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ilovetoxicfictionalmen · 4 months

Text

I’M HERE TO HELP

Pairing - Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary - Your emotional instabilities and impulsive behaviours slowly kills all of your relationships. So you check yourself in for therapy with a doctor who uses unorthodox methods to fix you.

Warnings - BPD, mental illnesses, emotional and physical insecurities, emotional manipulation, emotional abuse, dubcon, dark, angst, p in v, oral both receiving, m! masterbation, daddy issues, toxic relationships, illegal methods, toxic reader.

Word count - A WHOPPING 8.9K

Notes - Heavily inspired by my own personal struggles with BPD. Very long, completely packed with angst and dark themes. A slight AU were Jonathan is your average therapist and not at Arkham. I don't really write longer pics so I'd really appreciative your thoughts. No fear toxin was used in the making.

Borderline Personality Disorder.

There were no medications to cure you of this mental illness. The only treatments were exercises, meditation and talk therapy.

Everyday, you experienced a series of insecurities, issues and habits that all stemmed from your childhood. A traumatic relationship with your father had left you to grow up to be yanked between emotionally codependent and unavailable. Your life was full of mood swings and feeling disconnected from who you were. All of your relationships were either short term or on and off. One minute you’d love them and the next you’d despise them. You had no control on how you felt about others. Their images were constantly changing like a series of short ads on the television.

Everyone was black or white, they were either good or bad for your existence. It left your social interactions to be quite unstable and chaotic. Because you liked to push people away frequently to see how badly they cared for you. It was based on your skepticality and distrust in their words. But could you blame them for leaving with how often you’d self-sabotage your happiness?

This whirlpool of intense emotions, thoughts and behaviors left you lost in your own mind. One day, you wished you never woke up and the next you'd be high on life. There was no stability in your life, you lived on impulses which you would quickly regret and those actions would replay in your mind for hours.

You liked to binge drink, take drugs and partake in reckless sex. The thrill of living on the edge was the only feeling you wanted to feel for years. But when you accidentally formed a relationship with a mutual friend named Peter, you got too attached. It freaked you out and well, you acted impulsively and cheated on him. It painted your bad persona clearly to your friends. You were in desperate need of help.

Your therapist, Doctor Jonathan Crane, was here to help.

Sensitive, timid, hesitant. Those were your clear characteristics Doctor Crane saw within the first few minutes of meeting you, he jotted them in his notepad as soon as he could. Your initial shyness was cute, you were cute. Even underneath the oversized hoodie you chose to wear that day, which you immediately regretted when you saw him.

Doctor Crane preferred the mind over the body. Human’s physicality has barriers. Its capability could only be reached so far. However, the mind could be explored to great depths. Every dot of matter in the brain could create a chain reaction in your physical actions. The mind truly ruled over the body.

Your story was interesting to him, fascinating even. It was gripping for Doctor Crane to find out what made you who you were. How much of an impact your childhood had altered you, broken you. A tiny part of him felt sympathy for you and a large part felt empathy. You were a pretty face begging to be discovered, to be fixed. But he wasn’t even sure yet if he wanted to fix you, he liked the way you were torn.

He wrote your list of fears on a separate page.

Abandonment

Commitment

Vulnerability

Judgment

Rejection

Emotional Intimacy

You were no virgin, but emotional intimacy frightened you immensely. The idea of another knowing you completely felt too overwhelming. You had many promising suitors, but your standards seemed to be as high as a tower. So you’d partake in casual sex and sabotage any chance you had at finding true love. Contradictory, it left you feeling empty and alone. But the thought of being held by another, letting your emotions take toll over your body made you feel sick in your stomach.

The emptiness inside of you begged you to do something, so you bit the bullet and decided to get help. Here you were now, sitting across from your therapist, awkwardly looking at the ground as his eyes lingered over your body.

Today, you wore a plaid beige skirt that rested just above the knee, which didn’t fail to perfectly hug your soft thighs. The black blouse you wore was perfectly in between modest and sexy. Not to mention your polished mary jane shoes accompanied with the white socks made you look like a fucking naughty school girl begging to be bent over.

At least, these were all a part of Doctor Crane’s observations.

Today’s session was different however, he picked up on your behavior immediately when you kept your head low as he warmly welcomed you inside. Your honeyed voice lacked desire, you looked exhausted, broken perhaps?

“How are you feeling today? You look quite… Taciturn…” Doctor Crane pointed out as he looked your appearance up and down. He leant back in his seat and straightened his shirt. His slender index finger pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

A weak smile spread across your lips momentarily, he wanted to know how you were. No, stop thinking that way… Your mood was like a sheet strung up to a clothesline in the wind. Constantly switching up on you, blinding you on what was right and wrong.

You had been seeing Doctor Crane for months now. A friend of a friend recommended him and his bio did not fail to describe his level of expertise. In fact you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to get a slot in with him. The therapy started off well, great even. It was worth the pot of anxiety that stewed in your stomach before you built up the courage to get out of your car.

However, he was wickedly gorgeous. It was like he was made with poison and the more you admired his charm the more it destroyed you emotionally and mentally. Doctors were only meant to be attractive in soap operas or pornos. Real therapists were supposed to be old and borderline creepy. However, Doctor Crane almost looked too young to have his doctorate and a record of accolades that hung from his wall. His beauty was immensely intimidating, his high levels of confidence was a reflection of how little you had in yourself.

Your psychiatrist certainly had a way with words. It was almost as if he knew you better than you did. The zone was free from any spec of judgment and you fell completely open to him over a short few sessions. Before every session, you found yourself pairing the best outfit you could to try to catch his attention. Apply your makeup as seductively yet modestly as you could. You trusted him completely without realizing. That’s when he knew the real treatment could begin.

The exercises came into play by your sixth session together. That session, your therapist presented a new floor length mirror he had brought. It was odd, but you admired the piece nevertheless. When your session was half way through, he instructed you to stand.

“Now, I believe you’re ready for some physical exercises” he smiled innocently to you.

It was simple, stand in the mirror and look at yourself. At first, it was funny, but quickly the discomfort grew as the silence sank in the room. Then you were staring at yourself with pure disgust. Your arms gradually wrapped around your waist as you blinked more frequently, your body swayed gently.

“What do you see?” He asked eventually, still sitting on his seat, notepad and pen in hand.

“Myself” you mumbled as you tugged your skirt down as much as you could.

“Could you be a bit more descriptive?” He cocked an eyebrow towards you, a drip of humor on his tongue.

Shortly after, you came clean on what was on your mind. “I look filthy. It’s disgusting” you admitted shamefully, looking down to the floor.

“And why do you feel disgusted?” your therapist inquired as he wrote down his observations.

“Because, look at me… I’m hideous” you answered, your cheeks feeling flustered.

You weren’t asking for compliments, your honesty was raw emotions. Sometimes you’d look at yourself and see a complete stranger and you’d wonder how people could ever talk to you, let alone want you. You blinked back your tears and stood on wobbly feet. His words were falling deaf on your ears again, you were too focused on your thoughts. He sighed and placed his notepad down on the table.

“Look at how insecure you still are…” Doctor Crane cooed in a slightly demeaning way as he stood up from his seat and gradually stood behind you.

There was silence for a long time. The both of you looked at each other through the mirror, almost as if you were both daring each other to make the next move.

“Do you see someone lovable?” He asked, his face slowly inching closer to your ear.

“No” you replied, emotionless.

“Why not?” He furrowed his eyebrows, his body almost pressing up against yours.

“Because I don’t deserve it” you answered.

You felt dull again, the emptiness had ripped a hole in your body yet again. Doctor Crane analyzed your stern, lifeless expression. It could happen so easily, your switch up. It was enthralling with how many triggers you had, you were a tennis ball being whacked from one emotion to the other.

“You’re too harsh on yourself… Far too harsh” your therapist tutted his light scold at you. One of his hands rests on your shoulder to comfort you.

“What do you see?” You asked him, raising your chin up in an act of hope.

“Don’t look away from the mirror” was his answer in an emotionless yet stern tone.

A swift look of confusion planted on your expression. But regardless you obeyed his simple order and remained silent as you stared at him through the mirror.

His hand slipped from your shoulder to across your chest in an anticipating speed, his pressed fingers spread apart at the same pace. Even though his hand was running across your upper torso, your heart was thudding in your chest so powerfully that he could feel it pump that far away. His hand stopped on your opposing shoulder and gently tugged you back to his chest.

“What are you doing?” You croaked out, your throat dry and tight as you looked at the two of you. It was almost as if you were in a headlock, but it was gentle.

“An exercise. I’m helping you get comfortable with yourself” he answered confidently, his cold face pressed against your heated one.

Your body was as stiff as a board. He sighed to himself when his free hand ran down your body.

“Relax… For once, let go of the thoughts and focus on your physicality” he ordered softly, almost sounding like a beg instead. His tone was soothing, almost hypnotic.

So your mind obeyed him immediately. You body fell back into his like your bones had snapped into jelly, he was practically a crutch at this point, you’d fall to the ground if he let go of you. His hands gently caressed your hip, it felt soothing, comforting, secure.

“Wanna know what I see?” He murmured.

You murmured back and nodded your head. There was this mixture of fear and thrill painted across your expression. Both of you could see how badly you wanted to know, but how frightening the process was. Yet it was clear with how much it aroused you by how your cheeks darkened.

“I see a pretty girl, who needs to be looked after. Taken care of. Someone who only wants to be held by another” he answered honestly.

Your eyes swelled up with tears at his simplicity. When your breathing got rougher as the thoughts swarmed in your mind like a thunderstorm he whispered soothing tones by your ear. Both of you were still staring into the mirror.

“Look at how smooth your skin is. Your face is faultless. And these curves… They are so sexy, is that an improper word to use?” Jonathan grinned at you, a slight chuckle at his deviant comment, both hands now planted on your hips.

His crotch was pressed against your rear, but he wasn’t erect. Honestly, you weren’t sure if it was reassuring or if it made you more insecure. His lips rested against your ear as you steadied your breathing.

“Why are you saying this?” You gasped lightly.

“I told you, it’s an exercise” he answered with a shrug of the shoulders.

That was the day you learnt that Doctor Jonathan Crane was far from your traditional psychiatrist. He tested the modern norms and values of therapy. He used distinctive methods to assist with your progression. Methods that were best kept behind closed doors for both of your reputations. At first you were reluctant to a lot of them, stiff in the bones at the ideas of it. But he persuaded you otherwise, all you had to do was trust him, because it was for your benefit.

So, you turned your head to the uneasiness of his treatment and trusted him. At the end of every session, you’d end up in a physical or emotional exercise. Some exercises were far more concerning than others.

Which now, had led you to be so whipped by him, so mesmerized by. A common thread in people with BPD was for them to have a person that they depend on emotionally, for comfort and validation. They called it a favorite person.

You grew very attached to your psychiatrist who eagerly wanted to help you and you rued at it every night. It wasn’t the type of love you craved it to be, it was obsessive. The both of you knew it. You’d think about him constantly, smile as you recall your past encounters together. Then you’d find yourself crying over the fact that you could never have him. You didn’t love him, you loved the person your mind had created him to be, yet you did love him. Your mind felt like a thunderstorm of confusion with him. No matter how badly you wanted to, you couldn’t let go of him.

You liked the routine you had with him. The security you felt when his arms were around your body eased all of your anxieties. Even though it was always only momentarily. You knew what he asked of you wasn’t right, especially when you’d count the times that he had purposely made you cry, but you did it anyway. Because he wanted you, even though it was only for the moment.

Doctor Crane clicked his fingers to snap you back to reality. You blinked heavily and looked up to him. It was intimidating with how stern his expression was right now. You already knew that he was trying to piece you together like a puzzle.

“Yeah, I’m alright” you replied to your psychiatrist. Typical for your response to be vague, you sounded tired, he jotted that down.

But your smile wasn’t real. It was obvious by the way you were fiddling with the end of your skirt, something was irritating you. He noticed this habit from your first session together.

Doctor Crane was not stupid, but apparently you were dumb enough to think he was. The game was already in motion and you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to cut him off. Being sick was off the table, you would have canceled if you were, actually, you probably wouldn’t have given your condition.

Regardless, he knew what moves were up your sleeves. The same cards you played on everyone. You wanted him to see you this way. Another desperate cry out for attention, for reassurance, as per usual. Mentally you had to be begging for him to drop to his knees for you. You were self sabotaging again. But it was the first time you had ever tried to do it with him.

Last week, Doctor Crane canceled your appointment an hour before it should have commenced. A family emergency. Like he had anyone important enough for that. It was just a little experiment of his, to see how truly attached he already knew you were.

It must have driven you insane. He wished he got to see how much you cried, or how out of touch you were for days. Because despite him constantly claiming otherwise, you thought he was wrapped around your finger by this point and it saddened you to remember how restricted your relationship was with him. His theory looked to be revealingly correct.

“Something’s on your mind… Did you want to tell me?” He asked, tilting his head towards you like you were a dog begging for attention.

Oh how you hated the way his attitude could switch up on you. One minute he was loving, the next he was neglectful. Little did you realize, he was acting how you’d act to everyone else.

“Yeah” you murmured with a gentle nod.

He nodded for you to continue on. When you didn’t continue on, by your voice being stuck in your throat, his left eyebrow cocked. “I want this to be our last session together” you spat out your confession, gulping down your fear as you finally made eye contact with you.

You wanted to read his initial reaction, but the man’s face was carved by stone. It only overfilled your stomach with dreading anxiety and made your heart pound in your chest heavier.

