to encourage some of the guests to mysteriously begin herding you and him in close proximity. You couldn’t blame them. Playing matchmaker was bound to happen if a woman attended such a social event alone.

You just didn’t think the lucky man would be Jeon Jungkook.

You narrowed your eyes. His eyes lowered to half-moons. His lips parting. The two silver rings gleamed on the right edge of his lower lip.

“Don’t play this game.”

The tip of his pink tongue flitted against his lip rings.

“I’ve been wanting to play your game for a while now,” Jungkook breathed, his low voice vibrating in his chest.

You could still hear the bass of the music. One step. The heel of your pumps clicked loudly against the tile floor. His black three-piece suit had been perfectly tailored to him. There was no need for additional shape because his body lines were already ideal. His black hair had been carefully slicked back. Nothing to hide behind. Another step. His black vest and crisp white shirt were tight enough to his chest that you could witness the way his breath hitch lifted his upper torso. You looked down, then pointedly back up at his face, reminding him that his tight slacks made everything obvious.

He bit the side of his lip.

With a casual lift of your slinky skirt, you stepped over him, and then re-draped the dark violet fabric over his lower torso. One foot on each side of his hips. He must have expected you to refuse, as you already had many times before. He immediately froze, his startled eyes widening. In your defense, he had previously been more subtle and annoying about it rather than direct. You reached up, maintaining eye contact with Jungkook, and twisted your wrist, hooking two fingers on the collar of his blazer around your shoulders, pulling it away from your body to reveal skin.

You dropped it on the floor, away from your bodies.

The fitted gown had a soft sweetheart neckline with thin straps that framed your collarbones. A simple white gold chain necklace with a tiny round-cut diamond nestled at the base of your neck. The straps crossed over to your exposed lower back. The medium-weight fabric was tailored to skim over your curves. Princess seams accentuated your shape from chest to hips before opening up to wispy high slits that were only obvious when you walked or stood with more weight to one side. Demure if you stood straight, which you mostly did. Wasn’t your wedding after all. Your hair was down, smoothed down at the right, covering enough of your back to uphold the illusion of modesty. Unfortunately, as night approached, you had found yourself quite cold. The air conditioning had been turned high to accommodate for all the dancing bodies.

That wasn’t the trajectory of the night for you, though.

Instead of the dance floor, you and Jeon Jungkook were now somehow in deserted offshoot room with chairs on tables. Probably reserved for additional seating just in case any additional guests tried to squeeze in at the last minute. Certainly not reserved for a raunchy rendezvous.

You lifted an eyebrow.

“Scared?” you taunted, looking down at him.

His wrists were against the floor by his shoulders. You saw his fingers twitch, but he did nothing to move further.

“Ravage me already,” Jungkook exhaled. Hot and heavy and hiding desperation. “I can’t take this.”

You had been well-acquainted with him and a while now. You ran the tip of your pointed heel against his side. Jungkook shuddered. He didn’t move to touch you. You backed off. The real problem with all this was not the friendly terms you both had, but rather the fact that he had caught you in a rather dubious place some nights ago. Neither you nor him should have been there. In fact, you made it a point to travel far enough so you wouldn’t run into anyone, which you presumed was also the exact reason Jungkook ended up in the same place.

You squatted down, tilting your head at him in a predatory way.

The skirt of your dress pooled over his abdomen.

As you came close to Jungkook’s level, you heard his breathing shallow.

You took a short moment to collect your dress accordingly before dropping to one knee. And then the other. Straddling him, but not quite touching. Your fingertips touched the ground. He smelled like faint musky spice. You lowered over him, until your hands were just under his upper arms.

Looked down.

Jungkook stared at you from below, trapped in your shadow.

“You really did see me at the BDSM club that night,” you murmured. “Didn’t you?”

You raised your right hand and closed it around his left wrist, pinning it to the ground. He sucked in a tight breath, the gravity of the situation seemingly sinking in although it didn’t seem like he was rushing to stop you.

“Your ass looked so fucking good,” he whispered in the dark. “I knew it was you.”

You bent your left elbow, descending to his face.

“Someone will find us.”

At your reminder, he bit his lower lip in that fuck-me-harder kind of way. Then you felt movement. His right hand snaked between you and him. Your eyes flickered down. His dress shirt was fastened all the way to his neck. He looked sharp. Conventionally handsome. The only things he couldn’t hide was his facial piercings and the tattoos on his hand. Hand tattoos were a big faux pas to most. You liked a rule-breaker though. Unfortunately. Jungkook’s deft fingers traced the pressed collar of his shirt.

You watched him undo the first pearlescent button.

Then the second.

Your lips parted to warn him to stop, but the third was already coming undone and you could hear the desire in his erratic breath drifting upwards. Then it was eyes-to-eyes, devouring you with false innocence, and you opened your mouth to trace your lips with the tip of your tongue, taunting him with the glistening void.

“Fuck…” he whispered, trembling under you.

And then you stopped his hand by fully pressing your body against his chest, your clothed breasts against his naked pecs. Flitted your tongue over his lip rings, tasting his moan before hearing it. He turned his head, trying to chase it, but you feathered kisses over his cheek, gripping his left wrist as you licked his ear, hearing the whine of your name tickling yours.

“P-Please…”

You avoided him that night at that club, hoping he hadn’t recognized you, causing every subsequent interaction making it painfully clear to you that he had indeed seen you strutting your stuff in black latex while teasing strangers with your leather crop. Surprisingly, not in the way of trying to use such information against you, which was what you expected, but rather in the way the tempted drive the tempters insane. In imploring looks that only you could know. In too many chances of being too close in proximity. You don’t know how he did it, but now for some reason everyone was delicately suggesting to you to, perhaps, give him a chance. It only strengthened your want to teach him a lesson. You savored the rising panic in his voice as you bit the curve of his ear and toyed with him with your tongue. His trapped hand turned and you felt his palm mold to your lower ribs, sliding up. You bit down. He gasped, biting back a moan as his fingertips ghosted the curve of your breasts.

“Ah…. D-Don’t…” Whimper so close to his heart that only you could hear it. “My e-ear is… is sensitive, a-ah…”

You smiled, pressing your lips to his earlobe. His earrings were warming from your breath and saliva.

“Is that why you have so many piercings, huh?”

You made sure he could feel your lips move as you purred filthy nothings.

“What a pain slut you are.”

This time he truly moaned, his hips rising, and then abruptly cut himself off to avoid rising volume.

“D-Don’t…”

You sank down. Pressed against him, and even though the layers you could feel his erection throb, his entire body shivering when your weight dispersed over his lower body. His fingertips traced the dip in between your breasts. Your tongue circled over his ear once more before kissing up to his temple, the fingers of your other hand creeping up the side of his neck, and then you made out with Jeon Jungkook, right there on the floor with his groan vibrating the inside of your throat as you slowly thrusted your tongue into his lips. He did his best to suck and you always pulled away at the last second, using one finger to trace the muscle of his neck down to his collarbones.

You broke the kiss.

His lips were glossy and flushed.

“Please… Don’t stop,” he begged, squeezing your breast. “Don’t stop…”

The inaudible music continued to hum in the background.

You placed two fingers on his chin and pushed his head back, giving you access to his throat. For a brief moment, you considered making your mark, but instead you trailed your tongue down, down, painting possessive saliva onto his warm skin. His body rose. You let go of his wrist to pull open the sides of his shirt, realizing he was undoing his vest at the same time as his chest became fully exposed to the air, his dark nipples hard. You flicked your tongue against them, an involuntary ripple seizing his torso at the heated contact. Licked all over, enjoying the scent and taste of his skin. He silenced a cry as you bit down.

“H-Harder…”

You rose slightly, grazing your tongue against his skin before doing so.

“Be quiet.”

And then you roughly pinched his other nipple.

His arm flew up and he screamed behind clenched jaw, his hips lifting from the floor and his erection colliding with the inside of your thigh. You let out a light hum, sliding up his hard thighs. Your dress was already bunching around your waist. With a sweep of your skirt, your barely-there panties came into view. His attentive eyes immediately went down to the matching skin-toned thong barely covering your pussy, tricking him for just a moment, and then you saw the disappointment flutter into a slight frown.

“Did you expect me to be naked?” you mused.

He tried to cover himself with indifference. “No.” His needy gaze and raging boner gave him away.

You smiled.

And held the front of your skirt out of the way, rocking your hips forward to rub your panties against his clothed cock. Jungkook gasped, staring back at your relaxed expression with wide eyes, unsure where to look. You put a little more force into it, increasing the friction and molding his hardness to the soft dip between your legs, and you saw his eyelids flutter, his dark eyes rolling back, a contained moan escaping his chest.

You talked down to him, because you could tell he liked it.

“You thought I wouldn’t have panties and I would just ride you in a public place with no remorse or shame?”

Tension began to show through his muscles. He had one arm on his forehead and the other against the black-and-white tile floor, using subtle leverage to grind against you. He wasn’t obstructing his vision though, still very obviously staring at your thighs, the dip towards your pussy, watching the hem of your panties press into your skin with each movement.

“I… oh, fuck, I don’t k-know…” He panted, his shadowed eyes roaming back to your face. “Maybe.”

You laid your free hand on the waistband of his slacks, tracing his belt. You watched him hold his breath, his chest tight and oh-so-delectable. Slowly, you hooked your fingers under his belt. Gripped it, and changed the angle of your thrusting so that the head of his cock was rubbing against the radiating heat of your pussy, giving him a better view of your thin panties digging into your slit.

You saw his teeth sink into his lower lip.

“F-Fuck…”

His eyes slid shut and he moaned your name, sensual and deep and far too practiced for it to be a closed secret, his hips pushing back up against you, trying to get more and unable to do so. Frustration. Need. Craving. All bleeding into his expression. Against better judgement, you could feel it too, the irresistible pull of barely enough, the desire to tease turning into wetness between your legs, slowly but surely perfuming the air with your sweet, musky arousal.

Jungkook opened his eyes and stared up at you, imploring softly.

“P-Please…”

His arm lifted from his forehead and his other hand raised, fingertips stroking your thighs while using his shoulder blades for leverage. Forceful and precise. You let go of his belt and traced the knuckles of one of his hands, feeling the restrained strength in his touch. He sank his fingers into your thighs, gasping, pressing the back of his head onto the floor and arching his back. His open shirt. His exposed muscular chest. His tan skin faintly glistening with sweat. His throat begging for a bite.

You raked your nails down his abs, forcing Jungkook to lustfully grown to the ceiling.

You smirked.

“Get up.”

With minimal effort, Jungkook lifted his torso off the ground, frowning at you for asking him to be reasonable. His palms pressed into your thighs, ensuring that you continued to straddle him even though you had no intention of moving. In fact, you drew your knees together, pinning him in between your thighs. A few black strands had dislodged from their places and draped over his furrowed brows.

“Was that so difficult?” you murmured with lowered lashes, walking your nails up his chest.

His hands were sliding up towards your hips under your skirt. “Yeah.” He squeezed your ass with his strong grip while staring into your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to get you out of this dress for hours.”

“Hm.”

You gave him an unimpressed look as you felt his fingertips glide down. He pulled outwards ever-so-slightly. From below, out of sight, your pussy lips parted with a wet sucking sound.

Jungkook moaned against your cheek, pressing his naked chest against your clothed breasts.

“Come on… Please…”

You hand had migrated to his side, steadily scratching his lower back.

“Very reckless and dangerous of you.”

He glanced at you with those half-moon eyes filled with stars of longing.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me to be,” Jungkook whispered hotly. “Brushing up against me by accident when I already told you that you look too damn hot. Teasing me every time I look down by showing off your legs even more.” His mouth brushed against the side of yours. You could faintly feel his lip rings. “You’re mean.”

You sat on top of his still-hard cock and purred, “I don’t recall doing such things,” before lightly bouncing on top of it.

He gasped and you sucked away his exhale, pulling back before he could kiss you.

“Let me,” he breathed out.

His hands came up to cradle your back as you arched your spine and then you sighed out, his soft kisses fanning over your décolletage, tucking his tongue between your breasts and licking upwards, his eyelids fluttering in bliss from the taste of your perfumed skin.

“Please, let me…”

Your arms around his neck. You had not intended to fuck Jeon Jungkook tonight but, then again, that was easy to think when he hadn’t looked at you with those perfectly desperate eyes yet. Nor had he yet pushed the top of your ass down to collide with his hard dick still fighting his pants, implying just how well you would fit together. Until right now that is. You smiled, leaning back into his warmth.

“At least button your shirt so you don’t startle the hotel staff with your sexy body.”

His ears flushed bright red. You shot him an amused look as he fumbled about.

“And what if there was a camera in here, hm? Recording your depravity,” you mused, appreciating the view.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbled to his chest. His ears remained red.

“I see. But if I compliment you, you become embarrassed.”

Jungkook avoided your gaze. “N-No…”

You hooked a finger under his chin and yanked him back up, confronting those big, dark brown orbs. He looked taken aback, almost afraid of what you would say next.

“I can’t wait to have you under me,” you whispered. “I’ll make you show me how talented you are at begging.”

He moaned into your mouth as you kissed him deeply, pulling him into your possessive embrace.

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x you

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brunchable · 2 days

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𝐌𝐫. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

Part Four | Five Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader | Daughter of Thaddeus Ross (Red Hulk) Words: 4.1K Themes: Forbidden/Off-Limits Reader, Love Triangle, M for Mature, 18+ , Post-Endgame, AGE GAP (24y/o reader). Summary: Y/N needing answers confront Bucky about the party. Steve finds himself sitting on the same couch Bucky has been sitting on once a week.

taggies: @astrelz @pattiemac1 @mrsevans90 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers

Y/N sat on her desk, her phone in her hand, her mind racing. Her father’s words from dinner echoed in her head—the event was fast approaching, and she was expected to play her part. But with every passing day, the pressure grew heavier, and her life felt less like her own.

The thought of the upcoming reveal made her feel trapped. She knew what was expected of her: smile for the cameras, be the perfect daughter, and make her father look good. But it wasn’t what she wanted, and the weight of it all was starting to crush her.

She glanced at her phone. Ethan had called her a few days ago, asking her to trust him, to hold on for a little longer. He said he had a plan to break things off without causing a scandal. Y/N had been hesitant. Trust wasn’t something that came easily between them, and the idea of prolonging the engagement left a sour taste in her mouth.

But now, as the pressure from her father mounted, she found herself picking up the phone again. Maybe Ethan’s plan was the only way out.

Y/N took a deep breath and dialed his number. It rang twice before Ethan picked up.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm and monotone as always.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About holding on for a while.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, then Ethan spoke again. “I know it’s not ideal, but trust me. If we just play along for a bit longer, I think I can figure out a way for us to break things off without causing a scandal. We both know how important that is—for your side and mine.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the phone. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Ethan. I just hate pretending.”

“I get it,” he replied softly. “But we don’t have to pretend forever. Just a little longer. We’re both trapped in this, but we can get out of it—cleanly. No drama, no backlash.”

Y/N let out a slow breath. She hated that he was right. The last thing she needed was a scandal on top of everything else. “Fine,” she said, her voice tight. “I’ll trust you. But this can’t go on much longer.”

“It won’t,” Ethan assured her. “I promise.”

Y/N hung up the phone, feeling a mix of relief and dread. She had bought herself a little more time, but the clock was still ticking. The event was looming, and her father’s expectations weighed heavier than ever.

× × × ×

Her eyes drifted to the pile of patient files on her left. She’d been staring at them for far too long, her mind distracted by everything except work.

She had been thinking about Bucky more than she should have. The nagging feeling that he was the man from the party refused to leave her alone. And she hated dwelling on things. She wasn’t the type to sit in confusion, letting questions fester too long. She liked answers.

Skimming at the patient files, her eyes landed on Bucky’s. She hesitated for a moment before opening it. His phone number was listed, and before she could overthink it, she picked up her phone and dialed.

Bucky picked up after a few rings, his voice gruff but calm. “Barnes.”

“Hey,” Y/N said, trying to keep her tone light. “It’s Y/N.”

There was a pause, then a slight chuckle on the other end. “Didn’t think I’d be getting a call from my therapist.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “I was wondering... are you free for a drink later? Bar of your choice?”

Bucky’s chuckle turned into a low laugh. “A drink, huh? Sounds suspiciously like a date.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “Not a date. Just drinks.”

“Sure,” Bucky replied, still sounding amused. “I’ll be there.”

× × × ×

Y/N sat at the bar, nervously swirling her drink, waiting for Bucky to arrive. The dim lighting and soft chatter of the bar did little to ease her nerves. She glanced at her watch—had she been waiting long? Or had Bucky already been there?

For a brief moment, she couldn’t remember how long she had been sitting there, or even how long ago Bucky had said he would come. Time seemed to slip away from her, a small sliver of panic bubbling up inside her chest. She took a deep breath, telling herself to relax.

It’s just stress, she thought, glancing toward the door.

The sound of the door opening caught her attention, and she finally saw Bucky walk in. His presence grounded her slightly, but the disorienting sensation lingered in the back of her mind.

He wore a dark navy jacket, the fabric slightly worn, giving him that lived-in look of someone who was always ready to be on the move. Underneath, a simple black T-shirt hugged his frame, just tight enough to show the broad muscles of his chest and shoulders. His dark jeans were well-fitted, faded in places from use, and his heavy boots thudded softly against the floor as he walked.

But it was his left arm that always caught her attention—the vibranium glinting subtly under the bar’s dim lights. The sleek, matte finish of the metal contrasted sharply with the rugged, everyday clothes he wore, a constant reminder of the battles he'd fought, both physical and internal.

Bucky’s expression was relaxed, his eyes sweeping the room until they found her. He gave her a small nod before making his way to the table, his steps deliberate but unhurried.

“Hey stalker,” She greeted Bucky with a smile.

“Hey, stalker. Where did you get my number again?” Bucky greeted her with a pointed look, taking a seat beside her at the bar. “You didn’t have to buy me a drink just to ask me something.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “I have my ways. Besides, I thought I owed you one after our last session. You looked like you could use a drink.”

Bucky chuckled, glancing at the whiskey in front of him. “Well, can’t say no to that.”

They made small talk for a few minutes, discussing trivial things—the weather, recent news, even the usual café’s new pastries. Y/N found herself relaxing as they talked, but the question still lingered in the back of her mind. It was only a matter of time before she had to bring it up.

She hesitated, glancing down at her glass. “You’ve been laying low lately,” she said. “I haven’t seen you around much.”

"Yeah, you know me," he said quietly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Sometimes it’s easier to keep to myself. Less complications that way."

Y/N smiled softly. “Yeah, I guess that’s your thing.”

There was a brief silence before Y/N took a deep breath. She couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, she leaned forward, her gaze meeting Bucky’s directly.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

Before she could stop herself, Y/N blurted out, “You didn’t happen to go to a party recently, did you?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, clearly caught off guard by the question. He hesitated, and Y/N watched as his jaw tightened slightly. “A party?”

“Yeah, a big one. A lot of people, loud music, dancing…”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, not wanting to give too much away. He cleared his throat, glancing up slightly.

“I might have, yeah,” he muttered, taking a swig of his whiskey. “Why do you ask?”

Y/N tried to play it off cool, though her pulse quickened. “Just curious. You looked like someone I met there.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s gaze remained steady, though Y/N noticed the subtle shift in his posture, the slight tension in his jaw.

“I just... I can’t shake the feeling that it was you,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Bucky didn’t respond. Then, with a tight smile, he shook his head. “And if it was? What then?”

Y/N’s heart raced. She hadn’t expected him to turn the question back on her so quickly. She swallowed, trying to think of an answer, but all she could do was stare at him.

“I… I guess I just wanted to know,” she said, her voice faltering.

Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on hers, and his expression grew more serious. “Why?”

The question hit harder than Y/N had anticipated, making her heart pound in her chest. Why did she need to know? Why couldn’t she just let it go? She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her glass.

“I kissed him. And I can’t stop thinking about it, I felt a spark I hadn’t felt in a while. And it keeps bothering me whether it was you.”

“You think it was me?” Bucky repeated.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, frustration creeping into her voice. “I can’t shake the feeling that it was you—and you called me a party animal and I didn't even remember seeing you.”

Bucky leaned on the counter, letting out a slow breath. “You really want to know?”

Y/N leaned forward, hope flickering inside her. “Yes.”

Bucky’s eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. “Then why don’t you go figure it out yourself?”

Before she could stop herself, she pressed her lips to his, her heart racing as the kiss ignited something inside her. It was quick but intense, her body responding before her mind could catch up.