“Oh really? But I enjoyed our sessions” Doctor Crane pouted to you, he closed his notepad and placed it on the coffee table.

His legs were crossed in a slutty manner as he tilted his head to you. You laughed nervously, he was always toying with you now, you couldn’t let your emotions persuade you otherwise.

“So did I” you replied quietly, you face cringing at your response straight after, your thighs pressed together. Now with that, you caught his perfect blue eyes linger down to your thighs, only for a quick second. It could have been missed if you blinked at the wrong time.

“So, what’s the reason?” He questioned. His fingers continued to tap on his knee as he watched you nervously bat your eyes around.

“Because I’m going to work it out with Jaime” you spat out before you could think.

Jaime was this guy you started seeing during your sessions with Doctor Crane. He was a coworker of yours and the tension had slowly been brewing over time. With your therapist’s help, you felt like you should try to open yourself to others besides him. So you did, you went on continuous dates. Yet you were too scared to tell Doctor Crane, this gut feeling told you he wouldn’t like it.

When you were confident enough to share the information in your next session, you did not expect to walk out of the clinic with a flipped opinion on Jaime. Doctor Crane pointed out the facts. You liked the idea of him. He was promising, he looked at you in awe and not in desire. He cared about your future together. Jaime was the type of guy you’d take home to meet your parents. He was financially responsible, family oriented, involved in the community and took care of you.

So Jaime ticked all of the appropriate factors, but Doctor Crane questioned what you really liked about Jaime. It left you lost for words, what previously you felt you could write an essay about, your mind fell blank.

He followed this up on your fear of being sexual with him still.

“You’re not into him. Four dates and still nothing? You’re just trying to fill the loneliness inside of you” He sighed, sounding disappointed in your actions.

“No… No…” You defended pathetically.

Your mind was racing at this point and there was no emergency stop lever. Hands rubbing together in an anxious manner as you blinked hard.

“Fine, let’s do an exercise then” he clapped his hands together dramatically.

You looked at him confused as he moved over to the lounge sofa. His hand gestured for you to follow, hesitantly you did and sat next to him. Through a stiff posture, you looked over to him as he casually leant back into the cushioning, his hands caressing his thighs.

It came out before you could properly process it. A part of you thought it was a joke and then the next thought it was a hallucination. You stared down in a transfix, your throat clogged and mouth dry.

“Pretty… Isn’t it?” He hummed as he stroked his huge size, his gaze panning up to you. A sly smirk was planted under his dark eyes.

As your logic broke out, you whimpered and went to stand up but his hand latched onto your thigh quicker.

“Relax, I don’t want you to touch me. I just want you to watch me” he clarified, as if it made this any better. “Don’t take your eyes off of me, okay?” He mumbled his demand as his eyes moved back down to his length.

He was larger than most. A vein that poked out of his sensitive skin, which looked to be a couple of centimeters long. Typically, he was cleanly shaved as his hand wrapped around his firm member. All you could do was stare, in desire, in disgust, in disorder, in awe.

You therapist looked back up to you, he pictured you dropping to your knees, humping your soaked cunt on his polished shoe as you begged him to fuck you, to make you orgasm. Fantasied you screaming his name out as he buried himself deep inside of you.

He had to bite onto his lower lip to hold back his groans. As your thighs pressed together, you felt your core tingle, the vibrations grew bigger around your sensitive area. Both of your eyes shot up to each other simultaneously.

“You like this? Watching me stroke myself” he murmured, a wicked grin on his face as he observed your wide eyes.

“Y-yeah” you shuddered, your head nodding in agreement. This massive urge inside of you fought to wrap your hands around his size, but you felt too intimidated to do it.

“Dirty girl” he moaned lightly as he picked up his speed.

As his climax almost reached its peak and his cock twitched, he swiftly let go of his member and maneuvered you onto your back. You gasped out in a mixture of shock, fear and pleasure as he roughly pulled up your top and aimed his length at your stomach.

After a couple of vicious strokes, Doctor Crane snarled as his white ropes sprayed across your soft flesh. Your eyes darted up to his blue eyes and down to his throbbing member repetitively, your body stiff underneath him. He hummed in a low tone as his strokes came to a halt.

He tilted his head at the pretty sight and breathed out. Your eyes connected once more and he chuckled to you.

“See, how could you be into him? You just watched me masterbate and let me finish on you” he spoke in a nonchalant tone.

He was calling your bluff, but the fact that you had the audacity to bring up his name angered him. Made him feel a wave of jealousy even. Nevertheless, he would still be up for the challenge. He snorted to you, his eyes studying your facial expressions. There was nothing you could do but awkwardly rub your chin and look away from your therapist.

“You’re a horrible liar” he pointed out with a sly look. All you could do was lower your head in shame. “I thought I was helping you” he hummed, head tilted to the side as he waited for you to look back over to him.

“I don't want to see you anymore” you divulged with a grunt, growing frustrated with his investigations.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t want to” you spoke slowly, every word had your jaw clenching.

“This hasn’t got something to do with our last session together, does it?” He asked, a cynical smile growing on his lips.

All you could do was shake your head. He was getting under your skin, he was meant to be a therapist for crying out loud. Why was he being so mean to you? Why did this have to mean so much to him?

The matter in question was your last session together.

You walked into the room highly overstimulated, unfocused, irritated with your burden of a reality. The past few nights you had been crying endlessly. The thought of him was constantly on your mind. He was an enigma, the impossible puzzle in stores that no one even bothered to attempt. Every move you made with him had you stepping back twice as far. Thinking of him made you so overwhelmed, because you didn’t know what he wanted from you. It was some twisted game in his mind and you were too naive in the beginning to think it was something else.

He touched you, held you, caressed you, whispered sweet words into your ear, kissed you. Your therapist had explored almost every inch of your skin. His hips had rocked in sync with yours. You’ve seen him in completely vulnerable positions. Yet there was nothing that kept you together except for you booking in another appointment.

He continued to remind you that he didn’t want you at the end of every session without saying as he walked you out the door. A constant reminder that these were only exercises. You were exhausted and ready to raise the flag.

There was something real hidden underneath all of this. A twisted sensation that connected you both as one. It was a gut feeling, and you’d be damned if you tried to wait the sensation out of your body. At this point, it was all or nothing.

“Act on it” he told you with an approving nod.

You had just opened up to him with your scenario. Which he instantly knew was based around him despite you being highly vague. He read your expressions and body language clearly. You were overwhelmed, emotional, depressed, anxious and aroused.

“What?” You frowned at him, a mixture of confusion and hope.

“Act on your impulses” he clarified, straightening himself in his seat. There was a pause as you tried to read his expression, questioning if he was implying what you truly wanted to do. “Do it” he encouraged, flashing you a toothy grin.

His legs spreaded on the chair, his hand tapping gently on his thigh, you could see it from where you were seated, the bulge in his trousers. Hesitantly you stood from your seat, he nodded to reassure you. Through a wobbly stance, you gradually approached your therapist, your heart pounded and thoughts raced like hotrods.

As you stood before him, he admired the fear painted on you. You gulped down your thoughts and closed your eyes as you straddled him, his hands crept up to your hips as you took his short dark locks of hair in your hands.

This was different from last time, you held the reins right now. Too afraid to look at him this closely, you leant down and kissed him. He welcomed your tongue into his mouth as his hands slid up and down your lower back, sending sensational shocks amongst your nerves.

You moaned into his mouth and gently tugged at his roots. His hands wrapped around your back and he rocked his hips up and down slowly. When you finally opened your eyes again, he was looking right into you, as if he was studying every single thing you were doing. It discouraged you and you separated your lips and gulped, your hand wiped around your mouth.

“Don’t be afraid… I’m right here, I’ll look after you” he promised you gently.

You weakly smiled at him and found yourself slowly slipping down off of him. As you landed on your knees, your hands ran up and down his thin thighs. He sighed quietly as he watched you undo his leather belt. He helped you by raising his hips so you could tug down at pants, his cock flopped out onto his stomach.

You’ve never touched it before and it sent vibrations up your core. It felt suspenseful, the quick look you gave before you wrapped your hands around him. He moved forward on the seat and you gave him a couple of lazy pumps. Slowly, your lips pressed against his tip and he groaned in approval.

You closed your eyes as his length slipped into your mouth. Quickly, his hands gently held onto your cheeks.

“No no… Don’t look away from me, I want to see those pretty eyes of yours” he ordered kindly, a sweet smile on his mouth.

Your eyes fluttered open and your mouth smiled around his length. As you hummed around his size, it sent vibrations down his sensitive member. At a slow pace, your mouth bobbed up and down, taking in a little more than the last time. His hands looped into your loose, soft hair as he encouraged you to go a little bit faster. Doctor Crane liked it when you thrummed around him, how you’d hollow your cheeks and the way you batted your eyes up to him.

“Oh, such a good girl… You’re doing a fantastic job” he praised in a mixed tone of condescending and admiration which made your thighs press together. He carefully lifted his body up from the chair and his trousers started to slip to his ankles. His legs stood apart as he guided your head. Your hands ran up the back of his thighs and rested just below his glutes.

One hand slipped out of your hair so he could untighten his tie enough so he could pull it off. His hands slowly pulled your mouth off of him, you made a pop sound and for a second he thought he was going to finish right there and then. Even though you were breathing heavily, you were smiling so gleefully at him, he couldn’t help but to look at you in awe momentarily.

“Here… Wear this, it’ll make you look even prettier” he requested as he slipped and tightened his red tie around your gorgeous neck.

His hand wrapped from the tip of the tie and gently tugged your mouth back towards his throbbing, wet member. Eagerly, you took him back into your mouth completely. Your fingernails tickled at his hamstrings as you found a smooth rhythm to bob at.

“You’re so good at this… Can I go a bit rougher?” He gasped out.

He didn’t even give you a moment to respond. He tugged the tie harshly towards him repetitively as his tip would hit the back of your throat. Your nails dug into his flesh as you squint your eyes shut, tears naturally swelled up.

“No, I told you to look at me” he ordered more firmly this time, his free head patting your cheek to get your attention.

You obeyed, but blunk repetitively to try to wash away your tears. He was groaning out gently, he didn’t expect you to look so beautiful this way. It felt almost native to him to have you here in this state.

His size was twitching frequently in your mouth, he could feel how close he was. As his mouth fell open in pleasure, you couldn’t help but to smile again despite the painful speed you were going at. Because you were pleasing him, he was happy.

“Can I finish in your mouth darling?” He asked in a gasp.

Immediately you moaned around his shaft and even though Doctor Crane didn’t know what you were trying to spit out, he took it as a yes. When he felt his climax tip over, he pulled your face to his lower region, your nose pressed against his lower abdomen as he held you still there. His seed shot straight down your throat, only a couple of ropes got caught on your tongue.

His blue eyes rolled back and he moaned out loudly. As his hand around the tie instinctively pulled as far as he could and his other hand slipped back into your hair and caressed your scalp. When his eyes fluttered back to reality and his post orgasm state settled in, he still held you around him, wanting it to last one more longer.

Gradually, the tie slipped out of his hand and he tugged you off of him. Your body slumped down as you breathed out hard and swallowed the remainder of his semen. You took off the tie and rubbed the friction burn around your neck and soreness that pulsed on your mouth.

However, when you looked back up to him, your smile quickly faded.

“And that’s time…” He spoke emotionlessly, his eyes glued onto his watch.

He had already tucked himself back into his trousers. Whilst you sat on your knees looking like a sweating mess. When he held his hand out, you mistook it for a kind gesture of helping you up. But he only wanted his tie back. As he tied it back around his neck, you sat frozen on knees, head laying low.

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Sweetheart, come on. I have another appointment” he sighed, his voice sounding distant.

When you looked up, he was by the door, his hips leant to the left with his hands resting above them. You blinked away your tears and stood up on wobbly feet. Quickly you grabbed your belongings and sniffled as you approached him.

As you went to open the door, his hand rested on your shoulder. You couldn’t help but to look up to him with a sliver of hope.

“That was good progress today, I’ll see you next week” he nodded to you, his expression emotionless.

He opened the door for you before you could even try to utter a word. As you walked out and turned around to see him one more time, he shut the door before you could.

When he canceled on you the week after, reality hit you like a train traveling at high speed. He was using you, you were only a playtoy and it was a matter of time until he grew bored of you. The irony was how your therapist was destroying you instead of fixing you.

You drove recklessly the whole time, wishing that you would just end up in a fatal crash. He told you to stay away from recreational drugs and alcohol early on. But that weekend you went out and impulsively took more than you should have. You ended up grinding with strangers, closing your eyes and picturing him and then you’d drink more to try to forget about him, even though it was just for the night.

You don’t know how you got home the next morning, better yet how you didn’t have a single scratch on your body. It felt a sign that you needed to let him go. That he was the toxic venom in your life and loving him would kill you.

He was the two end balls on Newton's cradle, his behavior to you was constantly switching. The way he kissed you, held you, caressed you. It all meant nothing. Especially when it came to comparison of how he’d shout at you, belittle you, scream even on occasions. Some sessions you’d end up having a complete meltdown in his arms and he’d apologize for taking the exercise too intensely.

Everything he was doing to you was illegal. This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t healthy, this wasn’t proper treatment. He was only making your condition worse. He was taking advantage of you and you had been stupid enough to allow it for so long. It was time to take off the rose tinted glasses.

Doctor Crane was correct yet again. You were not back in contact with Jaime. You only needed an excuse to get out of this cobweb of painful emotions and it was the best idea you had. His blue eyes were shooting daggers at you as he waited for your answer.