For a second, Bucky didn’t react, caught completely off guard. His eyes widened in shock as her lips met his, but then he froze, pulling back slightly, his gaze locked on hers.

“Y/N—” Bucky’s voice was strained, and his hands gripped the edge of the table as if to steady himself.

Y/N pulled back, her cheeks flushed, realizing what she had just done. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for his reaction, unsure if she had crossed a line.

“I thought... you wanted me to figure it out,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Bucky blinked, still trying to process what had just happened. “That’s... not what I meant,”

Y/N’s eyes widened in embarrassment. “Oh.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, the back of his hand pressed on his lips, clearly thrown off balance. “I meant you should go talk to your friends or... ask around. I wasn’t telling you to—”

Y/N’s face turned crimson. “I—oh my god. I thought—”

Bucky glanced away, blinking, looking like he wanted to disappear into thin air. “Yeah, no. That’s… not what I was saying.”

“I’m sorry—oh my god, i want to crawl into a hole and never leave.” Y/N muttered, still covering her face. Her fingers dug into her palms, wishing she could vanish.

For a moment, they sat in silence, Y/N stared down at her drink, too mortified to say anything more. Her face was burning with embarrassment, and her mind raced with how badly she had misread the situation.

Bucky cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. “So... does that answer your question?”

Y/N’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She felt even more flustered now, her thoughts a jumbled mess.

“Well... I didn’t really kiss him like that,” she blurted out, unable to stop herself.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh? What, you want to go again?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her face burning with embarrassment as she stared at him in shock. “No! I didn’t—”

Bucky met her gaze and gave her a small, crooked smile. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re not a nice man,” she muttered.

Bucky’s smirks, “Yeah, maybe. But you started it.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, a nervous habit she couldn’t quite stop, and Bucky’s eyes flicked down to catch the movement. He let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair again, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re not making this any easier,” Bucky muttered, his voice low but not unkind.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening at the tension still lingering between them.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks again. “I just... I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Bucky looked at her, his expression softening as he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table.

“Look,” he said quietly, his tone gentler than before, “you don’t need to apologize. You just got confused. Maybe it's the alcohol.”

Y/N swallowed, her gaze flicking back to him. “Yeah, right.”

Silence.

Bucky looked away, his metal fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table, his leg restlessly shaking. It was clear that neither of them quite knew how to handle what had just happened.

Bucky sighed again, his voice dropping even lower. “I didn’t mean to mess with your head, Y/N. I just...” He trailed off, his eyes meeting hers again, this time with a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, the vulnerability in his voice surprising her. “Sorry.”

Silence.

Bucky cleared his throat again, breaking the moment. “We’re not going to talk about this, are we?” he asked, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N smiled back, a small, awkward laugh escaping her. “Probably not.”

Bucky nodded his head, and chuckled. “Figured.”

× × × ×

Y/N threw herself onto her bed, face-first into her pillow, and let out a muffled scream of pure frustration and embarrassment. She kicked her legs into the air, flailing them wildly as she groaned into the pillow. Her cheeks were burning, her heart racing, and her mind replaying the last few moments with Bucky over and over again.

What were you thinking? she scolded herself, her legs kicking the mattress in frustration. Why would you kiss him again?!

But no matter how much she tried to push it away, the memory kept flashing in her mind, like a scene she couldn’t stop replaying. She had been standing with him, the quiet tension between them growing, and then, in a moment of complete insanity, she had leaned in again.

Her lips had met his for the second time, and this time, it wasn’t just a quick kiss. It had deepened almost immediately. His hand had come up to grip her waist, and her body responded by writhing against his solid torso.

It was just like the kiss at the party—the way their bodies pressed together, the electricity in the air, the intensity of it all. Her mind had flashed back to that moment, remembering the feeling of the man’s lips moving with hers, the taste of his kiss lingering on her tongue.

But as the kiss with Bucky continued, something felt... different. The way Bucky kissed her wasn’t like the man at the party. It wasn’t playful or light. No, Bucky’s kiss was... possessive. His vibranium hand held her tighter, like he couldn’t let her go. His lips were commanding, full of intent, like he was staking a claim.

Y/N’s mind raced, torn between the memory of the party and the reality of the kiss happening right in front of her. And that’s when it hit her.

It wasn’t him.

She groaned again, flipping over onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. You idiot, you have crossed the line. Her body still felt warm from the kiss, and her mind was a whirlwind of confusion. She couldn’t believe she had kissed him like that—and now, she was left with even more questions than before.

Her legs kicked out in frustration once more, her cheeks still burning from the embarrassment. She had kissed Bucky with the same passion she had kissed the man from the party, hoping it would give her the answer she needed.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the noise. But no matter how hard she tried, the image of Bucky’s face lingered, along with the nagging question she couldn’t let go.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.” She screamed into her pillow.

× × × ×

Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that ever since Steve had retired, he’d felt adrift. His friends told him to move on, to find a new life now that Captain America was in his past. But who was Steve Rogers now in this modern world without the uniform, without the shield?

He had tried to move forward, to make sense of the new world he was living in. But it wasn’t that easy. His life had always been about duty and purpose, and now that he was free of those responsibilities, he felt... lost. And now, on top of that, he couldn’t get the mystery woman from the party out of his head.

Sighing, Steve glanced at his phone. He had saved Dr. Raynor’s number—Bucky’s therapist. Maybe it was time to try something different. He had been hesitant, unsure if therapy was what he needed, but the more time passed, the more he realized he couldn’t keep everything bottled up.

With a decisive breath, he dialed the number.

“Dr. Raynor’s office, how can I help you?” The receptionist’s voice was friendly and professional.

“Hi, this is Steve Rogers. I was wondering if I could schedule a session,” Steve said, his voice steady.

There was a brief pause before the receptionist responded. “Dr. Raynor is not taking new clients right now. However, her intern, Y/N, has been handling many sessions. Would that be okay?”

Steve hesitated. Y/N. The woman who's kept Bucky spiraling. Still, something in his gut told him to take the appointment.

“That works. When’s the next available time?”

“We have an opening tomorrow at 3:30 p.m.”

“Tomorrow at 3:30 is fine,” Steve confirmed, though his mind raced.

“Great, we’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Rogers. Y/N will be expecting you.”

As Steve hung up, he leaned back in his bed, staring at the phone. We didn't know what to expect but there were deeper issues—his identity, his future—that had been weighing on him for months. He needed help finding a new direction, and maybe this session could give him the clarity he was looking for.

Tomorrow at 3:30 he thought, standing up. Whatever happened next, he hoped it would finally give him the answers he needed.

× × × ×

Steve sat in the waiting room, feeling a slight unease creeping over him. It had been a long time since he felt this unsure of something. He hadn’t expected this. Y/N, the intern taking over Dr. Raynor’s clients was nothing like the flustered, casual woman he’d met briefly some other day.

Now, sitting in front of him, her hair was neatly tied back, her glasses perched on her nose, and a notebook open in her lap. She looked professional, one that felt far removed from the woman who had seemed to be having a long day when he’d seen her last.

Is this really the same person? Steve wondered. He hadn’t expected her to be so composed in this setting, so distant. The energy felt different—colder.

“Captain,” Y/N greeted with a polite nod. “Thanks for coming in today.”

“Please, call me Steve,” he replied, feeling slightly off balance.

She smiled briefly, making a note in her book. “Alright, Steve. Let’s get started.”

Steve wasn’t sure how to begin. He hadn’t anticipated feeling this out of place. Sitting there, he felt like he was being studied—like a subject. And for some reason, it didn’t sit well with him.

“So, what brings you in today?” Y/N asked, her voice steady and measured as she met his gaze.

Steve shifted in his seat, his thoughts swirling. He wasn’t sure if he was more unsettled by her professionalism or by the fact that he was here, opening up about things he wasn’t even sure how to articulate.

“I guess I’ve been feeling... lost,” he began, his voice slow, as if testing the waters.

Y/N nodded, her pen ready, but she didn’t push. “Lost how?”

Steve let out a sigh, feeling the weight of his words. “I’ve spent so long being Captain America. That was my life. Now that it’s over, I’m not sure who I am anymore.” He paused, his thoughts briefly drifting back to the party, to the woman who made him feel something different for the first time in a while. But he shook it off. That wasn’t why he was here. “I just... don’t know what comes next.”

Y/N made a few notes, her expression unreadable. She was so composed—so controlled. It threw Steve off. He had half-expected some casual banter or warmth, but what he got was the cool professionalism of a therapist.

“It’s not uncommon,” Y/N replied, her tone calm. “After dedicating so much of your life to a cause, stepping away can leave you questioning your identity. It can be difficult to adjust.”

Steve nodded, though part of him felt like he was watching this conversation from the outside. She seemed different now. Completely different. He couldn’t shake the thought, and it distracted him more than he wanted to admit.

“You're... different,” Steve blurted out, not even sure why he said it.

Y/N looked up from her notes, raising an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Steve chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know... more serious.”

Y/N smiled slightly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Therapy mode, I guess. It’s different from casual conversations.”

Steve nodded, though he still felt like he was in unfamiliar territory. “Yeah, I see that.”

They sat in a brief, tense silence before Y/N gently steered the conversation back on track. “You mentioned feeling lost without the Captain America role. Can you tell me more about what that feels like for you?”

Steve began to speak, his gaze steady as he tried to articulate the feelings of disconnection that had been plaguing him since leaving behind Captain America. But he couldn’t help but notice that she seemed distracted, her eyes drifting away from him every few seconds, as if she wasn’t fully present. Steve paused mid-sentence, watching as she blinked a few times, her expression slightly dazed.

“You okay?” Steve asked, tilting his head.

Y/N’s eyes snapped back to his, and she quickly nodded. “Yeah, sorry. I’m listening.”

But Steve wasn’t convinced. He could see the faint lines of tension on her face, the way her fingers gripped her pen just a little too tightly. She seemed... distant. Unfocused.

Steve continued talking, but his eyes kept flicking to Y/N, noticing how her attention wavered. At one point, she even scribbled something down, only to pause and stare at the page, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve asked again, his voice soft but concerned.

Y/N blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... a lot on my mind.”

× × × ×

Steve exited the building, the afternoon sun hitting his face as he tried to shake off the weight of the therapy session with Y/N.

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing up just in time to catch sight of her again. Y/N was standing near the curb, looking at her phone. His feet slowed instinctively. Then, a sleek black car pulled up beside her.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as a man stepped out—well-dressed, formal, and carrying a bouquet of flowers. He didn’t know who the guy was, but the way he strode toward Y/N with confidence made something in Steve’s gut twist. He couldn’t help it—Y/N was beautiful, and he’d have to be blind not to notice that.

The man handed her the flowers, and Steve caught the way Y/N’s smile barely reached her eyes. Polite, almost forced. Steve’s gaze lingered, curious. She didn’t look thrilled, and there wasn’t the warmth or ease you’d expect between a couple.

She got into the car anyway, the man holding the door open for her before climbing in himself.

Steve stood there for a moment longer, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the car pull away. “Huh,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but one thing was clear: she wasn’t available.

He turned and started walking again, forcing the thought from his mind. It wasn’t his place to think too much about it, and besides, it wasn’t like he had any right to be curious. She was someone he found… intriguing. Attractive, sure. But that was it. . .he tells himself.

25 notes · View notes

strawberryama · 2 days

Text

Hot Springs

sequel to favors

haganezuka x younger, fem! reader

content : content : age gap!!! (early/mid twenties reader. If you arent comfy with that/dont like it, just dont read it), tsundere-ish reader, “good girl,” “princess,” piv, brief cunnilingus, oh no i think i’m in love love with the asshole, hot spring, is??? Someone watching??, mating press, creampie

Minors dni 18+!!

It’d been roughly two weeks since that evening, and things began to pick up in the village. Seems everyone and their mother was in need of a sword, whether it be a replacement or someone looking for their first time sword. Either way, Haganezuka was busy. As was Kanamori, and even the chief. They hardly left their workspaces. All meals were brought to the craftsmen and left outside their respective rooms.

And despite it being a rather peaceful few weeks, ______’s body was so tense. So, on this particular night, she found herself headed off to the steaming hot spring, smile on her face. ______’d been busying herself by deep cleaning the entire estate and even redoing the garden. So the very thought of soaking away all the sweat and grime was heaven on earth to the girl. Relaxing her tight shoulder muscles was merely a bonus when she considered how sweaty she’d gotten over the day’s work.

As she reached the spring, ______ began to skip a bit. She could hear the water and it got her giddy. A huge bath all to herself. Just for her. It’d been like that this entire time everyone was busy. And it seemed that she would be lucky enough for a few more days.

But...actually, her luck had already run out.

When ______ finally got to the clearing she shrieked in surprise and horror. Haganezuka of all people was currently occupying the hot springs. Had she not already found herself staring at him, maybe she would’ve had amble time to run off and pretend the scenario never took place. But when Haganezuka looked over at her, ______’s poor attempt to hide in the bushes failed her.

“I already saw and heard you, idiot. Just come join me.”

He was right. She wasn’t very sly at all. Then again, stealth was never her forte.

______ emerged from the bushes, setting aside her soap and towel. Kicking off her shoes, she looked to Hagnezuka. How kind, she thought noticing he turned away. She took that as a sign to untie and quickly fold her kimono before slipping into the hot water. ______ made sure to be quick as she knew if she wasn’t fast enough Haganezuka would make some comment.

She sank down into the water with a sigh as all the tension in her body seemed to just wash away. Her stiff muscles finally took a sigh of relief, relaxing. Her body already began to feel refreshed as the sweat and dirt disappeared into the spring. ______ removed the pin that held her hair up, placing it on top of her neatly folded clothes. It was the same beautiful hair pin that Haganezuka made her. He didn’t know it since he was so busy, but she wore it every day. It was her favorite gift she’d ever received. She could feel the hard work and concentration that was required to make it. It was probably the nicest item she’d ever received.

“Haganezuka-“

“Hotaru,” he said, cutting her off. He still was turned to face away. Thank the heavens he was, his correction alone had _______ burning up.

“H…Huh?”

“Call me Hotaru like you did that night.”

If she was hot before, ______ was now boiling. She wanted to dive under the water and never reemerge. How could this guy make her so nervous but irritate her so much at the same time?

“F…Fine. Hotaru, you can turn around. I’m in the spring.”

It took him a moment but he turned to face ______, a faint red dusting his own cheeks. But the question was, was it the hot spring or ______ that caused that? His eyes met hers but they were quick to wander so shamelessly - eyeing her chest and the perky nipples that tried to hide below the water.

“H-Hey! What’re you doing?”

“Just looking.”

“Well, stop!”

Haganezuka finally cracked a smirk, leaning in, nearly touching noses with ______. “Hmmm? You saying you aren’t interested anymore?”

“I-I didn’t say that!” ______ reared back a bit, almost offended. She didn’t even truly process what she was admitting to that sly fox of a man did.

“Good. Cause I ain’t gonna give you up to someone like Kanamori. And that kid sure ain’t getting you either.”

“Kotetsu?”

“Yeah. Keeps telling me that if I don’t snatch you up, he’s gonna. Something about being better suited for you.”

______ couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped. Kotetsu was a sweet kid. He’d been the only one not too busy these past few weeks. So, he was often following ______ about during meals and helping send them off to the swordsmen. He was a sweet kid alright. But he was a kid. And not to mention…

“Oi! Don’t laugh!” Haganezuka barked.

“Haha! He’s far from my type. Trust me.”

“Nn? Then what is your type?”

______ felt the heat return to her cheeks as she opened her mouth. “Well…older, for starters; preferably older than me. A man that’s…stubborn but dedicated to his work is nice too. A guy that irritates me to no end and bickers with me; one that mindlessly tracks blood all over the veranda, even if I do have to clean up that big mess.”

With each descriptor, Haganezuka’s smile only grew. He grew closer and closer, eyeing her lips.

“Anything else?”

“A guy that has a thing for wind chimes would be nice, too.”

“Lucky for you, I think I happen to check every single box. Even the wind chimes.”

The shy smile that spread on ______’s face said it all. Haganezuka closed the gap, pulling her into a deep kiss. He was always so heavy and intense compared to _______. When she went in for a soft kiss, he locked their lips together, hands finding and squeezing her waist. He massaged at the skin, beckoning her to straddle his lap.

“Mm,” ______ moaned into Haganezuka’s mouth. She was being swallowed whole it felt like. How did this asshole always know just what to do to? How did she even allow him to sway her this much?

The kiss began to grow needy as Haganezuka’s tongue pushed its way into _____’s mouth. It explored her mouth, hungry for her. His hands on her hips, yanked her closer until her body was flush with his. Haganezuka’s intentions of continuing where they last left off were loud and clear.

But, wait!

______ placed her hands on Haganezuka’s chest, presing back and freeing herself with a gasp. “I needed to bathe. C…Can we…you know?”

That asshole - he quirked an eyebrow, smirk on his lips. “Use your words, princess. Can we what?”

Ugh! Not the ‘princess’…that made her putty in his hands. “C-Can we…continue back at the estate once we get all clean?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna do it here?”

“H-Haganezuka!”

“Hotaru,” he corrected. “It’s okay. You’re a good girl that follows the rules. Nothing wrong with that. You wanna be my good girl from now on, _______?”

If the water wasn’t getting to her, than Hotaru surely was. She could feel how hot her body was. _______ even felt a bit lightheaded. The seductive way he said her name, his thumbs rubbing her hips, it was all so much. “Y…Yeah.”

“Then I suppose we should get this good girl cleaned up,” he whispered against her lips

“Hotaru!” _______ shrieked suddenly.

Hotaru had shoved ______ right off his lap, pushing her into the water. He couldn’t help the loud laugh that erupted from his chest watching as the tiny girl went under with a splash. The betrayed expression that flashed across her face briefly before she was plunged under by gravity was adorable. Truly, he was in love with that brat.

He knew what was coming though. As soon as _______ popped up from the steaming water, the anger was evident on her face. “Hotaru!!!”

“There’s my girl,” he snickered. “That’s the _______ I know - pissed at me for one thing or another.”

“Haganezuka, Hotaru! I’m gonna kill you!”

Hotaru ignored the empty, angry threats thrown at him one after the other. He reached for the soap _______’d left outside the spring, grinning at her so smug.

“Sure ya are. But why don’t you turn around so I can get your back first.”

The growl that she let out was truly the funniest thing Hotaru’d heard in years. She was always all bark, no bite, such a tsundere brat. Seeing her be all mushy and honest about her feelings sure was cute, but Hotaru had an affinity for when that tiny gal was telling him off. The duality of seeing her so pissed and combative only to have her be puddy in his hands, begging and whining for him, was such a sight to behold. And man oh man, it was hot to Hotaru.

So that word vomit of insults and grumbling that left out of _______’s mouth was music to Hotaru’s ears as he washed her back. He massaged at her shoulders, earning a gentle whimper, cutting off the onslaught. Though, as he moved towards her neck, a moan left her lips and Hotaru grinned.

“Hm?~”

“Nothing..”

Hotaru’s grin turned to a smirk as he stood up, towering over _______. He placed a gentle kiss on her neck, testing the waters.

“Haga-“

“Do I need to punish you each time you refer to me incorrectly?”

_______’s body stiffened. Fuck.. “N-No, sir.”

God, that nickname brought visions of that night back to Hotaru. It had him twitching and he could feel heat rising. It was as if he was possessed by his need suddenly as he began to litter ______’s neck with languid kisses.

“Hey! Wh..What happened to cleaning me up?”

Hotaru snickered at this. “You’ll get clean eventually.”

______ turned around immediately, readying to yet again combat the swordsmaker but was met his warm lips upon hers. He hummed into the kiss and ______ could tell that sneaky bastard was smiling. He was all too proud of himself for that one.

Haganezuka grabbed ______ by the waist, pressing her tiny wet body against his large one. He relished in the way ______’s nipples rubbed against his skin, hardening against the cool air as they stood in the spring. It wasn’t everyday he got the bratty little housekeeper’s perfect body all to himself, after all. He grew hard at the sensation, practically shoving his tongue down _______’s throat.

“God, you’re so hot,” he mumbled as he broke the kiss.

“H..H-Hotaru..!”

He just smirked down to her, watching as she clammed up, cheeks turning red. It was just like that night they shared. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t get lost in the memory once or twice since the evening of lust. Hotaru was ashamed but just the other evening he found himself breathless with ______’s name falling from his lips in a wanton hush. His rough, calloused hand was nothing like what ______’s gentle hands had to feel like about him. The thought would only have him bucking his hips more and more, sloppily thrusting in hopes that maybe his favorite little housekeeper’d stumble in on accident. Then knowing how kind she was, she’d repay him his favor. There was no way she wouldn’t. He knew her too well.