“You could have canceled over the phone but you’re here… Why?” He frowned towards you, moving forward in his seat to get a view.

You clicked your tongue and blinked back your tears. Your body was running high on adrenaline, it was hard for you to process anything that was happening around you. Doctor Crane could see how overstimulated you were, how hard this must have been for you.

Your head remained low as you began to speak. “I will-”

“Look at me when you’re talking” he resisted his snarl through his demand as he cut you off.

As you clicked your tongue again, your head shot up in anger. He couldn’t help but to grin, you’ve never looked at him with such fury. The fire inside of you made the blood run to his cock.

A thousand words stormed through your brain. Everything that you wanted to scream at him banged against the walls, desperately trying to break out. It was hard to know what you wanted to say first. But then a thought of reflection sparked and within a click, your angered expression disappeared. Your torso relaxed as you blinked at him. His dark eyebrows furrowed to you as you calmed your breathing.

“Goodbye Doctor Crane” you exhaled, a soft satisfied smile on your lips.

For once, you could read his expression enough, he was taken aback. His eyes widened, only slightly, but nevertheless they widened. As his mouth slowly opened and head tilted, as his mind raced to spit something out, you stood up from your seat and turned to the door, gulping down all of your nerves.

For a moment, he couldn’t help but to admire you walking away, the way your hips would swing. He couldn’t deny the fact that he was proud of you, for finally standing up for yourself. But he knew one thing, you were going to walk out that door and never return.

Doctor Crane would be damned if he allowed you to leave him, especially on your own terms. A quick flash of fear mixed with excitement washed over his face and he acted impulsively for once. A sudden rush of desperation and desire compelled his thoughts. He jumped from his chair like a predator in pursuit of its prey.

Before you could reach for the knob, you’re forced up against the door, not softly yet not too roughly to leave a mark. You gasp out as his hands run over your body animalistically. Doctor Crane’s mouth pressed to your jaw as his arms tangled around your body.

“Doctor-” you whimpered and he couldn’t help but to moan out your name.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked quietly by your ear, his words hissing like a viper.

Tears begin to shed again from your sore eyes. Why couldn’t he just let you leave and move on.

“Stop…” you chortled, shaking your head at the thought of staying in this any longer.

“Let’s talk about this” he pleaded in a humorous tone as he tried to guide you back to the middle of the room.

But you stood firmly, your hand could just hold onto the doorknob. When you shook your head again he grunted and kissed your neck.

“I don’t want to” you shivered, you wanted to sound confident but your emotions were failing you.

Doctor Crane kissed your neck repeatedly to try to convince you otherwise. It only made you whine and struggle against him. His lips pressed to your ear as his head nuzzled against yours, your knees couldn’t help but to buckle.

“I thought you liked me…”

“I can’t do this” you bit back your moan as you felt his erection hump against your ass.

Naturally, your back began to arch as you pushed your head back against his. Whilst being under this seductive trance, he pulled you back towards his chair and fell back onto it. You sat on his lap, you back pressed against his front and his tongue rolled over your earlobe.

“You’re so overstimulated right now… I can feel it running through your skin. You can’t even see how badly you’re acting. I bet you can hardly process what I’m saying” he grinned as his hands ran up and down your body, too greedy to stick to one spot.

“No! Let go of me please! I want to leave!” You cried out, his fingers swiftly swam into your mouth to silence you.

“Darling… Darling, you’re not okay. I need to help you. I legally can’t let you leave in this state, for your safety and others” he disclosed, a mischief look on his face.

As his free hand snaked up to your tits as the other continued to pump his fingers into and out of your mouth. Your body squirmed on his, but you didn’t try to jump off of him, your body felt tired and aroused.

“Fuuuck, you wore such a slutty outfit today. You must have really wanted to get my attention” he snickered as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and you gasped out.

“Doctor please… Please let me go. I-I” you stuttered as your eyes remained shut.

“Stop thinking… Let your impulses take over” he spoke calmly.

“No I can’t!” you argued, shaking your head at the thought of submitting to him again.

You hated yourself. Because for days you were so determined on ridding him out of your mind. Finally letting go of his abuse. You were going to fix the part that he purposely broke in you. But here you were again, back on his lap.

He sighed out and kissed your heated cheek again.

“Look at how emotional you are. My poor insecure girl, I bet you’re all built up down there” he exhaled deeply as his wet fingers traveled down under your skirt and your body froze.

“No… Stop, you’re upsetting me” you sobbed as his hand danced around your panties.

He breathed out, his hand slid down to your thigh as he pressed his forehead to your hair. Silence filled the room as he hummed quietly, you sniffled a couple of times.

“I know… If it changes anything, I’m sorry” he admitted, his arms wrapped around your waist.

A beat.

“Really?” You asked in a hopeful tone, your head turned back to him.

Doctor Crane’s expression was completely emotionless except for his eyes as he slowly nodded. They were wide and glistening. Slowly, your body shifted back around to face him and his hands rested on your lower back.

“Yes, I fail to remember how subconscious you can be” he explained, his fingertips playing with the end of your skirt. You felt skeptical, but he looked so innocent with his eyes raw with emotion, how could you not forgive that. “Let me make it up to you” he whispered as he leant in to kiss you.

You allowed it, your arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed you passionately. You whimpered, your body shivering as his hands ran up your thighs to your ass.

“I don’t want to do another exercise” you gasped as you broke the kiss.

“This isn’t an exercise” he said sternly, his hands squeezing your rear.

“What is it?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Something far more memorable” he shrugged his shoulders gently as his fingers unbutton your blouse. “Now, let’s get you out of this pretty outfit” he instructed. As you pulled your shirt off, his fingers trailed over the perfect blue bra you wore. “So arresting” he admired, his top teeth grazing over his lower lip.

He kindly ordered you to stand up as he unclasped your bra. His blue eyes lingered on your bare torso as he dropped to his knees to unbuckle your shoes. After he assisted you to take off your socks, he slowly pulled down your skirt and panties as one to the floor.

He breathed out as he looked up to take in your perfectly imperfect figure. Your existence was like a piece of kintsukuroi, you turned to be more beautiful after being broken.

He had never seen you naked before. Never seen anything besides the beauty of your stomach or thighs. Your body shivered and subconsciously you pulled your arms to your chest and your thighs crossed over as you watched his dark eyes, dripping with lust scan over you. After you did that, his eyes snapped up to yours and he tutted to you

“No, no… Never hide yourself from me, ever” he commanded firmly as his arms reached up and repositioned yours back to your sides.

You whimpered but nodded regardlessly as his hands met in between your thighs and pushed them apart. He admired your cleanly shaved region and his hot breath fanned you momentarily before his cold lips pressed to your gushing folds.

“Tastes so delightful” he complimented before kissing you there again.

You held back your moan, it got stuck in your throat and he looked up to you. Purely wanting to see your reaction as he flicked his tongue over your clit. You mumbled out, your hands instinctively gripped into his hair for support. As his hands caressed your glutes, you couldn’t help but to feel a similitude to your last encounter together. His tongue lapped at your entrance, zigzagged up and down your folds as your eyes began to roll back. Naturally your hips rocked and fingertips massaged his scalp as he began to kiss your cunt in a sloppy manner.

“Such a cute pussy” he commented in a lustful tone before his tongue shot inside of you.

You cried out as you roughly tugged at his roots. His slippery tongue was darting in and out of you. The vibrations were sparking up your nerves as you couldn’t try to hide your moans any longer. Your toes were curling on the floorboards, breathing unsteady as your eyes blinked heavily.

“I-I need… I need to” you stammered out, lost for words as your sight began to blur.

“Need to finish? You’ll ask nicely then” he demanded with a grin as he looked back up to you.

You cried out in frustration as you heaved. “Please… Can I come” you whimpered softly.

Usually, he’d prefer to tease a bit longer. But you looked so sweet, he couldn’t find a reason to say no.

“Come on then, let me taste your sweet orgasm” he encouraged before his tongue attacked your bundle of nerves again.

Shortly after, you screamed out, your back arched, head snapped back, toes tried to dig into the floor as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. It was music to his ears, as he greedily ate you out completely. You were whimpering words as he licked your cunt clean, your eyes forced shut from pleasure.

Doctor Crane slowly stood up and rubbed his bulge, smiling at your post orgasm state. It wasn’t until you felt the cool sensation of the desk on your rear when you relaxed how far in the room you had moved. Your back fell onto the wood as you breathed out, his pants open enough for his throbbing cock to hang out and be stroked in his hand.

“You go so mindless when you climax, it’s quite fascinating” he pointed out as he lifted your legs over his shoulders.

You smelt of jasmine and rose, the perfect mixture of sweet floral and seductive muskiness which made his nostrils flare. Whilst he smelt of a perfect blend of rose petals, musk, precious woods and floral citrus which made Jonathan feel like he was the aftermath of a rain shower to you.

You gulped as he pressed his tip to your recovering core. “Do you like me?” You blurted out as a wave of doubt crashed over you.

“I fuck all of my patients” he chuckled lightly which made your face drop. “That was a joke” he sighed as he pressed the back of his hand to your heated cheek. “You certainly have my attention” he admitted with a soft smile as he lined his cock to your entrance.

He wasn’t even sure if he was capable of those emotions, at least in a traditional sense. He knew that he loved every bit you hated of yourself, addicted even. There was this primal urge to take care of you, to look after you felt like a captivity he desired to be in.

He liked how much you subconsciously feared him, which always resulted in you wanting to please him, to get some form of reassurance, of love. It was nice, knowing that someone was addicted to him like he was a drug. The feeling of being loved was comforting, in his own taboo way.

As he roughly thrusted himself instead of you, your hands fell back and you knocked something off the desk. Your head snapped back to see what but his hand turned your face back to his serious expression.

“How many times do I have to tell you. Keep your eyes on me” he warned as he continued to fuck you.

“But-” you opposed as you leant back more and gripped onto the edge of the desk.

“Don’t worry about it” he grunted with his hips pistoning into you.

You nodded eagerly with your mouth wide open.

It was as if your eyes could speak the way he looked at you. The inquisitiveness in him always wanted to know what you were thinking. But at the same time, he merely liked to look into your pretty eyes. It almost gave him comfort that he was finally truly seen by another.

You were alluring to him. Apparently made from the same toxin he was, because he was an addict for you. He was obsessed with discovering every single atom of you. It felt like his life mission to know everything there was to know about you. Yes, he took it too far with you on many occasions. But he just needed to uncover your triggers. He needed to know what to protect you from and how to keep you attached to him.

His arms straightened besides your shoulders. “That’s my good fucking girl” he praised as his cock twitched inside of you.

By the force he was going at, it was hurting you, but regardless, you felt your cunt drip immensely. His mouth hung open as his blue eyes fluttered lightly.

“What do you call me?”

“Huh?”

Doctor Crane repeated his words sternly after every thrust. You blinked and stammered for a moment, his cock distracting you from the correct answer.

“Daddy?” You guessed unsurely.

“No… Your father left you. But not me, I’m right here sweetheart. Call me by my name, because that’s what lovers do, isn’t it?” Jonathan smirked as his pace picked up, his own eyes began to roll back.

You whimpered and called him by his name. In return, he moaned back your name and called you a good girl before kissing you. Through swollen eyes, you panted underneath him, his mouth pressed to your jaw.

“You can be so mean to me” you whined pathetically as you struggled to keep your eyes on him.

“I know” he replied blankly.

“Why?”

“It’s all a part of your treatment” he sighed, silencing you with his lips before you could ask any further questions.

When your lips eventually separated, his hips were still thrusting into you viciously. Your region felt full and another orgasm was trying to latch onto your sensitive nerves. One arm shot up to latch around his neck, holding his face closer to yours as you stared deeply into his eyes.

“I love you” you admitted in a trance of lust, comfort and pure raw emotion.

“I already knew that” Jonathan groaned back to you.

You were dreaming if you believed you’d be able to get a confession out of him. If anything, you should be grateful enough to get this much out of him. But Jonathan couldn’t deny his attraction, his fixation towards you.

You were in his dreams quite frequently. Jonathan saw you at home, being a perfect housewife and an exceptional lover for him. He had thought of going back to teaching at the university instead, that way you’d be able to make him breakfast, pack his lunch and have dinner ready for him by the time he returned home. His salary would be enough to protect you both financially, so you’d be able to quit your job and focus your life purely on him. Just as your condition compelled you to. This way, he’d be able to look after you always, and you'd be able to look after him.

“I’m so fucking addicted to you. You’re my favorite little obsession” he confessed with a wicked smile.

The type of look that made your stomach turn, realizing how big of a hole you had dug yourself, you may just never be able to climb back out of it. As a natural instinct urged you to get up and make a run for it, Jonathan forced you completely onto your back.

You grunt out from the pain as he pressed himself completely inside of your pulsing walls. Jonathan’s tongue ran down your face.

“You know BPD is incurable? You’re always going to need someone to look after you” he implied as his movements turned slow and painful as your cunt clenched around his size.

“You scare me so much” you admitted through a wobbly lower lip.

“Darling… That’s the whole point of it all” he replied calmly.

“But don’t stress, I’ll always be here to help you” Jonathan assured your insecurities.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #smut #dark smut #jonathan crane dark #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #batman begins #angst

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novaursa · 1 month

Text

Between the Flames (Part 2)

- Summary: Gwayne and you rekindle your flame as a celebratory hunt proceeds.