Hotaru returned in full force, grabbing at her hips, pulling her into another overpowering kiss. ______ let out a moan of shock and pleasure, gripping at his biceps. Being pressed so closely, ______ could feel everything. And if this was Hotaru’s plan from the start, god was he doing a damn good job. She’d already abandoned the idea of cleaning up. Her mind was too occupied by the tongue that roamed her mouth and the wet cock that at her naval.

______ didn’t even notice as Hotaru’s hands began to roam about his lover’s wet body as he listened to her soft gasps, longing for more. One hand occupied her breast while the other ventured to an all too familiar territory.

“H..Hotaru,” ______ whimpered as her breath caught in her throat.

He brushed aside her moan and began to roll gentle circles into her clit, feeling how truly wet she already was.

______ threw back her head, holding in a whimper at the jolt of pleasure. How was he good at everything? It wasn’t fair. She looked at Hotaru through her eyelashes and she felt herself grow even wetter. The look of concentrated lust and the slight tinge of red on his cheeks was heavenly. He was a truly perfect being.

If it weren’t for Hotaru taking note of how she snuck little glances at him, he might’ve played with her a bit longer. But he couldn’t help himself anymore. He’d held back for what felt like an eternity.

“God, doll. You didn’t tell me you were this creamy,” he snickered. “On your back. I need you. Now.”

______ hesitated in surprised but quickly nodded. Hotaru was hot when he demanded her pussy like that. She waded over to the edge of the spring before shyly turning to face Hotaru. The look of pure lust and hunger in his eyes was suffocating and intoxicating. ______ didn’t even think twice before hopping up on the edge, looking up at Hotaru as he grinned down at her.

“Lay back. I’ve been dying to taste this pussy for weeks.”

Those vulgar words had ______’s toes curling. But Hotaru wasted no time, grabbing the plush thighs before him, nestling his head between them. He didn’t hesitate even a single second before diving right in.

His tongue immediately took to swirling her clit in circles, making her whine. ______’s breasts heaved as Hotaru’s tongue flicked at her swollen little nub. He was a god. How was one person even this goddamn good at eating pussy? And just when she grew comfy, he’d switch it up.

Those thick fingers ______ remembered so well returned to her aching cunt, two slowly slipping in. The stretch was like a warm drink of water after being out in the cold, flooding her senses. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers, welcoming the burn of being stretched out.

They both missed this. They’d wanted this for weeks. They’d needed it. And they finally got it. _______’s fingers were no where near as good as Hotaru’s. They weren’t long enough, and no where thick enough. And Hotaru…he craved her body more than he craved air. He was like a starved man, finally eating for the first time in a week.

“Oh my god, Hotaru!” she gasped in pure ecstasy. “Just like that! Thank you, sir!”

Hotaru grunted before beginning to suck on her clit. He felt her thighs trembling and he hummed, sending a vibration to her core. His goal wasn’t to make her cum just yet, it was to get that pussy nice and wet for his cock.

His fingers curled up every few thrusts, sending ______ into a frenzy. It was the spot that drove her crazy but the inconsistency of it being rubbed against left her craving more. She grew needy, whining loudly.

“‘Taruuuu!!”

“Yes, baby?~”

He knew exactly what she was bitching about. But he wasn’t about to give it to her. Not right now.

“Stop teasing me!” ______ complained.

Hotaru smirked, pulling his fingers out completely. He stood up, looking down on her as he sucked his fingers clean. “With pleasure.”

______ gasped as Hotaru began to fist his fat cock right before her, a sadistic glint in his eyes. He brought the tip to her cunt, rubbing up and down to get his dick nice and slick with her precum.

“Just like you asked, princess. No more teasing,” he snickered.

Hotaru then began to sink his girthy cock into her tight cunt. He hissed as he guided it in, her hole being far tighter than he anticipated. Which meant ______ was gasping, digging her nails into his biceps as he slowly pushed in.

The pair gasped and groaned until Hotaru bottomed out, his hands on either side of ______’s head holding him up.

“Shit….you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he hissed.

______, on the other hand, wasn’t fairing any better. Painful tears lined her eyes as she continued to take shallow breaths. Her nails still bit at Hotaru’s biceps and she gnawed on her lip. “You’re…too big, idiot,” she gasped.

Hotaru couldn’t even be mad at her calling him an idiot. ______ was taking the brunt of the discomfort and had every right to deal with it how she needed to. But the sooner she relaxed, the sooner they both were better off.

Hotaru gently ran his hand up and down her thigh, trying to soothe her. He, admittedly, wasn’t great at comforting others. He’d clam up and always say the wrong thing when he was trying to hard. So, he tried to pick his words very carefully.

“Hey, look at me, princess..”

His hand continued to run up and down her thigh as she looked up at him through a pained pouted.

“Good girl..you’re doing so good,” he whispered. His free hand cradled her cheek, thumb brushing away any tears. “Take your time. I’m right here for you.”

Looking up at Hotaru, ______ melted a bit. The tension and pain eased a bit as she tried to relax. Hotaru was never this kind to her. He was brash, a pervert, and got on her last nerve. Feeling his warm hands comfort her while he tried to offer support was a new feeling. It was a feeling that she would never forget. Not anytime soon at least.

As she looked into his eyes, ______ could see herself falling more and more in love. She was coming to recognize these feelings that she had weren’t fleeting. They were going no where. ______ was deeply in love with this grumpy sword maker. Her breathing hitched and she slowly let go of his biceps.

“‘Taru,” she said quietly as she reached out and took his face in her hands.

“You doing okay..?”

______ nodded, a small smile forming on her lips. “I…I’m okay. You can move.”

Hotaru hesitated but looked down at her. Eventually, he nodded and pulled his hips back slowly. Hotaru couldn’t fight the guttural moan that left his throat as he pulled almost entirely out and then pushed back in fully. He watched as ______ gasped, her eyes going wide.

“Yeah, that feel good?” he snickered.

______ bit her lip, nodding up at him. She looked so fucking erotic to him without even trying. With her arms wrapping around his neck, Hotaru had an amazing view of her body. With every thrust he watched as her tits jiggled, almost as if they were taunting him. He desperately wanted to suck and drool all over them, but he didn’t want to overstimulate his lover too much just yet.

Hotaru very gently took her by the back of the thighs, pushing her knees to her chest. He grunted as he pushed in, going just a bit deeper in this position. He watched as ______’s eyes rolled back and she let out a soft moan.

“Yeah?~ Does the princess like how deep I’m in her pussy?”

______ whined, turning her head to look away. “D-Don’t say stuff like that! It’s dirty!”

He couldn’t even try to hold in the scoff he let out. If she thought that was dirty, she was in for a rude awakening.

“That’s not dirty, ______. Dirty is telling you : this tight pussy is all I’ve thought about for weeks. Every night, I fisted my dick, thinking about it. Dirty is telling you : I wanna breed you and watch the cum leak out of your sloppy little hole. Dirty is-!”

“Okay, okay! I get it! Stop!!” ______ shrieked, scrunching her eyes shut in embarrassment. Her entire face had turned bright red. Her hands covered her face, trying to hide from Haganezuka’s lustful gaze as his hips sped up.

“Oh, yeah? You get it? Then why don’t you say something dirty. Then, I’ll stop talking about this tight, hot cunt. Hm?”

______ eyes went wide and she found herself struggling to make eye contact again. Hotaru took her hands from her face, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. Meanwhile his other hand grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

______ swallowed thickly, trying to think of something. She had to push down her pride and delve into the depraved part of her that existed somewhere deep in her. She needed to say something, anything! Hotaru was just staring at her with those eyes and that smirk that sent her wild.

“I’m waiting.~”

She scrunched her eyes shut again so she didn’t have to look at him as she spoke softly, “Y…Your cock…is so big…i-it feels like it’s tearing me apart…”

……

To her horror, Hotaru slowed his hips. ______ opened her eyes, mortified thinking she said the wrong thing. But Hotaru seemed to have other plans.

He let go over her jaw and wrists, hands returning to the back of her thighs. With a renewed vigor, he began to pound into her. His hips slapped against hers with such force each time that she felt it with her whole body. She gasped and cried out with every thrust. Haganezuka was putting a good deal of weight behind every thrust, slamming his cock against her cervix.

“Fuuuck, ______,” Hotaru moaned finally. His grip on her thighs became bruising as his hips slammed into hers. “Such a…good…girl…!”

Hotaru grunted with every wet slap of his hips and balls, each becoming more primal than the last. The noises that he made overshadowed the distant rustling of leaves in the night. It overshadowed the trickle of water from the springs. But it became a sweet symphony along side that gasps and moans that left ______’s lips.

“Ho! Ta! Ru!” she cried between thrusts. Her eyes began to roll back and her mouth hung open as she gasped for air.

“Who owns this pussy?”

“You, sir!”

“Louder! Who owns this tight, little cunt?”

“You, Hotaru!!” ______ yelled. Her hands flew to his back, clawing at his shoulder blades as his thrusts became erratic. Her tight cunt clenched about him, unable to take it anymore.

Hotaru was getting closer and closer. He was near feral with how he was using ______’s body. Each thrust nearly sent him over the edge. And when he felt ______’s pussy clamp down on him, he knew it was the final push.

Without warning, Hotaru’s hips slammed into ______’s one final time. His hot, sticky cum filled her up, as he groaned. He fought the urge to collapse on top of her as he knew she was far more fragile and spent than he probably was.

But when Hotaru slid out of ______, he couldn’t help the moan that slipped his lips, his head falling back.

“God,” he panted, watching the cum leak out of her. He couldn’t help himself as he began to push it right back. Though it seemed that _______ was a bit too sensitive for that at the moment seeing as she tried to close her legs.

“Ah, ah! You let me push it back in,” he chided weakly. And while she whined, ______ allowed it. “Good girl.”

It took a while but the couple did get cleaned up. They relaxed in the hot spring, Hotaru’s arm around ______.

“I’m exhausted because of you, you asshole,” she whined.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll carry you back if I gotta.”

______ huffed and pouted but seemed to accept that as a solution. She cuddled up to Hotaru’s chest, relishing in the hot water for a bit longer.

Due to how tired she was, ______ missed it but Hotaru sure didn’t. There was a slight rustling from the near by bushes in the forest. It could’ve easily been marked off as an animal or the wind. It probably was. But it was enough of a noise and late enough at night that Hotaru made sure to make a mental note. Just to be safe.

When the time came to head back, true to his word, Hotaru piggybacked his new girlfriend back to the estate. He was cautious from the noise earlier but it seemed…it was no threat. At least not to him.

And he’d like to keep it that way

————————

Optional pt 3

#hotaru haganezuka smut #hotaru haganezuka x reader #haganezuka smut #haganezuka x reader #kny haganezuka #hotaru haganezuka #haganezuka hotaru #demon slayer #demon slayer smut

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cinnabunwanda · 2 days

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home alone - wanda maxamoff

content warning —

pairing — Fem Reader X wanda maxamoff

summary — Stark and yn discuss Avengers mission plans and yn's feelings for Wanda. They share a passionate kiss, share a shower, and strip off, amusing each other's beauty.

word count —

⚠︎ disclaimer; this is 18+, so mdni. I will be keeping an aye out on everything but again I dont care if you read this and you are underage you are the only one responsible for reading shit you aren't supposed too.

Stark sat across from me at the breakfast counter, loudly chewing his cereal. The sound grated on my nerves and I smacked my head against the smooth marble surface in frustration. "Why so loud?!" I groaned, rubbing my temples. Stark simply grinned at me, enjoying my annoyance. "Why so moody?" He chirped back in a mocking tone.

I rolled my eyes and took a sip of my coffee, trying to calm myself down. "You're going off on your Avengers mission, leaving me alone in your fancy Stark Tower!" I exclaimed, feeling a twinge of jealousy at his exciting adventures.

Stark's eyes widened in surprise before he chuckled. "Oh relax n/n," he said, using my nickname that only he and a select few were allowed to call me. "You won't be alone, Wanda will stay to keep you in check." He smirked, clearly amused by my outburst.

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I tried to hide my feelings for Wanda. "Why Wanda?" I whispered, hoping Stark wouldn't hear.

"Hell, everyone knows you've got the hots for her," Stark whispered back with a sly smile.

In retaliation, I used my magic to send him flying off his stool. "Don't make such assumptions," I scolded him. "She's a stunning lady lately, anyone would feel flustered in her presence."

Suddenly, Wanda's sweet voice sang out from the doorway. "Who's a stunning lady?" She asked innocently.

"Oh uh...Natasha?" Stark replied quickly, trying to cover up our conversation.

Wanda raised an eyebrow but didn't press any further. "Indeed," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "She's a lovely woman y/n," she winked at me before opening the fridge to grab a snack.

I nearly choked on my drink at her words, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks once again. Stark seemed to find this all very amusing and laughed as he left.

Wanda turned back to me with a smile. "Oh Stark, Captain America said you have 5 minutes tops to meet him at the helipad," she informed me.

"Yes ma'am," Stark replied, smirking at me as he left.

"So...n/n, how are we going to spend our time?" Wanda asked, her tone playful and flirtatious.

I shrugged, trying not to let my thoughts wander too much. "I don't know, any ideas?"

"A few," she laughed seductively.

My heart skipped a beat and I couldn't help but feel drawn to her. "Like what?" I asked nervously.

"Oh, I don't wish to vocalize them," she smirked, leaning closer to me.

Before I could respond, she silenced me with a kiss. Her lips were soft and warm against mine and I couldn't resist kissing her back passionately. She straddled my hips and ran her fingers through my hair as we lost ourselves in the moment.

"How long will the Avengers be away?" She whispered breathlessly as we pulled apart for air.

"Until tomorrow evening," I stuttered out, still trying to catch my breath from our intense make-out session.

"Perfect," she purred before taking my hand and leading me through the halls of Stark Tower towards her room.

As soon as the door closed behind us, her back was against it and her lips were on mine again. We shared another heated kiss before she stepped back with a mischievous grin. "I'll run us a shower, strip off," she commanded playfully, swaying her hips as she disappeared into the bathroom.

I quickly followed suit, stripping down to nothing under the warm water of the shower. Wanda joined me shortly after, her toned and slender figure glistening under the water. I couldn't help but admire her beauty as she stood in front of me, water cascading down her body.

"Id love to stare all day, but I'd much rather join you," I smirked before pulling her into a passionate kiss. Our bodies pressed against each other, our kisses deep and full of desire. Her hands roamed my body, gripping at my hips and ass as we moved together in the shower.

I lifted one of my legs to wrap around her thigh, deepening our connection as we continued to explore each other's bodies with our lips and hands. This woman was going to be the end of me, I thought to myself as we lost ourselves in the pleasure of the moment. As if reading my mind, Wanda pulled back from our kiss and whispered breathlessly, "I can still hear your thoughts n/n."

"Sorry darling," I laughed, my voice filled with desire as I trailed kisses down her neck. "You forget, I can read minds too."

With her back turned to me, she pressed her breasts against the cool surface of the open shower glass. I ran my hands over them tenderly, giving them a soft slap before pressing myself flush against her firm ass. The sensation of my clit rubbing against her smooth skin was mesmerizing, and she moaned as I thrust my hips harder into her.

She rubbed at her own clit, adding to the pleasure that coursed through me. Her teasing lips slowly made their way towards my heated core, sending shivers down my spine. As she traced circles around my clit with her tongue, pure euphoria washed over me. Her small hesitations only added to the intense build-up of pleasure, and when she slipped a finger inside of me, I couldn't hold back any longer.

She was perfection incarnate. But when I voiced this thought, she chuckled and said "Stop reading my mind, love," before kissing my neck.

Clearly done with foreplay, she turned to face me with hunger in her eyes. Slowly dropping to her knees, my breath caught in my throat.

Her delicate fingers curled inside of me, while her soft lips worked wonders on my sensitive clit. The combination was too much to handle and I reached my peak almost instantly.

After catching our breaths, I pushed her back against the wall and hungrily sucked on her breasts. She growled in pleasure and kneaded my hips as I pressed myself further into her.

Lifting one of her legs onto my shoulder for better access, I explored every inch of her heat with fervor. Our bodies were a perfect fit, and as our clits rubbed together at an increasingly faster pace, I realized just how beautiful she truly was.

I leaned in to moan into her neck as she bucked her hips into mine, finally reaching our shared climax

#wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel imagine #marvel women #marvel smut #wanda maximoff smut #sub wanda maximoff #bottom wanda maximoff #marvel #top reader #dom reader #x reader #wlw smut #gxg smut #fem reader #reader insert #smut #x female reader #female reader

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lastofthe20thcenturygirls · 7 months

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maomao getting stuck on the fact that jinshi let any woman other than suiren or herself near him to get his hair done despite knowing all too well that woman is a canonical lesbian is just so so so important to me

#maomao be like i don't want to be alone with him but also he's never been alone with en'en yay idc tho #i really need jinshi's POV at times #what was he thinking here #does he ever assume that maomao might be jealous #if he does can't he just drag it a bit further #yes i am reading chapter 18: a man and a woman play the game again #i am insufferable about them what can i do #jinshi x maomao #the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #light novel #knh text

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detentiontrack · 5 months

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Basically got called a freak at the dentist today

#I have normal adult teeth EXCEPT I have one tooth that was a baby tooth that never fell out #so it’s essentially a tooth with no root #the dentist was looking at my x rays and looked at the x rays & looked at me & then looked at the x rays again #and was like ‘….. are you aware you’re 18 years old and have a baby tooth still….?’#and I was like yeah (because this happens every time)#and he’s like ‘…… that’s weird’ in the most judgmental tone #leave me and my mini baby tooth alone

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imaginedisish · 15 days

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My Girl (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! So sorry this took so long. Here is the secret relationship/breeding kink fic. I honestly really like this one...and I hope you guys do too. Was listening to "Juna" by Clairo while writing it, but went with "My Girl" for the title. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan have been in a secret relationship for months, but everything comes to a head when a new mutant visits the Institute, and won't leave you alone...Logan shows him, and you, who your man is.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Thigh riding, Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), breeding kink, praise kink, possessive!Logan, jealous!Logan, unspecified/implied!Age Gap, established relationship, creepy!OC who hits on reader and doesn't lay off, minor violence, afab!/fem!reader, fluff/feelings, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it?

Word Count: 5,313 this is why it took so long also, smut right under the cut...

You remember the first time he fucked you, vividly.

It was late at night, after a mission. You almost died in his arms. And that was what broke that thing inside him, the burden of time that he carries, that deep-seated pain that made it justifiable to stay away from you. He had held back for so long—had done his all to resist falling for you. He was screwed from the beginning, and he knew that. But he had become so terrified at the thought of losing you that he hadn’t realized it could happen all the same if he stayed away—if he forced himself to remain a friend.

So, when he fucked you that first time, that first night, he fucked you like it’d be the last—the only time.

“Goddammit, so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, his lips bruising yours, shoving himself deep inside—as deep as you could take him. “Needed you this whole time. Can’t live without you.”

“Logan,” you whined, his hips snapping against yours. “D-don’t stop, please.” “Never gonna stop, pretty girl,” he promised. “Can’t go back. Can’t be anywhere but here.”

For months now, you’ve been together—but nobody knows. There’s no doubt about commitment—nothing casual about the relationship in the slightest. You start and end every day in Logan’s bed. You’ve talked about running off together, getting married, and settling down. For the first time in his long life, Logan sees a future where he’s happy—genuinely happy.

The sun peaks through the curtains. You curl yourself into Logan’s chest. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you tight against him, even in his sleep. You listen to his breathing as the fall breeze creeps through the open window. Everything is calm and quiet in the morning, when everyone is still tucked away in their bedrooms, sound asleep.

Logan groans, tugging you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is heavy, laden with exhaustion. “Too early.” He kisses the spot just under your ear, and you moan involuntarily, feeling extra sensitive in the haze of the morning. He smiles softly against your neck, and kisses you again, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan louder this time, intertwining your legs with Logan’s. “Love those pretty little noises you make.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, his thigh slotting between your legs, pressing against your core. You can’t help but grind down on his thigh, rocking your hips back and forth. “Need you, Lo,” you beg.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Logan husks, his palms warm against your bare skin as he slips underneath your shirt—which is really his.

He’s slow in the morning, pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulders, letting his touch linger longer than normal. He likes the peace of it all—waking up to each other, smelling you next to him, feeling the other side of his bed warm and full of you. When he fucks you, early like this, he takes his time.

His fingertips trace the curves of your stomach, falling into your dips, gripping your flesh. Logan breathes you in, his lips softly melting into yours. “Still too early?” You mumble between soft, lazy kisses.