- Paring: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top. The timeframe of events in both parts 1 and 2 is unspecified, place the plot wherever you wish it in your imagination.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 812

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The first light of dawn creeps into the camp as you step out of your tent. The air is crisp with the chill of morning, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. You pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders, taking in the stillness that clings to this early hour. The fires from last night’s revelries are mere embers now, and the camp is draped in a quiet so deep it feels like the world holds its breath.

Your eyes sweep over the clearing, searching for a familiar face, but Rhaenyra is nowhere to be found. Of course she’s not. Your sister has likely slipped away with Ser Criston Cole, her sworn shield, to chase whatever solitude she can grasp in this suffocating charade. Rhaenyra has always despised these hunts, the feasts, the endless parade of lords fawning over her as if she’s a prize mare. You sympathize with her distaste, but unlike her, you’ve remained tethered to these duties out of some misguided sense of loyalty to your father and the memory of your late mother, Queen Aemma.

A flutter of resentment stirs in your chest. You’ve followed the rules for so long, always the dutiful daughter, watching as your sister rides free while you remain in the gilded cage of expectations. Yet yesterday, when Gwayne Hightower had found you in the crowd of nobles and knights, that sense of duty had wavered for the first time in years. His presence had unraveled something in you, a thread of emotions carefully tucked away since your father denied him your hand. His smile was the same, a little boyish even after all this time, and his eyes held that familiar warmth as they met yours.

The memories from years ago flood back, his hand brushing against yours, the quiet exchanges between dances, lingers in your mind like the aftertaste of wine. You had long buried those feelings, or so you thought. Yet now, in the stillness of dawn, all you can think about is how his presence stirs a longing you’ve tried to forget.

For once, you allow yourself to act on impulse.

You move with a sudden resolve, heading towards the small paddock where the horses are tethered. Your chest tightens as you glance around, half-expecting someone to stop you. You see Ser Harrold Westerling, his gray hair wild with sleep, standing at the edge of the camp. He’s too far away to notice you yet, still groggy and unconcerned as he yawns and stretches.

Before he can spot you, you make your way to your mare, a beautiful dappled chestnut with a silky black mane. She snorts softly in greeting, stamping the ground with her hoof. You pat her neck, her coat warm and smooth beneath your gloved hand. "We’re going to do something foolish, my sweet girl," you whisper, a half-smile playing on your lips.

With practiced ease, you mount the mare, settling into the saddle. The forest looms ahead, its dark arms open and inviting, promising the kind of freedom you’ve denied yourself for too long. A breathless excitement quickens in your chest as you lean forward, giving your mare a gentle nudge. She responds instantly, trotting lightly across the camp, her hooves barely making a sound on the soft earth.

"Princess!" Ser Harrold’s voice rings out, sharp with alarm, but you’re already gone. The wind rushes against your face as you break into a gallop, the camp shrinking behind you as the trees blur past. The thrill of disobedience courses through your veins, each beat of your heart in time with the rhythm of your mare’s stride.

The forest is alive with the songs of morning birds and the rustling of leaves. Sunlight dapples through the canopy above, casting golden patterns on the forest floor. For a moment, you let out a breathless laugh, the sheer joy of riding unbound filling you with a wild sense of elation. You understand now, at least in part, why Rhaenyra flees these events; there’s something liberating in leaving behind expectations, even if only for a short while.

You slow your pace once you’re deep within the woods, guiding your mare along a familiar narrow trail framed by ferns and moss-covered stones until you reach an edge of a small brook. The peace of the forest wraps around you like a soothing balm. Here, away from prying eyes, from duties and titles, you can simply be.

But your thoughts inevitably return to Gwayne. You remember the way he looked at you last night, the warmth in his eyes tinged with something deeper. You can still hear his voice in your head, low and intimate as he leaned in close during the dance.

“It has been too long, Y/N,” he had said softly, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “I barely recognized you the day before… though you’ve grown only more beautiful.”

A faint blush warms your cheeks at the memory. For years, you had pushed thoughts of him aside, thinking them childish fancies, a promise he couldn't keep, but his presence has reignited a spark that refuses to be smothered.

Lost in thought, you nearly miss the sound of hooves approaching from another direction. Your mare’s ears prick forward, alert, and you turn your head just in time to see a rider emerging from between the trees. The sunlight catches on silver armor trimmed with green—Gwayne.

Gwayne Hightower woke with the first rays of dawn creeping through the canvas of his tent, the dim light casting long shadows across his face. Sleep had been restless and fleeting; the events of the previous night still clung to his mind like a shroud. He could still feel the weight of Daemon Targaryen’s gaze—a sharp, cutting thing that held a silent promise of retribution. Daemon had watched them dance, his eyes like twin embers, waiting for any excuse to ignite into something more dangerous.

But Gwayne hadn’t cared. Not then, and certainly not now.

All that mattered was you.

He could still feel the ghost of your hand in his, the way your touch sent a spark straight through him. You had tried to maintain a careful distance, the practiced grace of a princess who had long learned to hide her heart behind a veil of propriety. But Gwayne knew you better than that. He knew the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, the way your voice dropped ever so slightly when you said his name. You could hide your emotions from most, but never from him.

He’d known you since you were both children, and in all those years, nothing had truly changed between you. Even now, after all the time and distance, after the layers of courtly masks, you were still the same girl who had stolen his heart. And he would not—could not—let anyone take you away from him. Not Daemon, not even your father. The King could deny him the match all he wished, but it was a hollow decree. He knew, deep down, that you were his. You always had been, from the moment you’d shared your secrets and desires with him years ago, in the quiet, hidden corners of the Red Keep.

And when he had seen Daemon’s eyes on you, the dragon’s possessiveness simmering beneath the surface, Gwayne had only felt his resolve harden. Daemon could try to intimidate him all he liked, but he would never understand that what bound you to Gwayne was deeper than mere attraction or lust. It was years of unspoken promises, of shared dreams and whispered hopes, of a love that had grown in the shadows of duty and expectation.

Gwayne exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as he pushed himself out of bed. The air was crisp, the early morning dew clinging to the grass as he dressed quickly in his riding leathers. His mind drifted back to the last time he had truly held you, before politics and power had pushed you both into your separate roles. Back then, you’d been freer, more open, before the weight of a princess’s crown settled on your brow. And yet, last night, in those fleeting moments when your eyes met his, he saw a glimpse of that girl again. The one who had wanted more than what was being offered to her.

He knew you would not remain at camp long today. You despised these hunts as much as Rhaenyra did, though you bore it more quietly. And as if the gods themselves sought to reward his patience, his instincts proved correct when he caught sight of you slipping away, mounting your horse with a grace and ease born of years of practice. Ser Harrold’s groggy warning echoed across the clearing, but you were already gone, disappearing into the forest with the wind in your hair.

Gwayne’s heart leapt in his chest, a sense of urgency and determination driving him into motion. He wasted no time, striding swiftly toward his own horse, a powerful black stallion bred for speed and endurance. He swung into the saddle with practiced ease, feeling the familiar weight of the reins in his hands. Without hesitation, he urged his horse forward, following the path you had taken into the woods.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. Gwayne’s focus narrowed, his gaze trained on the faint trail you left behind—hoofprints in the soft earth, the occasional disturbed branch. He knew where you were headed; it was the same place you always sought when you needed to escape the world, a secluded glade hidden deep within these woods.

The sound of rushing wind and the rhythmic thudding of hooves filled his ears as he pushed his stallion harder, driven by a mixture of anticipation and longing. Every beat of his heart felt in tune with the ride, each breath drawing him closer to you. He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined the look on your face when he found you—the mix of surprise and exasperation that you could never fully hide, tinged with that unmistakable affection that lingered in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

Finally, the trees parted, revealing a clearing bathed in soft morning light. And there you were, seated on your mare at the edge of a small brook, the sound of trickling water a soothing backdrop to the scene. The sight of you, framed by the dappled sunlight, took his breath away for a moment. You were like a vision from a dream, your hair catching the golden rays as you gazed thoughtfully at the water. The serenity of the moment only heightened his determination to be by your side.

You must have sensed him approaching, for you turned just as he entered the clearing. The surprise in your eyes was quickly replaced by a familiar warmth, though you tried to maintain a composed expression. “And here I thought I’d managed to escape everyone,” you said with a hint of teasing in your voice.

Gwayne brought his horse to a stop beside yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Did you truly think you could slip away from me so easily, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You should know by now that I would follow you anywhere.”

Your expression softened at that, and for a moment, the carefully maintained walls you kept around yourself faltered. “And what brings you chasing after me, Ser Gwayne?” you asked quietly, your gaze locking onto his with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. “Surely you have other duties to attend to, other places to be.”

He leaned forward slightly in the saddle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I have no duty more important than being where you are,” he replied, the words simple but weighted with meaning. “No place I would rather be than at your side.”

You looked away, as if trying to hide the emotions that flickered across your face, but Gwayne knew you too well. He could see the struggle within you, the war between obligation and the desires you kept buried. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours where it rested on the reins. “You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N,” he said softly. “Not here. Not now.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the reins as if grounding yourself. “And what if hiding is all I have left?” you whispered, a note of vulnerability slipping into your voice. “What if it’s the only way I can survive this game we’re all trapped in?”

Gwayne’s expression hardened with resolve. “You’re more than what they want to make you. More than a pawn in this endless game of power. You’re you—the woman I’ve loved since we were children, the one I would fight for, no matter the cost.”

You met his gaze then, something in your eyes softening. The walls you’d built around yourself cracked, if only for a moment, and Gwayne saw the woman beneath—the one who wanted more than duty and expectation, the one who longed for freedom, for love, for something real.

“Maybe you’re right,” you murmured, a faint smile touching your lips. “Maybe I’m tired of hiding.”

Gwayne’s heart swelled with hope, with the belief that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to stop running from what you both knew had always been there between you. He leaned closer, his voice a gentle whisper. “Then let’s take this moment for ourselves. Forget the world outside, forget the dragons and the thrones and the knives hidden in every smile. Let’s just… be.”

For a long moment, the world held its breath as you considered his words. Then, slowly, you nodded, the tension easing from your shoulders. “For a little while,” you agreed, your voice soft, a hint of relief in your tone.

And so, you rode together through the sun-dappled forest, leaving behind the weight of duty and the ever-watchful eyes of the court. In this fleeting moment, there was no war of crowns or claims, no dragons or scheming lords—only the two of you, and the promise of something that could be, if only you dared to reach for it.

In the quiet sanctuary of the forest, with nothing but the rustling leaves and distant birdsong to bear witness, you and Gwayne finally dismount from your horses. The sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm, golden light across the clearing. There’s a silence between you—charged, electric—heavy with all the unspoken words and emotions you’ve held back for years. The bond you thought had frayed with time is alive once more, vibrant and undeniable.

You both step closer, drawn together by a force that feels as natural as breathing. Gwayne’s eyes are locked on yours, his gaze intense, full of longing and a possessive tenderness that makes your pulse quicken. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the tension in the small space between your bodies crackling like a fire about to be kindled.

His hand comes up, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip with a reverence that sends shivers down your spine. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

You close your eyes briefly, savoring the feel of his touch, the way it melts away the years of separation, the walls you’ve built to protect yourself. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmur, though there’s no conviction in your words, only a breathless longing. The ache in your chest is one you’ve carried for so long, buried deep beneath the layers of duty and decorum. But now, with Gwayne so close, it’s impossible to deny how much you want this—want him.

His thumb tilts your chin up, and you meet his gaze once more. “Perhaps we shouldn’t,” he agrees, his voice soft but edged with determination. “But I won’t let that stop me. Not anymore. I won’t let anything keep us apart again.”

And with that, the dam finally breaks. Your lips crash together in a kiss that’s searing, urgent, full of years’ worth of pent-up desire and emotions. There’s no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss is fierce, almost desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for every lost moment, every day you spent apart. His hands are on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist with a possessiveness that makes you gasp against his mouth.

Your hands roam over his chest, fingers fumbling with the ties of his tunic, the urgency mirrored in the way he pulls at the laces of your dress. Every touch is fevered, every caress driven by the need to feel skin against skin. Clothes are shed with haste, your lips barely parting even as you struggle to rid yourselves of the barriers between you. His breath is hot against your neck, lips trailing down your throat as he shrugs off the last of his garments. Your own dress falls away, pooling at your feet, leaving you both exposed to the cool morning air—but the heat between your bodies is enough to chase away the chill.

There’s no room for words now, only the rhythm of your breaths, the thrum of your heartbeats in perfect harmony. He draws you close, lifting you with ease as your legs wrap around his waist, your bodies fitting together as if they were made to do so. The first touch of him inside you is a heady rush, a mix of pleasure and familiarity that sends a shudder through you both. He moves with a gentle haste, his grip firm on your hips as he sinks into you fully, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

You cling to him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back as your lips find his again in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger. The rhythm comes naturally, an instinctive dance that’s both achingly familiar and exhilaratingly new. Even after all the time that has passed, your bodies remember each other, falling into a perfect sync that leaves no space for doubt or regret.

His movements are steady but urgent, each thrust a declaration of the need that has burned between you for so long. Your moans mix with his, the sound of your shared pleasure filling the secluded clearing. There’s a raw intimacy in the way your bodies move together, every touch, every gasp a reaffirmation of what you’ve both held onto all these years. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, his breath ragged as he whispers your name, the sound of it like a prayer.

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

You don’t respond with words—there’s no need. The way your body arches into his, the way you tighten around him as pleasure builds in your core, says everything. You’re his, just as he’s yours, bound by a love that neither time nor distance could ever truly break.