“Never too early to want you,” Logan husks, dragging his thigh against your core again. “Always need you.” You can feel his erection through his boxers. “Gonna take care of my girl. Gonna make you—”

There’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Scott’s voice on the other side. He knocks again. “Logan, you in there?”

Logan tries to ignore him, his fingertips dragging down your sides, bumping into the hem of your panties as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of your throat. You let out a breathy moan as Logan bites down on your pulse point. He smiles under your jaw at the soft sound, content that you can’t hold back.

“Logan,” you whisper, running your hands up his arms, to his shoulders, your fingertips finding the nape of his neck. “He’s not gonna stop.”

Sure enough, Scott knocks again. “Logan, I know you’re in there,” he calls, banging on the door now. “Wake up. We have some tech guy on his way.”

Logan groans into your neck. “Why do you need me, Summers?” Logan licks your collarbone teasingly, hiking your t-shirt farther up your body.

“He’s…a mutant,” Scott explains. “He can speak with machines, computers, code—you name it, he can do it. He’s gonna fix some stuff around the mansion. Charles asked me to make sure you’re awake just in case…” Scott trails off.

Logan finishes Scott’s sentence. “In case everything goes to shit?”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott huffs, likely shaking his head on the other side of the door. “But yes. In case things don’t go as planned. I’m also looking for—"

But Logan cuts Scott off, saying your name for him.

“Yeah, I can’t find her. Do you know where she might—”

“On a run,” Logan chimes in, and you suppress your laughter by pressing your face into his chest. “She’ll be back soon.” Logan’s arms wrap around your back, holding you against him.

“Alright,” Scott says, shuffling, slowly stepping away from the door. “If you see her, let her know what’s going on, okay?”

“Trust me bub,” Logan husks, his fingers digging into your flesh, tickling you. “I’ll make sure she knows.”

Scott mumbles something unintelligible as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappears down the stairs.

Logan’s lips are attached to your neck again, sucking playfully. “Where were we?” He teases, his nails grazing down your back. His palms settle on your ass, squeezing your flesh tightly in his hands.

You moan, your chest flush with his. “Logan,” you whine. “We need to get up,” you insist, your hands pushing against Logan’s broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscular biceps. “Can’t stay in bed anymore.”

Logan grunts, his thigh still nudged between your legs, rocking into your core. You want him, and it’s tempting to let him take you right here, right now. But you can’t. And he knows it. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and pulls you tightly into his chest. “Later,” he promises, his lips finding the shell of your ear. You smile at the thought. There was always a later with Logan.

You snuck out of Logan’s room, unnoticed, as always. It was still early—too early for the ruckus of a morning at the mansion to begin. You got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. You’re still shocked at just how oblivious the rest of the team is. Truly, no one knows about you and Logan.

You’re in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of coffee, waiting for the day to start. Familiar, heavy footsteps approach, and you smile before you can even see his face.

“Hi pretty girl,” Logan coos, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your front. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and walks over to the coffee pot.

Scott enters the kitchen as Logan takes his first sip of coffee—one second earlier and he would have seen Logan holding you. “The guy is here,” Scott announces from the doorway. He looks at you and smiles. “Oh! Hey! How was your run?” He asks cheerfully.

You almost spit out your coffee, remembering what you were actually doing this morning. “Great!” You say, doing your all to hold back your laughter. “Surprisingly relaxing.” Logan snorts and plays it off like he’s sniffling.

Scott smiles, none the wiser, and nods, cocking his head towards the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Come meet the tech guy!” He backs out of the doorway and into the hallway. Logan settles his coffee cup—which reads #1 Professor—next to yours on the counter and gives your waist a quick squeeze as you hop out of the chair. You walk shoulder to shoulder into the foyer. All the signs of your relationship are there—out in the open—and yet, still, no one seems to catch them.

You step into the foyer, and there’s Scott and the Professor by the front door, chatting with a younger man—who’s about your age. The man’s eyes find yours, and he smiles softly. “Hi there!” He calls, waving. “I’m Mark!” He strides away from Scott and the Professor and towards you. “But you can call me Techno.” He smirks and winks, extending his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

Logan grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly, catching Mark off guard. “Wolverine,” Logan growls. “And you can’t call me Logan,” he adds, gritting his teeth. “So, you turn on computers, bub?”

Mark grimaces, wrenching his hand from Logan’s grasp. “A little more than that,” he asserts, closing his eyes and bawling his fists. You look up as the lights flicker, and televisions turn on and off. Your cell phone rings in your pocket, and you pull it out. The screen reads: Incoming Call from Mark.

Your lips part. “How did you…” You trail off.

Mark shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “My powers essentially let me communicate with electricity and tech,” he explains. You can practically hear Logan seething beside you.

“A technopath,” Charles offers as he rolls over to join the three of you with Scott in tow.

“Exactly,” Mark says, nodding to Charles. “Makes it easy to put my number into pretty girls’ phones.” Mark winks at you, and you press your lips into a straight line in response.

You shake your head. “I’m not inter—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing. “These,” Logan pauses, lifting his claws to Mark. “Make it real easy to hurt creeps who put their numbers into girls’ phones without asking first, bub.”

Mark rolls his eyes, and the corners of your lips twitch up. You try to force down your smile, try to slow the rhythm of your heart. You secretly liked when Logan got possessive over you. He was inherently protective, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little.

“Let’s stay on course,” Charles reprimands, guiding Mark to the hallway to the left with a wave of his hand. “Let me show you some of the machines I’d like you to work on.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Xavier,” Mark says harshly, his eyes locked on Logan as he backs away to follow Charles and Scott.

Logan lowers all but his center claw, giving Mark the middle finger as he turns around. “Don’t mind Logan,” Scott says as they disappear into a room, the door shutting behind them.

“Logan,” you whisper, now that everyone is gone. “Don’t worry,” you assure, bringing a hand to his shoulder.

He turns to look at you. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

It is not going well, or fine.

Mark is something of a nuisance. He’s only been here for an hour, but he has already created multiple excuses to talk to you, to pull you away from whatever task is at hand.

You’re in the middle of teaching an English class, discussing Mrs. Dalloway with a group of older students. “So, what are we to make of Clarissa and Sally’s relationship?” You ask the students, to no avail.

This was your hardest class of the day—especially given the fact that you’re not even a decade older than most of the students. You had joined the X-Men in your early 20s, your powers having shown themselves a bit later than in most mutants, and only a few years have passed since then. Convincing the students who have been here their whole lives that you deserve to teach has been nothing short of a challenge.

So, when Mark butts his head in on your class, annoyance burns through your body. You take a deep breath and swallow down your frustration.

“Hey!” He chimes, his head poking through the open classroom door. “Mind if I take a look at your computer really quick?”

The class perks up, more focused on you than they were just seconds ago. You fake a smile, nodding and pushing yourself off the front of your desk so that he has space to access the computer.

He slips behind the desk and smiles widely. “You didn’t have to move,” he remarks. “Would’ve been nice to have you close.”

You want to gag. You turn away from the students, whispering so they can’t hear. “Listen,” you chide, narrowing your eyes. “I am not interested, so could you please—”

“What are you doing in here, asshole?” Logan’s voice echoes against the walls of the classroom. For the first time all year, the class is paying incredibly close attention. “The Professor told you to check the computers in the lab down the hall.” Logan fully enters the room, striding over to Mark, his hands bawled into fists at his sides. “Beat it, bub.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters, his head down as he exits the classroom. The bell rings, and the class stands, grabbing their things and filing out the door.

You groan. “Please read the next twenty pages for tomorrow!” You shout over the hubbub and shuffling of students. “I know it’s a challenging novel, but I think you guys can…” The students are gone before you can finish your sentence. “Handle it.”

Logan smiles sympathetically, closing the distance between you and him. His presence is comforting, warm, everything you’ve ever needed. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Sorry,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to make your class harder than it is already.”

You take a deep breath, your annoyance fading away. “You helped,” you whisper. “Mark is the one who ruined things,” you insist. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Logan chuckles. “You don’t like him?” He teases. “Don’t like a guy your own age flirting with you?” He’s egging you on, trying to joke, but you can tell part of him is a bit serious.

You shake your head. “Only like you.” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat and Logan grunts.

He reluctantly pulls away, the palms of his hands dragging down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Gotta get to my class,” he husks, his fingers slipping, tugging longingly as he steps to the door. “Meet me after?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. You’ll be outside his classroom door before the bell rings, waiting for him.

You nod, and he smiles, his hands gripping the doorframe like some invisible magnet is pulling him away, and he’d give anything to spend another second with you. He slips down the hallway, and into his classroom.

You spend the next thirty minutes or so grading papers, waiting for the period to end so that you can walk across the hall to Logan’s class. Another few minutes pass, and you start to collect your things, readying yourself to meet Logan. Your heart thumps in your chest at the thought, even after all the months you’ve spent together.

You grab your bag and head to the door, closing it behind you and locking up. You cross the hall and stand outside Logan’s door. He’s teaching a younger group of kids—ten to eleven-year-olds. You would trade places with him in a heartbeat if you could. The younger students loved you. There was no question of respect, no doubt of your power. But Logan was given the class as a challenge—Charles wanted to test his patience.

And, honestly, seeing him with the children did something to you. You loved watching the way he doted on them, carefully explaining material in a way they’d understand. He was an excellent teacher, and one day, you’re sure, he’d make an even better father. You find yourself falling into fantasy: Logan, late at night, a baby—your baby—on his chest. You can see it now—him changing a diaper, teaching the child to walk. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you daydream about the future—your future together.

You’re so distracted that you don’t hear Mark walk up to you—don’t feel his hand grab your shoulder.

You yelp and jump. “Oh my god,” you mumble, turning around and coming face to face with him.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand lingering for far too long on your shoulder. He finally peels away, his arms falling to his sides. He leans against the wall, trying to appear casual and cool. “What are you doing tonight?”

The bell rings before you can think of a polite way to shoo Mark away, and the students exit Logan’s classroom, happily shouting greetings in your direction. You stood outside Logan’s door every day, and the students were always excited to see you.

A few of them run up to hug you, complaining about Logan’s gruffness. When they hear Logan’s footsteps approaching the door, they bolt down the hallway, their laughter booming against the walls.

Logan steps out into the hall, and he groans audibly when he sees Mark next to you. But Mark ignores Logan, his eyes trained on yours. “Got plans?” He asks again.