The tension coils tighter with every thrust, every brush of his lips against your skin, until it’s too much to hold back. Your release washes over you in a wave of bliss, pulling a cry from your lips as you cling to him, every nerve alight with sensation. Gwayne follows you over the edge, a low groan escaping him as he buries his face in your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, the world seems to hold still. The forest fades away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Your breathing slows, and you feel Gwayne’s grip on you soften, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back as he holds you close.

When he finally pulls back to look at you, there’s a tenderness in his gaze that makes your chest ache. “I’m never letting you go again,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a fierce kind of love. “Not for anything. Not for anyone.”

You reach up to cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I never wanted to be let go,” you confess, your voice a whisper. “I’ve only ever wanted this… us.”

In the silence that follows, there’s a peace that settles between you—an unspoken understanding that whatever lies ahead, you’ll face it together. For now, in this stolen moment, the world beyond the forest doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way your hearts beat in time, the bond between you rekindled and stronger than ever.

And in that quiet, sunlit clearing, you both allow yourselves to believe—if only for a little while—that the future might hold more than just duty and sacrifice. That it might hold a chance for the love you’ve both fought so long to protect.

Daemon Targaryen stood near the edge of the camp, eyes narrowed into slits as he watched you and Gwayne ride back into the clearing. The sight of you both—your hair disheveled, lips still slightly swollen from hurried kisses—made his blood boil. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened, his jaw tightening as a cold fury settled into his bones. Gwayne’s smug look didn’t help; the Hightower knight sent him a knowing, defiant smirk as he rode past, one hand resting possessively on your waist. The message in his gaze was clear: I’ve won, and you know it.

Daemon’s lips curled into a sneer. Foolish boy, he thought darkly. You’ve no idea what you’re inviting.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what had transpired in the woods. He recognized the flushed skin, the barely concealed satisfaction on both your faces, the way your eyes avoided his as you dismounted. You carried yourself with that fire he adored—back straight, chin held high—but he could see through it. He could always see through you. There was anger beneath your proud exterior, frustration burning just as fiercely as his own.

As you handed the reins to a stable hand, Daemon moved with predatory grace, intercepting you before you could disappear into your tent. He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not bruising, his eyes burning into yours.

“What were you doing?” he hissed, though it was more accusation than question. His voice was low, dangerously controlled, a seething threat simmering just below the surface.

You jerked your arm free, glaring up at him with barely concealed fury. “I could ask you the same, Uncle. Spying on me as if I’m one of your lackeys?” Your tone was sharp, dripping with defiance. You took a step closer, your voice lowering to a venomous whisper. “What right do you have to question me? You’ve made it clear what I am to you.”

The words cut him, though he’d never admit it. His eyes darkened further as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You were gone longer than a mere ride warrants, Princess. And you return with that Hightower pup, wearing a look that tells me everything I need to know.”

You bristled, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “And why do you care, Daemon? What difference does it make to you what I do or with whom?” Your voice wavered with barely restrained emotion—anger, frustration, and something more, something raw and wounded. “You never wanted me, not really. Not as anything more than a consolation prize because you couldn’t have her.”

Daemon’s gaze sharpened, the accusation hitting too close to home. He reached out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Watch your tongue,” he growled, his voice laced with barely suppressed fury. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, don’t I?” You yanked your chin from his grasp, your eyes flashing with contempt. “You think I haven’t noticed? You think I don’t see the way you look at her—my sister? The way you’ve always craved what you can’t have? You wanted Rhaenyra, not me. But Viserys wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t let his precious heir fall into your clutches. So you settled for me instead, the lesser prize.”

The truth in your words stung more than Daemon cared to admit. His mind raced, fury and something far more dangerous swirling within him. You had never been lesser to him—never. But he had to grit his teeth against the admission. For a heartbeat, his anger faltered, replaced by a flicker of something deeper, something that threatened to expose him in a way he despised.

His grip loosened, but his gaze remained intense, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. “Is that what you think? That you’re second to her?” His voice was lower now, softer but no less dangerous. “You’ve always seen yourself as Rhaenyra’s shadow, haven’t you? But let me tell you something, Y/N—you have just as much fire as she does. Maybe more.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Words, Daemon. Just more of your pretty words. You think they’ll work on me after all this time?” Your tone was bitter, but there was a note of pain beneath it that you couldn’t quite hide.

His eyes hardened again, his intensity returning full force. “You are not some replacement,” he snapped, each word deliberate, almost vicious in its conviction. “You’re mine just as much as she could ever be. Perhaps Viserys keeps me from her because he fears what we could be together—but he gave me you because he thinks you’ll be easier to control. And perhaps, for once, he’s right.” His eyes bore into yours, daring you to deny it. “But don’t ever think that makes you lesser, Y/N. You’re every bit as valuable as she is—to me and to this cursed family.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths and old wounds. The tension was nearly unbearable, a volatile mixture of rage, passion, and something neither of you wanted to acknowledge aloud.

You glared at him, chest heaving as you fought to control your breathing. “You claim I’m yours, yet you push me away every time I get too close, every time I try to see beyond that mask of arrogance you wear. You want me just enough to keep me tethered, but never enough to make me truly believe it.”

Daemon’s expression softened just a fraction, the cruel edges giving way to something almost tender. He stepped closer, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, and his gaze softened, the fierceness replaced with an intensity that was somehow even more dangerous. “You’ve always seen through me, haven’t you?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s why you’re the one thing I can never let go of, no matter how much I try.”

You felt your breath hitch, the admission hanging in the air between you. For a moment, the storm in your chest subsided, replaced by the ache of knowing that no matter what you said, no matter how much you tried to fight it, a part of you would always be drawn to him—like a moth to a flame, even if it meant getting burned.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and the anger returned, raw and unfiltered. You pulled back from his touch, your voice tight with resolve. “I may be yours in your eyes, Daemon, but I refuse to be something you settle for. I’ll be more than just a placeholder for your desires.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and stormed toward your tent, leaving Daemon staring after you, a storm of conflicting emotions raging behind his eyes. He clenched his fists, every muscle in his body tense as he fought to rein in his temper. He had always believed he could control everything, bend the world to his will—but in this moment, watching you walk away, he was reminded that some things, some desires, were far beyond his grasp.

But as he stood there, alone in the clearing, a dark, determined smile tugged at the corners of his lips. If Gwayne Hightower thought he could claim you so easily, he was sorely mistaken. Daemon had lost too much already—he wouldn’t lose you too.

One way or another, you would see the truth: that no one could ever truly have you but him.

The final day of the hunt dawned with an oppressive sense of inevitability. The skies were overcast, a muted gray that reflected the tension simmering beneath the surface of the festivities. Lords and knights milled about the camp, preparing for the last chase, but the air was thick with unspoken rivalries and hidden agendas. For Daemon, it was more than just another hunt—it was the culmination of days of mounting frustration and a terror he refused to name, all centered around one person: you.

He had prided himself on control—control over his ambitions, his desires, his enemies. But you were slipping through his fingers, and it clawed at something primal within him. The sight of you laughing, exchanging warm smiles with Gwayne Hightower, had become unbearable. It wasn’t just anger that churned in his chest; it was fear. The fear of losing the one person who had managed to burrow past his defenses, the one thing he had convinced himself was his.

As the sun climbed higher, the hounds were readied, and the nobles began mounting their horses. Daemon’s eyes never left Gwayne, who was exchanging pleasantries with his sister, Alicent. The Hightower knight held himself with the same confident ease as always, his armor gleaming, his expression serene. But beneath that polished exterior, Daemon could sense a defiant edge, a silent challenge that sent a pulse of fury through him.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He swung himself onto his horse, cutting through the throng with a focused determination. The murmured conversations around the camp fell away as he approached Gwayne, who turned to meet him with a calm gaze, as if he had been expecting this confrontation.

“Ser Gwayne,” Daemon drawled, his tone laced with a false cordiality that didn’t reach his eyes. “It seems we find ourselves in each other’s company once more. How fortuitous.”

Gwayne’s expression didn’t waver. “Prince Daemon,” he replied smoothly, inclining his head in a respectful nod. “It’s always a pleasure to be in such esteemed company.”

The formalities hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop. Daemon leaned forward slightly in the saddle, his eyes narrowing, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Let’s not pretend, Hightower. You’ve been playing a dangerous game, and I can see right through it. You think you can steal away what belongs to me?”

Gwayne’s smile was subtle, infuriatingly calm. “I’ve stolen nothing, Your Grace. But perhaps what you think you own was never truly yours to begin with.”

Daemon’s hand clenched around the reins, his knuckles white. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed. “You’ve never understood what binds us—what we share. You think you can walk in, flash a few smiles, and she’ll forget everything?”

Gwayne’s expression hardened, the mask of politeness slipping away to reveal a fierceness that matched Daemon’s. “What binds you?” he echoed, his voice low and firm. “Do you mean the way you push her away, yet cling to her when it suits your pride? Or the way you try to control her, hoping that she’ll never see she deserves more than to be someone’s second choice?”

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of rage and fear twisting inside him. Gwayne’s words cut too close to the truth, exposing the very thing he feared most. He had convinced himself that he was the one who understood you, who could offer you what no one else could. But the thought that he had lost you, that you had found something in Gwayne that he couldn’t offer, was a poison he couldn’t swallow.

His voice was a growl, low and venomous. “You think you’re so righteous, don’t you? Like you’re the hero in some ballad. But you’re nothing more than a lovesick fool, blinded by a girl who’s outgrown you. Do you really think she’ll choose you when all is said and done? You’re a Hightower—nothing more than a tool for your family’s ambitions.”

Gwayne’s eyes flashed with anger, his composure cracking just enough for Daemon to see the fire beneath. “And what are you, Daemon? The rogue prince, the discarded brother who can’t win his brother’s favor, who takes whatever scraps he’s offered because he’s too afraid to admit what he really wants?”

The words hit like a hammer. Daemon’s control snapped, and before he could stop himself, he spurred his horse forward, closing the distance between them until they were nearly nose to nose. His voice was a low snarl. “You know nothing about fear, Gwayne. You don’t know what it’s like to feel something slipping from your grasp, to see the one thing that keeps you from losing yourself slipping away. I would burn the world to keep her, and you’d be the first I’d cast into the fire.”

Gwayne’s gaze didn’t falter, but there was a flash of sympathy in his eyes that stoked Daemon’s fury even more. “That’s where you and I differ, Daemon,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with pity. “You believe in owning, controlling. But I believe in letting her be free, even if it means losing her. Because what she needs isn’t chains or possessive declarations. It’s someone who sees her as an equal, not a prize to be won.”

Daemon’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister, fingers twitching with the urge to draw it and end this insufferable man’s righteous speeches once and for all. But he held back, knowing that doing so would only prove Gwayne’s point. Instead, he leaned in, his voice icy and full of dark promise. “You may have her now, but don’t mistake this for the end. She is mine, whether you—or even she—realize it yet. And one day, when you’re just a memory, she’ll see that.”

With that, Daemon yanked his horse’s reins and rode away, his heart a tempest of emotions he couldn’t fully name—anger, fear, desperation. It terrified him, this loss of control, the realization that he was losing his grip not just on you, but on himself. But he would not give in, would not let you slip away without a fight.

As he rode toward the front of the hunting party, his mind raced with dark thoughts and unspoken plans. He had lost control once, but he would not let it happen again. Whatever it took, whoever he had to destroy, he would make sure that when all was said and done, you would see that you were his and his alone.

And in the distance, Gwayne watched him go, his jaw clenched, his own heart heavy with the knowledge that this confrontation was only the beginning of the battle to come.

#house of the dragon #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen #gwayne x you #gwayne x y/n #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd daemon #hotd gwayne #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x y/n #daemon x you #daemon x reader #house targaryen #house hightower

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purinfelix · 2 months

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heyy! I was seeing that you wrote that bf joao would never stop reader from pursuing her dreams.

what do you think a bout r studying abroad, already being a year out, and starts getting so homesick, to the point she books a flight the night before an important exam?

i like me better when i'm with you ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: joao felix x reader summary: a study abroad program, an impulsively bought plane ticket, and a whole lot of homesickness warnings: none! w/c: 723

a/n: i love when i post a short one-off blurb and you guys turn it into a great idea istg some of yall are smarter than me <3333 - anyways if you didn't see it this is sort of based off of this blurb!!

You were being ridiculous, impulsive, and about a thousand other negative adjectives you couldn't be bothered to list right now. Still, though, it had been far too long since you'd felt this assured in any single decision - perhaps since the day you took up the opportunity to study abroad, and that had been over a year ago now.

Anxiously, you gripped the handle of your luggage as you left the elevator, not even having to think about where you were headed. You knew the path to Joao's apartment like the back of your hand, and being back in a familiar area filled you with a sense of relief you hadn't realised you were missing. This relief was short-lived, however, once you finally knocked on his door, now being replaced with a sudden sense of dread. The excitement you had been anticipating slowly faded away as you became more and more aware of the weight of your own actions, and the sort of reaction your boyfriend might have to them.

After all, he was the one who so eagerly encouraged you to take up this opportunity, supporting you through every step from booking your tickets to building you an itinerary for your days off. He was never one to come in between you and your future, and you always appreciated him for that. Even so, a little part of you had wished he had made it easier to stay - because maybe then you wouldn't have made, what you were now realising, was a really stupid decision.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening in front of you, your eyes flickering up and locking onto Joao's.