You roll your eyes. “Dude, I’m not interested!” You groan, too irritated to pretend to be nice. Mark smirks and parts his lips, ready to persist like the creep he is.

Logan steps in front of you, his claws already out. “Listen, bub,” he growls, his claws just inches from Mark’s chest. “If you don’t fuck off and stop harassing my girl, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Mark scoffs. “My girl? What are you, her father? You can’t possibly be dating her.”

You can see the anger in Logan’s eyes, the honest rage. “Lo,” you soothe. “Don’t do it.” But you know it’s too late. His decision is already made.

Logan shoves Mark against the wall, his claws pressed against his throat. “I’m her fucking boyfriend, bub,” he grunts as Mark squirms helplessly under his hold.

“Oh, her boyfriend?” He teases, despite the fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to be a boyfriend?”

Logan shoves him harder into the wall, and Mark yelps pathetically, like a small dog. “More serious than that,” Logan asserts. “Guessing you wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?”

“Alright, break it up!” Scott’s voice echoes from down the hall. He runs over, Jean and the Professor by his side. Rogue and Gambit follow close behind. But Logan doesn’t budge, the tips of his claws almost digging hard enough to draw blood.

You bring your hand to Logan’s shoulder. “He isn’t gonna hurt me,” you whisper to Logan. “I could handle him easily if he tried.” You slide your hand to the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him, to relax him. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay?”

Logan retracts his claws and lets go of Mark, who stutters away from Logan and into the center of the hallway. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Mark shouts, but Logan doesn’t react. He simply intertwines his fingers with yours.

“You okay?” He asks, his thumb brushing circles into the side of your hand.

You arch a brow. “Are you okay?” You smile and lean into him.

“So…” Scott trails off, interrupting. “You two are…”

“Together.” You finish his sentence, your eyes still on Logan’s. You can feel the tension in his shoulders stretch down to his hand. He’s rigid, still on edge. You know he needs to get out of here, needs to be alone with you.

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asks, genuinely caught off guard. “Did anyone know about this?”

You turn to the team to see heads shaking side to side—save for the Professor. “I did, of course,” Charles confesses. “But I felt it was best left a secret until the two lovebirds decided otherwise.”

Rogue shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I can’t believe you never told me!”

“Told you what?” Jubilee calls from down the hall, approaching the group. She blows a bubble as she stands next to Rogue, her eyes trailing down to where your and Logan’s hands connect. Her eyes widen and her bubble bursts. “No way!” She cheers, jumping up and down.

“Settle down,” Charles laughs, extending his hand down the hall to where Mark was just moments ago. “Scott, make sure our technopath friend makes it out the door alive.” Scott nods and heads down the hall. Charles turns to you and Logan. “As for the two of you,” he pauses, winking. “We’ll discuss more at a later point.”

You smile in understanding, and Logan squeezes your hand—another sign it’s time to go. He’s still worked up about Mark; he needs to get this out of his system, needs to relieve all the built-up tension.

“Got something I need to take care of,” Logan says to the group, tugging you down the hallway.

He strides through the mansion, practically yanking your arm out of your socket. “Logan,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention. You’ve never seen him like this—rage and jealousy like fire in his eyes, dripping from his pores. He leads you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, and it suddenly dawns on you what exactly he needs to take care of.

Logan pushes the door open and slams it closed the second you’re inside. His hands are immediately on you, grabbing at the pillowy flesh of your ass, pinning you to the door. His lips find yours—hungry and rough, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your face. He tastes you, his tongue seeking more of you as it swipes across your lower lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in, your tongue tangling with his.

Logan hoists you up without breaking the kiss, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection straining inside his jeans, pressing against your heat. He grinds into you as one hand slips under your top and drags up your back, holding you tightly against him.

“Need you,” he mumbles against your lips. “Always fucking need you.” He tears you away from the door and towards the bed. He throws you onto the mattress and climbs over you, slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. “Tell me you need me, pretty girl.”

“N-need you,” you stutter as he settles on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“I’m not too old for you?” Logan teases, one of his hands loosening its grasp on your arm and trailing down your body, settling on the hem of your shirt. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?” He hikes up your top, pushing it above your breasts.

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs. “No,” you whine, arching your back as his fingertips play with the bottom of your bra. “Only wanna be with you,” you breathe as Logan slowly, teasingly pulls your bra up. “Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Want you to fuck me.”

Logan smirks, finally tugging your bra and top over your head and casting them to the floor. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” Logan soothes, palming your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipples under his thumb.

“Fuck,” you moan as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Logan hums, his fingertips trailing across the valley of your breasts, doing the same on the other side. Logan pinches harder, and you moan louder this time. “That’s it,” he coos, his lips finding your pulse point, sucking roughly. “Don’t be quiet, darlin’,” he demands. You whisper his name, your voice whiny and needy. “Show me how much you need me. Keep making those pretty little noises, baby.”

“Feels good,” you whimper as his hand traces down your stomach, to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his fist and yanking it up to your waist.

He chuckles darkly. “You wore this just for me?” He asks, his thumb hooking inside the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. “Wanted to make it easier for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes, just for you,” you pant, watching as Logan lifts himself off you, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. He dexterously unclasps his belt buckle and throws the leather to the floor. He balances on his forearm as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his boxers. “I’m all yours, Lo,” you promise as he presses his forehead to yours.

Logan’s hand glides down your side, slipping between your legs and finding your folds. You moan as his fingertips prod at your entrance, spreading your slick. “Fuck, all this is for me?” He pinches your clit before swiping through your folds again. “You’re soaked already, princess.” His fingertips brush your clit, tracing achingly slow circles into the bud.

You rock your hips against Logan’s touch, searching for more friction. “Logan, need you,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?” He whispers, his touch suddenly disappearing. You groan at the loss of contact. “Say it again, pretty girl,” he demands, guiding his cock to your folds.

“All yours,” you answer, trying to move your hips lower to feel just an inch of him. “Please just—”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slams into you, down to the hilt with one thrust. He throbs against your walls as he works you open, his hips still, his cock splitting you in two. “Fuck,” Logan grunts. “So fucking tight. Perfect little pussy. Wanna stay right here forever. Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Maybe I’ll just make you sit on my cock.”

But you need him to move, need him to take you. “Logan, f-fuck me,” you choke, trying to move your hips. His hand grips your waist, stopping you from sliding up his length. “Please, move,” you plead.

“So impatient,” he chides, kissing you bruisingly, biting your lips. He finally pulls out and slams back in, bottoming out again. His hand slides down your waist and slips between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I want?”

His hand is just above your clit, inches away from where you need him most, waiting for your answer. You nod emphatically. “Yes,” you say with pleading eyes. “Anything. You can do anything just please—oh fuck!” Logan pinches your clit and starts his machinations, swirling around the bud. He pulls out and pumps back in, setting a ruthless pace.

His hips snap against yours, taking all of you with reckless abandon. His lips swallow your moans, consuming you, drinking you in. Of all the times he’s fucked you, it’s never been quite like this. There’s a hunger in Logan’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, an undying need you’re not sure can be satisfied. Something feels different about this time—more intense, fervent, and feverish.

Logan thrusts in and out of you, bottoming out with every pump, still stretching you out. His fingertips stroke your clit roughly, your walls already fluttering around him. He curses under his breath, his chest heaving against yours.

“Look at you,” he groans, fucking into you. “So beautiful like this. Always so beautiful.” You can feel his cock twitching inside you. “Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

“I-I already am,” you stammer, his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “Always gonna be yours.”

“Want more than that,” Logan grunts, his hips rocking, his pace quickening. He’s so deep inside you—hitting exactly where you need him most with every thrust.

“Whatever you want,” you pant, your chest pressing flush to his. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” He growls at the shell of your ear. “You gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stuff you full of me?”

“Yes, please,” you cry out as he pumps in and out, shoving himself as deep inside as he can possibly fit. You feel so full, so complete. Nothing compares to having Logan this close, to having him be so connected to you. You’re already coming undone underneath him, falling apart. “Want you to stay inside.” And then the words fall from your lips without a second thought. But you mean it, and you want it more than anything…

“Wanna have your baby, Lo.”

Logan groans at your words, his cock throbbing with need. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that, sweetheart.”

“N-not teasing,” you stammer. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Logan growls, his skin slapping against yours, your words spurring him on. He’s letting himself go, letting himself plunge deep inside you, fast and hard. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his length dragging against your walls, pushing deeper still. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes!” You cry out, the fire burning in your belly spreading up to your spine, coursing through your veins. Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tightly.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, rutting into you, his hips stuttering. “Want you forever.”

You throw your head back as his fingers swirl around your clit. “You have me Lo, always gonna have me.” Your walls clench down around him, and the tension snaps. Electricity shoots up your spine as your orgasm crashes into you. It’s intense—more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. Pleasure washes over you in waves, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

Logan is right behind you, whispering a string of praises as he finishes inside you. “Did so fucking good for me. Always so perfect, beautiful.” His thrusts slow until he’s still inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. “Don’t wanna move, princess,” he husks, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You don’t have to,” you say, your voice hoarse. Logan rolls you onto your side, hoisting your leg up and over his hip, keeping himself deep inside your cunt. You close your eyes, your heartbeat finally steadying, your chest still heaving in time with Logan’s.

The silence is comfortable, calming. You listen to Logan’s breathing as he runs his hands up and down your back. “You okay?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

You hum. “I’m perfect,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “Do you really…” You trail off, suddenly nervous to ask the only question on your mind, despite everything that just happened.

“Yes,” Logan answers immediately. “I meant it. Wanna be a family. Wanna be with you forever.”

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You can feel his cock growing hard inside you as you move to get more comfortable. “I want that too, Lo,” you sigh. “More than anything.” You smile against him, thinking about your future, thinking about how all this started because some asshole wouldn’t leave you alone. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice.

You look up at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” You joke, your smile widening. “You could’ve hurt that guy.”

Logan’s smile widens too. “Just crazy about you,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you, his cock still deep inside you. “Should’ve kicked his ass.” You bite your lip, waiting for his next move. “You’re my girl,” he groans, sliding out of you slightly.

“Yours,” you breathe as he thrusts back in. “All yours.”

tags: @cosmiccandydreamer @alsoprettyinpink @alastorssimp @1800-fight-me @iamburdened @chaoticweirdogeek @loganobsessed @seasonofthenerd @witch-lemon @the-occasional-artist1125 @https-murdock @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

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