"Baby?" his voice was a mix of sleepy, shocked and overjoyed, and he didn't stop you when you almost collapsed into his arms. "What are you doing here?"

You shook your head, mumbling a lame excuse as you wrapped your arms around him, breathing in the familiar smell you had missed so much. He understood your silent request not to talk for the time being, shuffling you inside as he grabbed your luggage and shut the door. Laughing softly, he pressed a comforting kiss to your temple, rubbing your back as he felt you melt into his touch.

"Care to explain why you're here and not halfway across the world, in a lecture hall or something?"

"I missed you," was all you could say, and whilst it felt like you were leaving out the specifics and instead presenting a sorry excuse for a reason, this really was all you had to say for yourself.

"Well, I missed you too, but," he trailed off and your heart hurt a little at how confused he seemed. You wished more than anything that you could just help him understand how you had been feeling, but you had been trying your best to sweep any sort of doubt you had about your program under the rug. You updated him about parties you went to, food you ate, the grades you got whenever you called but not once had you mentioned the growing uncertainty you felt about your decision.

"Wait," Joao broke the silence again, panic rising in his voice, "didn't you say you had a major exam coming up?"

"Yeah, tomorrow actually," you mumbled as nonchalantly as you could, the truth being that you couldn't care less about it right now.

"Oh my god," Joao exclaimed, pulling away from you, "we need to get you on a plane back now!"

You groaned, pulling him back into a hug as you sighed, "Forget about it, I'll just fail this class, it's fine."

"But-"

"Joao, please," you begged, and he finally seemed to get it. "I really missed you," you repeated, a little softer this time - less like a confession and more like a plea.

"I missed you too, so much," Joao sighed as he returned your hug, "I'm glad you're here."

Maybe he was still freaking out inside, his mind busy conjuring up a thousand plans to make sure you didn't fail this class. Maybe you would wake up tomorrow morning to him fervently searching for plane tickets or calling up your head of academic studies. But that didn't matter, at least not for now, because you were back in your boyfriend's arms - you were back home.

#joao felix #joão félix #joao felix x reader #joao felix x you #joao felix fluff #joao felix oneshot #joao felix fic #fanfic #football #oneshot #fc barça #fc barcelona #jet writes ★#purinfelix #jet answers ✧

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elliewithcellie · 3 months

Text

Rite of Passage

summary: steve takes care of you after a date gone horribly wrong (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

wc: 2.0k

cw: results of the date which is not described, but understood to be sexual assault, Please use your discretion (marked in the tags so it can be filtered), steve stays platonic, he is the comfort in the hurt/comfort, reader takes a bath, semi-graphic description of injuries, angst but fluff in how steve cares so much for reader. PLEASE let me know if I'm missing anything

a/n: this is not for the faint of heart. it has been in the vault since 2022 just as a kind of a coping thing. it's one of the stories i revisit and literally just cry rereading, but maybe it can be helpful to others. this is just one way one can react to this sort of incident. everyone's own reactions are valid, and i love you.

It could happen to anyone. Almost every girl experiences it, some sick rite of passage to prove that you are a woman. To remind you that you are still inferior, second class, an object to be used. Then these women share their stories so nonchalantly, in passing, and in response to their friends’ stories. Some don’t share at all. Some bottle it up and smile through the pain anyway, now nothing behind her once vibrant eyes.

But you never really thought it would happen to you. Not that you were invincible or immune or reckless; it’s just not something that anyone can fully comprehend. You’d been told to smile more. You’d been objectified or ignored. You thought that put you on the list already.

You thought he was a sweet guy. You wished you listened to Steve. You had laughed at his suggestion to “at least bring him back to the apartment.” You were so embarrassed at the thought of making out with some guy while Steve hid in the other room. And you didn’t want your date to know that you lived with another guy. But all that seemed so insignificant now.

You had to walk home. Your teeth chattered in the drizzling rain, your gait slightly wider than usual. You crossed your arms and bit down on your lip hard, a desperate attempt at a distraction. Not a single car passed you on your trek home. The darkness consumed you. The silence betrayed you. With your phone now dead, making it to your apartment was the only hope filling your heart. You prayed that Steve hadn’t waited up for you. You just wanted to be alone.

You fiddled with your keys as you approached the locked door. You didn’t realize how much your hands were shaking. You struggled for a few more moments, begging for the strength to get inside without crying, when the door opened for you.

“Y/N! I’ve been calling you for like an hour! Where have you been?” Steve guided you inside. He attempted to take your jacket from you, but you jerked his hand off of you.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me.” Your voice quivered at the end of your sentence.

Steve lifted his hands and closed the door behind the both of you. “Sorry, I didn’t – I – you’re soaked, hon. Did—did you walk here?”

You nodded. You felt overwhelmed, anger rising to cover your tracks. “Can you just fucking cool it with the questions? My phone died. I walked here. I’m wet 'cause it’s raining. Just—just leave me alone.”

You shoved him out of your way with your shoulder and stormed to your room. You had never acted this way toward him, toward anyone. People knew you to be kind, gentle, and sometimes blunt, but never rude or aggressive. But you felt that part breaking right in front of your eyes. You were confused. You couldn’t comprehend what was happening, that this was happening.

You plugged in your phone. You paced around your room for your phone to light up again. When your phone turned back on, you checked for his number. He had already blocked you.

Your lungs boiled. Your body vibrated with rage. The impulse to scream grew stronger and stronger by the second. So, you did. A guttural, soul-clutching scream escaped your throat. Tears stained your cheeks. You felt your destruction in your hands, transferring the havoc condemned to you to your room. You threw your books, kicked your chair, and flipped your mattress, bawling and yelling through it all. You punched your pillow over and over until hands gathered you in their arms. You fought the arms, but the hold was tight.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s Steve. Relax. I’ve got you. You’re ok. You’re safe. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You sank into his touch and wept. Destruction left your body and devolved into devastation. Your body suddenly so heavy, you slumped to your knees, Steve following right behind you and still holding you close.

You couldn’t be sure how long you stayed on the floor of your bedroom. But Steve held you with the same force he did from the very start. He wasn’t going anywhere. You cried until you lost your energy, tears still streaking your face. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore. You were glad that you had Steve to lean on.

“How can I help?” Steve asked. You didn’t respond. You couldn’t process such an open-ended question. It seemed that Steve understood that. “Water is supposed to help relax people. What if I fill up the tub for you? You can rest in there, and I’ll grab some clothes for you. How does that sound?”

You nodded, not yet able to find your voice. Steve gently lifted you up, and the two of you walked to the bathroom.

You sat on the closed toilet as Steve crouched by the tub, testing the water with his hand. When the tub filled, he stood up and headed toward the door. “I’ll leave your clothes by the door, ok?”

He opened the door, and your stomach flipped. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Please, I don—Can you stay?”

Steve’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. He closed the door behind him and nodded. “Uh, yeah, ok.”

The two of you sat in silence. You didn’t ask for him not to look. You didn’t start to change. You didn’t move, a haze falling over you. The weight of horror and defeat pulled you down.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped up to Steve’s. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Do you—would you like some help?” Steve’s voice shook as if you were made of glass and one misstep would shatter you.

All you could do was nod. You shuffled out of your jacket as Steve untied your shoes and removed your socks, still damp from the rain. He rose to his knees to meet you at eye level. He patted your arm, and you lifted them halfway into the air, as much as you could muster. Steve carefully pulled your shirt over your head, officially crossing a line the two of you never even toed.

And what Steve saw broke his heart. Blue and green bruises in the shape of fingertips wrapped around your neck. More, less cohesive shapes scattered across your chest down to the top of your hip bones where the waistband of your pants sat.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. He sat in observation, conflict brewing within him. The more he looked, the angrier he got. His shame screamed for him to look away, to salvage the friendship you both have and remain a ‘gentleman’. But the true friend in him wanted to document every bruise on your body, to share the knowledge in your pain, and to lighten the load in any way possible. This part fueled him to continue.

“Stand up for me, please.”

You paused. Your heart began to pound, and you found it harder and harder to breathe. You started to feel dizzy.

Steve took your face in his hands and had you look at him. “Breathe. You’re ok. Breathe with me. In…and out.” You matched the rhythm that Steve set and took deep breaths. You collected yourself under Steve’s gaze, but you were still a little overwhelmed.

“I’m here for you, ok? Whatever you need just say it. Need me to turn around, I will. Need me to leave? I can. But I think you need to get cleaned up, ok? You think you can do that? What do you need from me?”

You thought for a moment. Your brain felt jumbled, like crossed wires scrambling messages. Steve sat at your knees patiently while you considered what you wanted.

“Let’s—let’s just get it over with,” you sighed, a dry laugh forced from your diaphragm.

You stood up with what strength you had left, resolving to lean your body weight on Steve’s shoulders as he kneeled beneath you.

He wasted no time in unbuttoning your pants, desperate to not make a scene of it. He glided your pants to your ankles, and you stepped out of them while using Steve to balance. He stood up and guided you into the water. As you stepped in, the dried blood between your thighs sucked the air out of Steve’s lungs. Now he felt dizzy. Now he felt rage. He could only have guessed, but now he was certain. His eyes stung as he blinked back tears.

“I—I’ll be right back,” he said, turning away from you.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna grab those clothes for you. I’ll be right back. I promise.” He tore out of the bathroom, his tears now falling freely. He was gonna kill him. He was gonna kill that man if it was the last thing he did. He paced the halls debating on grabbing his bat. His blood boiled. Steve didn’t know what to do. He stormed into your room but was quickly reminded of the destruction that already took place. His temper cooled back down. You were his priority. You needed his attention. You needed him. He took a deep breath and collected all of your favorite cozy clothes.

He wiped his tears before knocking. A weak ‘come in’ responded. Steve opened the door. You had already begun draining the tub as you reached for your towel from your seated position. Steve grabbed the towel and pulled you up to your feet. He wrapped you up and did what he could to dry you. Then he helped you into your sweats and socks before guiding you to his room.

“What are we doing?” you asked.

“Well, your bed is kind of indisposed at the moment,” Steve chuckled. “So, you can sleep here for now, ok? I’ll be on the couch if you need me.” The truth was he planned on cleaning your room and putting it back together. He knew it was late, but a fresh start in the morning was sure to allow things to move forward a little easier, right?

“You don’t have to. I can sleep on the couch; it’s fine.”

“Please, I insist.”

“It’s your bed.”

“Well, then, at least stay with me. I want you comfortable. I want you to get some sleep tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Only if you are.”

“I think I’d like that, actually.” You tried to smile, but you were much too tired.

“Come on, then.” Steve smiled. He held your hand as he led you to his bed. He pulled the covers back, and you slipped in, Steve following close behind.

The room was dark and silent, two things that again began to trouble you. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep your composure. Steve, too, stared up at his ceiling fan, all too conscious of the space between the two of you, hoping you were comfortable, or at least relaxed enough to fall asleep.

“You were right,” you whispered, your lip beginning to quiver.

Steve’s ears perked up. “Huh? What do you mean?” He turned his body to face you, his arm propping up his head.

“You knew he was bad news. I should have listened.”

“No, no. No. You couldn’t have known. I didn’t know. You did nothing wrong. Okay? Look at me. You did nothing wrong.”

You nodded in the dark, the silence continuing to settle around you. You wanted to believe him; you really did. But fragments of memories struck your nerves, all too vivid and all so wrong to be truly convinced.

“Why did this happen to me, Steve?” Your voice broke. Steve pulled you into his chest as you cried for the second time this evening. He stroked your hair as he held you close, failing to keep his own tears at bay.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’m gonna keep you safe from now on, you got that? You can count on me.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

The room eventually grew quiet and still, the only sounds the heavy breaths leaving both of you. Steve kept his promise, holding you in his arms and keeping you safe the entire night.

#steve harrington x reader #steve stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort #sexualassault #me too #platonic!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x you #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x y/n

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aisclosed · 1 year

Text

Match Found ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - y. jungwon x reader

Synopsis: Jungwon is sick of his friends' constant teasing over his lack of gaming skills. Determined to secretly improve and prove enha wrong Jungwon sets out to learn to play, except he has no clue where to begin. Luckily for him, y/n is a girl with too much time on her hands, a desperate need for distraction and is more than happy to indulge him. Only, things are never that simple and Jungwon soon finds it difficult to explain exactly what the pair have become.

Genre : non-idol college AU, more than friends less than lovers, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, mutual pining,

Pairing: college student! Jungwon x gamer! Y/N

Warnings: swearing, lightly suggestive content, additional warnings will be added based on chapter

Featuring: NCT- Chenle, Haechan and Jaemin & Le Sserafim- Yunjin

Status: Complete :: start date: 3/25/2023

Tag list: open! send me an ask to be added! <3

A/N: Social Media AU with Written Chapters my first ever written work agshsb pls be patient w me as I figure tumblr out. slight gaming language will be included, meanings will be provided in the notes when not in the work itself! I hope u like it! Lmk what u think

profiles ^_−☆ : discrd kittens enha dt

K/D/A

0/0/1 - touch grass

0/0/2 - welcome home cheater

0/0/3 - two players one chair

0/0/4 - foolin around (bonus)

0/0/5 - #jungwonOUT!

0/0/6 - just one bite

0/0/7 - wishful thinking

0/0/8 - night night

0/0/9 - #jungwon1stWin

0/1/0 - pretty boy

0/1/ 1 - ta da!

0/1/2 - player three

0/1/3 - just jungwon

0/1/4 - for you

0/1/5 - on impulse

0/1/6 - La Raison

0/1/7 - let me in (20 cube)

0/1/8 - match found ʚ♡ɞ

Overtime

0/1/9 - won n only (bonus)

titles n chapters may change :)

#match found ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#jungwon x reader #enhanet #yang jungwon #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #jungwon smau #yang jungwon x you #aiya's masterlists✧˖°#non idol! yang jungwon #jungwon imagines #enhypen smau #enha x reader #idk how to tag help #enhypen x reader #enha smau #jungwon x you #jungwon angst #jungwon au

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artificial-transmutations · 11 months

Note

Hey I'm George. I am a 26 civil engineer working in a big company but it si not what i expected. It is so boring and I am only doing it since it ws what is expected of me. I wish you could transform me into a hot stripper or porn star cause that's has always been my secret dream. I don't wanna be transformed into an object.

Transformation Letters - The gay club

Even writing the letter to the unknown company has been an act of rebellion. All your life, you have been doing what was expected of you. You finished school with good grades and enrolled in an engineering degree program.

The first years were alright. It was still interesting, and you enjoyed the classes, but slowly you had to come to the realization that perhaps, engineering wasn't quite for you. The work was getting more and more monotonous, and the tasks were less and less creative. Regardless, you graduated with an acceptable degree and got a job in the field as a civil engineer.

Now, almost three years later, you are sitting in a small office cubicle, doing the same stuff that you did in the last few years.

"I hate it here.", you think and look at the blueprints on the wall. They are supposed to be "motivating", showing what your company builds. To you, however, they are nothing more than a reminder that the work is dull and unfulfilling.

As you get up and grab the coffee from the machine, you realize just how much of a rut your life has fallen into. Looking at the calendar on the wall, you recognize another thing: It's your birthday today. Yay. 26 wasted years, at least in your opinion. You don't have many friends or family, but for once, you decide to celebrate a bit on your own. You are going to visit a club tonight.

Some hours later, you find yourself in a gay nightclub. You are not out or anything, but your sexuality has been a matter of fact to you for some years now, so visiting a gay bar is on your bucket list anyway. The thumbing music surrounds you, making it near impossible to talk to anyone and even though it feels kind of exciting to be in such a location, you can't help but feeling kind of lonely and displaced here. Seeing all those hot guys dancing makes it terribly obvious for you that you are way too uptight to ever move your body to the music like that.

But... Perhaps you should just... try?

The thought is entirely alien to you, but... strangely appealing. So, you just try to dance to the music.

At first, it feels very awkward and a bit uncomfortable, but after a few moments, you relax. And, to your big surprise, you actually manage to move your body along with the beat. As your self-confidence grows, so does the speed and forcefulness of your movements. Before you know it, you have attracted the attention of a group of three men. Normally, being the center of attention would be something you despise, but right now it feels liberating and right. So right, in fact, that you do something crazy! The stage is empty right now, and, following these strange new impulses, you climb onto the stage and begin to dance to the music. You are still wearing your work attire and it is quickly becoming way too warm as you move your body. So, without thinking, you slowly begin to unbutton your shirt.

To your amazement, the crowd begins to cheer and applaud. It is like a wave of acceptance and approval washes over you, and the more buttons you undo, the more enthusiastic the cheering becomes. It is somehow getting easier and easier to follow the beat. Both your sense of rhythm as well as your physical fitness seem to increase and moving to the music quickly becomes a second nature for you. When you have finally unbuttoned your shirt, you slide out of it and spin it around your hand a few times before throwing it into the crowd. A bunch of hands shoot up, and the shirt quickly disappears. You keep moving to the music, now only wearing a white undershirt, which sticks to your skin and reveals your well-toned body. You have been working out once in a while, trying to keep yourself fit with mediocre success, but even you are a bit surprised how well your body looks right now. Your muscles are defined and bulging and when you pull the undershirt off as well, the cheers rise to an almost deafening level.

It feels like a wave of energy rushes through your body. You can barely think straight and the only thing you can focus on is the music and the movement. You have already gotten used to being the center of attention, but now, even more people join the crowd around you. They are staring at your body, and you can clearly make out their lust and admiration, making you smile. The next thing to go, is, of course, your pants, which you slowly peel off and, as with the shirt, throw them into the crowd, where they disappear as well.

Your movements are becoming faster and faster, and soon, you have almost completely shed your clothes, revealing your athletic and lean body, now shining with sweat. Your ample bulge is thinly veiled by your pair of bright blue briefs that do their best to set your assets, both your dick and your ass, into scene...

***

Hey, I’m Elias, a 22yo bartender with a French and Linguistics degree at University, though sometimes I wish I could trade smarts for sports and strength. I don’t think I’m unattractive, I never have much problem getting attention from guys at the club, but I feel like guys just look at me like I’m another pale twink with brown hair and hazel eyes. I don’t want to be an object, I like being a man: I just want to be more manly. Muscles and beard, I want to look powerful and have other guys be jealous of me.

It's a usual Friday evening for you, and you are tending bar in the towns gay club as usual. It's not too bad - your twinkish body usually gets you some tips, and today is no different. There are times, however, that you wish you were just a bit more... manly. Of course, everyone always wants to be what they are not. But seeing those sexy guys every day, made of beef and manliness makes you almost hate your thin and slender form. That is, after all, what made you write that letter some weeks ago, even though you already forgot about it by now.

All of a sudden, one of the club's visitors climbs onto the stage. Even though it's empty right now, people aren't supposed to go up there, for insurance reasons. Apparently, nobody else has noticed, so you decide to handle the situation yourself. You tell your colleague on the bar that you will be right back and then make your way to the stage.

The guy who has climbed up there seems to be some kind of office worker and is apparently completely focused on dancing. You just want to tell him to come down from the stage when he begins to unbutton his shirt in the rhythm of the music. Having forgotten what you meant to do for a moment, you stare, mesmerized at the guy on stage slowly getting out of his shirt. He looks quite attractive and moves his body like a pro. The crowd notices the show, and slowly, the whole scene becomes the focus of attention. The office guy has now spun his shirt around and thrown it into the crowd, which has now grown considerably. You have to admit, the whole show and the guy look kind of sexy. Not your usual type, he has more of a lean and athletic body that is revealed more and more with every move he takes. Still, he is good.

Next to you, directly in front of the stage, one of the red faux leather chairs has just become free, as the guy who sat in it went to get some drinks. The crowd is moving constantly and, without really thinking, you take a seat there. The office worker is still dancing, his sweaty body almost glowing, and his bulge looks impressively large, even in the low lighting of the club. You can feel yourself getting hard, and through your suit pants, you feel yourself up discreetly.

Actually.

Fuck discreetly. You rub your crotch through your pants while your eyes are still glued to the stripper on stage. Your mind is slowly going blank. You don't notice how the other bar patrons slowly stop moving to the music and gather around the stage instead, watching the office guy perform. You are completely entranced, unable to think, just staring at the spectacle in front of you, while your cock strains against the fabric of your pants.

Actually, your cock is not the only thing straining against your clothes. It is as if all your body is expanding, in every direction, all at once: Your shoulders, your arms, and your legs widen and grow thicker, while your ass and muscles swell. At the same time, the first hints of stubble and beard hairs break through your skin.

Your suit feels constricting, and you consider getting up to go to the bathroom to get out of them. But...

Actually.

Fuck modesty. With more raw strength than elegance, you remove your clothing while you still can. Your body continues to grow stronger and stronger and when your chest is bared, your nipples have hardened to the point where they seem like small pebbles.

It feels so fucking good to just get out of the clothes that are becoming more and more uncomfortable with every passing second. You watch with a superior smile as hair also grows on your chest and abs, as well as on your legs and arms, making your whole torso look furry.

When your pants are gone, your underwear is the only piece of clothing left on you.

And fuck, that's getting really tight!

But, as you watch, it is morphing into a different material. What was once a pair of cotton boxer briefs quickly becomes a pair of black shiny leather underwear, pronouncing the growing bulge of your hard cock. The bulge is, of course, not only growing because you're rock-hard: Also, inside the alien pair of leather underwear, your member is growing bigger and bigger with each throb, slowly becoming a true monster cock.

Other parts of you don't seem to be stopping growing larger as well: Your biceps are more than impressive right now, your forearms look like you can crush a watermelon with them and your thighs are as thick as tree trunks.

As the music keeps playing, the hair on your body grows denser and longer. You now have a manly full beard, and, as you cross your strong arms behind your head, a thick bush of hair emerges from each of your armpits, flooding the direct vicinity with your manly stench.

You grin as you look up to the stripper, who is just about to shed his pair of blue underwear and lick your lips. After the show, you're gonna take him home and breed him!

#male transformation #muscle transformation #dumbing down #transformationletter

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 8 months

Text

Push the Sky Away - Part Three

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Mild angst. Smut. Word count: ~6.7k

Summary: Aemond writes a letter and makes a thousand mile journey. Series masterlist.

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

Lorra,

Since we are parting ways, perhaps forever, I feel I must unburden my heart. You are the fond object of my affection and my desire. You, and you alone, are the keeper of the key to my heart. Please don’t be alarmed -– I don’t expect your favour -– but I can’t, in good conscience, not reveal myself.

I do not wish for a betrothal -– nor will I -– unless it is to you. Since the moment I laid eyes upon you, it has always been you.

With love, Aemond

Aemond casts his eye over the ink as it dries on the parchment, a hot wave of embarrassment flowing through his body and flushing his cheeks. He has never spoken so plainly with regard to his feelings before, though he has never had such strong feelings to express until now. He quickly rolls it up, before he has the opportunity to change his mind and cast it into the fireplace, sealing it with wax and ordering for it to be sent by raven to Winterfell straight away.

The days pass without word from Lorra. Each of Aemond’s visits to the ravens’ tower end in disappointment when he finds no reply from her. Barely contained rage causes him to clench his hands into fists, stalking away from the maester every time he is told that nothing has arrived.

He wonders if his letter arrived in Winterfell before she did, if perhaps the lack of her response is due to her not yet having had a chance to read it. He ponders on whether he had chosen his words carefully enough, if he could have made his feelings clearer. Will she return to him, or grace him with a letter of her own? As the days bleed into a week, and then another week after that, Aemond’s frustrations simmer to despondency as the sad realisation dawns upon him that Lorra has no intent of writing back to him.

“Your mother asked that I give you time, and I feel that we have waited long enough.”

Otto’s voice rouses Aemond’s attention from the flickering flames of the hearth that he has been staring into, lost in thought, and he turns his head watching as his grandsire settles into the seat across from him.

“It has only been a fortnight since Lorra left King’s Landing,” Aemond replies quietly, returning his focus back to the fire.

“Yes, and almost half a year that you have wasted on a failed courtship,” Otto shoots back, his tone sharp. “Time is not on our side, Aemond. You must marry before the King passes, to strengthen Aegon’s claim to the throne. I intend to write to Lord Baratheon to–”

“I do not want a Baratheon girl!” Aemond hisses, head snapping towards Otto, eye wide and nostrils flared in anger.

Otto sighs in frustration, shifting in his chair. “What you want is of little consequence. You will take your dragon, once I have dispatched a raven, and you will fly to Storm’s End.”

Aemond draws in a breath as the realisation of what he should have done two weeks ago dawns upon him. He gives a slight nod, his eye meeting the weary gaze of his grandsire.

“Yes, I will take Vhagar. But I will fly North to Winterfell.”

“That is reckless.”

“I can win back the favour of the Starks. Without recklessness I would not be the rider of the world’s largest dragon.”

“An impulsive act that cost you dearly.”

“Yes, my impulsivity may have lost me my eye, but I shall not allow my own inaction to lose me the woman I love.”

Aemond rises from his seat, walking towards the door. In his mind the matter is closed.

“And what if you fail?” Otto calls after him.

He stops momentarily, bowing his head as he considers Otto’s words, then turns to look at him over his shoulder. “If I fail then I will accept whoever you choose for me to wed.”

The journey North the following morning is one of the longest that Aemond has ever taken on dragonback. Even wrapped up in riding leathers, he can feel the bite of the cold at his flesh as he leaves behind the temperate climate of the Crownlands, his body shivering as his gloved hands grip tightly to the reins of Vhagar’s saddle.

Usually Aemond leans into the ebb and flow of the weightlessness that he feels while in flight, but all sensations are dulled by the racing of his heart. No journey feels like it is long enough for him to prepare what he intends to say when he eventually faces Lorra. Will she be prepared to see him, or will she simply turn him away? The idea of the latter causes dread to gnaw at the pit of his stomach.

He glides in a slow circle above the fortress of Winterfell, scoping out where best to land his mount. There is no way he can land close to its walls due to Vhagar’s size. It is insult enough to the Starks to arrive uninvited, without the claws of his dragon causing their walls to crumble.

Satisfied that he knows the layout of the land, Aemond brings Vhagar to land on a grassy embankment on the southern facade of the castle, dismounting and making the rest of the journey on foot.

It is early evening as he approaches, and he is met at the gates by several members of Winterfell’s garrison, their man-at-arms demanding he state his business. Unsurprisingly, there are no Starks present to greet him, but his dragon has doubtless been spotted and alerted them to this arrival.

“I am Prince Aemond of House Targaryen. I request an audience with Lady Lorra Stark,” he states simply.

He is escorted to the Great Hall, disappointed at the absence of Lorra as he enters. Her father, Rickon, is seated alone, his gaze stern as he looks upon the Targaryen Prince. Rickon does not stand to greet him, the informality taking him aback as the garrison bustle out of the hall, leaving just the two of them.

“I hope you will forgive the lack of formal greeting,” Rickon says gruffly, “the raven carrying news of your arrival must have been waylaid.”

Aemond swallows thickly, clasping his hands behind his back. He had not expected a warm reception from House Stark, however, this appears to be outright hostility.

“My visit is unplanned, my Lord, and I apologise for the intrusion. I will speak plainly, I have travelled to Winterfell with the intention of resuming my betrothal to your daughter. I had hoped to speak with her.”

Rickon scoffs, his eyebrows raising slightly. “If I could, I would send you back the way you came. However, it is not my intention for the people of the North to fall foul of the Crown, so I am obliged to offer you the hospitality of our House. You will dine with us this evening and leave upon the morrow.”

Aemond’s heart sinks, fearing he has failed before being given the opportunity to redeem himself, and he has not even laid his eye upon Lorra yet, let alone been allowed to speak to her.

He is shown to his bedchamber, changing out of his riding clothes into more appropriate attire for dinner.

As he enters the dining hall, he freezes, feeling his throat run dry as he spots Lorra seated at the table. In their time apart he had forgotten just how beautiful she is and the sight of her is enough to steal away all the air from his lungs.

“Come, sit, eat,” her mother, Gilliane, beckons from her seat beside Lorra.

Cregan and Rickon flank one side of the table, while Lorra and Gilliane are sat at the other, leaving the only available spaces at either end of it, either next to her mother and father, or Lorra and her brother. Aemond opts for the latter of the seating arrangements, hoping it will give him an opportunity to speak to her.

“I hope the food is to your liking. We were unaware we were to have a Royal visitor, otherwise we would have prepared something befitting a Prince.” Gilliane tells him with a tight smile.

Once again, Aemond is reminded of his intrusion, feeling the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. He forces himself to look at her, keeping his tone polite.

“It is a fine spread, my Lady, you have my thanks.”

He lowers his voice, inclining his head towards Lorra. “The food is of little importance to me, I wished only to see you.”

“And now you have,” she replies simply without looking at him.

Her response is like a dagger to Aemond’s chest, he recoils slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. There are a thousand things he wishes to say to her, but not in the company of her family, and so the rest of the meal passes in slow, uncomfortable silence.

When they retire for the evening, Aemond seizes his opportunity to talk with Lorra alone as she walks back towards her quarters.

“Wait,” he calls after her, striding ahead of her and standing in front of her to block her way. “Did you get my letter?”

Lorra sighs. The expression upon her face as she looks up at Aemond makes his heart ache. She looks tired and sad, and the guilt he feels at knowing he is the cause seems as though it may swallow him whole.

“I did. Pretty words, though they are empty and expressed far too late.”

Aemond’s stomach drops into free fall. His fingers twitch uselessly at his sides, eager to reach out and stroke the soft skin of her cheek, to comfort her. Though she is standing before him, it feels as though a chasm stretches between them, she has never felt more far away.

“Is it too late?” He asks quietly.

“You are leaving tomorrow.”

“Give me one week. A week is all I ask to win back your affection, to prove to you I am a man worth marrying.”

“I gave you six months!” She cries frustratedly. “I am not prepared to waste anymore of my time on a man who does not know how to love. I have no interest in a match that is purely political.”

“Nor do I, not anymore, and I will prove it to you. One week, please.”

Lorra bows her head, toying with her fingers for a moment as she thinks, before looking back up at him. “I shall give you three days.”

She steps around Aemond, walking away and leaving him alone in the castle corridor.

As hard as he tries, sleep will not take Aemond that night. It is not the chill of the Northern air that robs him of rest, as he had anticipated, the hot springs upon which Winterfell is built keep the castle surprisingly warm. He is exhausted from the long journey, and yet his mind will not quiet long enough to allow sleep to take him.

He has just three days to prove to Lorra that he is worthy of her. His station alone is not enough, a royal title is of obvious no concern to the Starks. Aemond has spent his entire life believing that duty alone is sufficient, that love in a marriage is a fanciful, unnecessary component. Lorra has challenged all of that – for her, it is a requirement – and it terrifies him, not the change in mindset itself, but how readily he is willing to accept it.

Aemond drifts off eventually, awakening to the metallic clash of blades outside his window. He rises slowly, groggy with fatigue and walks towards the sound, watching quietly as Lorra and Cregan spar together in the early morning light of the training yard below.

He smiles softly as he looks upon her, noting how quick she is. She is steady with her blade, yet light upon her feet. Though they had trained side by side many times at the Red Keep, he was always too preoccupied with the movement of his own sword and opponent to appreciate her skills fully. Immense guilt washes over him as he remembers how poorly he had treated her the first time she had asked to spar with him.

Now he has the opportunity to remedy that. Aemond dresses quickly, making his way out into the courtyard.

Cregan and Lorra come to a stop at his approach, eyeing him carefully as they lower their weapons.

Aemond gives a polite nod to the elder Stark, before turning his attention to Lorra. “My Lady, would you care to train?”

“I already am,” she says cooly, earning an amused smirk from her brother.

“With me,” he adds, straightening to disguise his discomfort.

“You wish to spar with me? I thought such things were beneath you.”

“I was misguided, allow me to correct the error of my ways.”

Lorra looks questioningly at Cregan, who gives an easy shrug. “Blades are over there,” he nods towards an assortment of weapons propped against the stone wall of the yard as he walks away.

Aemond snatches up a sword, walking back towards Lorra as she takes up a fighting stance. As he takes in the fire that blazes in her bright blue eyes he wonders if perhaps he has made a grievous error in judgement. Challenging the woman he has wronged to a fight would give her ample opportunity to exorcise her vexation, and he half expects her to simply run him through with her blade.

“I am not a child,” Lorra breathes heavily, the flat of her sword pushing back against Aemond’s as she blocks his attack. “You will not appease me with a disingenuous attempt at feigning interest in me.”

“A thousand mile journey is far from disingenuous,” he retorts, side stepping as she swipes at him. “You took the time to get to know me, and I have the genuine desire to do the same for you, though the time I have puts me at a disadvantage.”

Lorra scoffs, dodging as Aemond strikes forward, meeting the resistance of her blade once more.

“You fight well,” he tells her, stepping closer, his chest heaving with exertion. “Visenya Targaryen was said to be a fearsome warrior queen, I dare say even she would be impressed. A trait I would be proud for my wife to possess.”

She blinks rapidly, lowering her gaze and her sword as she steps back, light pink dusting the pale skin of her cheeks. “Flattery will not work upon me.”

Aemond finds boldness in Lorra’s sudden coyness, dropping his sword hand to his side, he closes the gap between them, crooking the finger of his free hand beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his. “Are you certain of that?”

He smirks when she says nothing, and pulls away to place his sword against the wall.

“Come with me,” he tells her, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him towards the gates of Winterfell.

“Where are we going?” She asks with wide eyes as her steps hurry to keep up with his lengthy strides.

“To do something I should have done months ago,” he replies, never slowing his pace.

They pass through the gates and around to the south facade, icy wind nips at their skin and Aemond regrets his impulsive decision for a moment, wishing he had given them both the opportunity to don a coat before heading out, but he supposes in a moment it will not matter, not with the warmth of what he is to show her.

Vhagar is exactly where he had left her when he first landed, though she is now curled up in a sleeping position, the vast expanse of her having squashed the long grass around her completely flat.

Lorra slows, hesitating as the hulking frame of the dragon comes into view and Aemond looks back at her, his grasp slipping from her arm to her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Do not be afraid,” he reassures her, “when you are with me, Vhagar is no danger to you.”

Lorra shakes her head, though she does not pull her hand from his, a gesture that causes Aemond’s heart to soar.

“I am not afraid. I just do not understand the meaning of this.”

“I mean to introduce you, something I ought to have done in the first place, but I foolishly refused. Vhagar is the most important thing in the world to me…well, she was, now I find that someone else occupies that place in both my heart and mind.”

Lorra’s face softens, her big, blue eyes filled with uncertainty as she looks between Aemond and the sleeping dragon.

“Come,” Aemond beckons her forward as he resumes walking. “She is most docile when she is sleeping.”

The air turns humid from the heat that radiates from the great, slumbering beast as they approach her, and Aemond rubs a hand across the hardened heat of her scales, earning a gentle rumble from the dragon which gently quakes the ground upon which they stand.

“Does she not get cold? I cannot imagine the North is a suitable climate for such a creature,” Lorra says, staring up in wonder at Vhagar.

“She is fire itself,” Aemond explains softly, “she is not fond of the cold, but she is able to keep herself warm. Here–”

Aemond takes Lorra’s hand, feeling it tremble beneath his own as he presses it gently against the dragon’s scales, encouraging her to stroke them.

Lorra giggles, continuing to run her hand across them, even after he has pulled his away. “She is not as soft as I expected her to feel.”

“Hmm,” Aemond agrees, watching with a faint smile. “She is old and battle hardened.”

“What will you feed her while she is here?”

He grins, a faint chuckle escaping him at her question. Heat spreads rapidly through his chest at the care that Lorra shows for Vhagar, enquiring after her comfort and wellbeing.

“She is large enough to feed herself, too big even to house within the Dragon Pit of King’s Landing. I have never had to feed her, she fends for herself well enough. I daresay whatever sheep happened to be roaming here have met their end at her appetite.”

“My father gave me a direwolf pup when I was a child,” Lorra tells him, as she continues her absentminded stroking. “When he was old enough to fend for himself, I released him into the forest. It did not seem fair to keep such a creature cooped up in the confines of a castle. Direwolves are not like dragons, they cannot be controlled.”

“The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They obey because they choose to. My bond with Vhagar is the only reason she listens to me.”

Lorra turns, her eyes meeting his. “Is there anyone that you are bonded with strongly enough that you will listen to them?”

“No,” he whispers, leaning down so that his nose brushes against the tip of hers, “at least not until now.”

She blushes, turning her face away. “We should be getting back, but thank you for this, truly. I shall not forget it.”

Though Lorra had declined to kiss him, Aemond’s hope feels restored as he sits beside her at the supper table that evening, stirring his spoon through a steaming bowl of rabbit stew.

“We should go hunting tomorrow,” Lorra says to him with a bright smile.

“Making the Prince earn his keep?” Cregan asks with a chuckle.

“If luck is on our side, we may be able to serve Aemond’s favourite for supper, he is fond of roasted venison.”

Aemond sips his wine to hide the smile that tugs at his lips that she has remembered such a detail about him.

“Do you hunt?” Cregan asks Aemond, raising an eyebrow.

“I have never needed to,” he responds simply, doing his best to ignore the feeling of shame that washes over him as Lorra’s brother regards him with narrowed eyes.

“You will need more than luck if you hope to fell a deer between the two of then,” Cregan scoffs, returning his attention to his stew.

“We do not have to go, if you do not wish to,” Lorra tells him apologetically.

“No, I want to,” Aemond insists. “Even if we are fruitless in our endeavours, the time spent with you will not be wasted.”

She grins at him. A dazzling, brilliant expression that lights up her entire face, and makes Aemond’s heart squeeze in his chest as he realises just how much he has missed the sight of it.

Aemond walks Lorra back to her chambers later that evening, stopping as they reach the door.

“Well, I suppose we both ought to get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow, if we are to go hunting,” she tells him.

“It is still early,” he reminds her, “and I have only three days. It would be foolish to cut the first of them short.”

She raises her brows in surprise at this. “What are you suggesting?”

“I thought perhaps you would permit me to come inside so that we can talk for a while? I promise not to overstay my welcome.”

Lorra chews her lip in uncertainty as she considers his offer, before nodding. “Very well.”

Aemond looks around as he walks through Lorra’s chambers, he has never been somewhere that is so personal or intimate to her, and is eager to learn what he can of her from the space. The rooms are decorated with soft furnishings in greys and pale blues, the colours of her house, with ornately carved wolves’ heads and figures upon the shelves that house her books and personal effects. It is clear she is proud of her Stark heritage, just as he is of his Targaryen ancestry.

He casts his eye over her bookshelves, until his attention is drawn to the parchment upon her writing desk. He recognises it as the letter he had sent to her, picking it up as he reads the familiar words he’d written weeks before.

“You kept it…” he utters softly.

“I did,” Lorra confesses, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

Aemond allows the note to flutter back down upon the desk, turning to face her. “Can I ask, what had you planned to do?”

She sighs, fingertips plucking anxiously at the cotton of the bedspread. “Truthfully, I do not know. I wrote back to you countless times, but tore all of my letters up before I sent them. They were filled with hateful, angry words, which I know I would have regretted.”

Aemond nods, though it pains him to know she could ever think such things of him. “And how do you feel about me now?”

“You have made a good effort to redeem yourself, though I would be lying if your rejection of me back in King’s Landing does not still hurt. I am ashamed to admit that I wept most of the journey back to Winterfell. I had not expected you to come all this way just for me, but I am glad you did.”

Cautiously, Aemond steps towards her and, seeing no sign of protestation from Lorra, sits himself beside her on the bed. “It pains me to know you believe your feelings are unrequited. I should never have let you go.”

“Then why did you?”

Aemond presses his lips into a tight line, a wave of unease washing over him. His first instinct is to pull away, to tell her he does not wish to speak of it, yet he knows if he is to have any hope of winning her back he needs to speak openly.

“When I was a child, I watched my father break my mother’s heart more times than I care to count. The irony of it is that theirs was not a marriage borne of love, yet he managed to hurt her just the same. I swore to myself that I would never allow myself to be placed in such a situation, that when the time came I would do my duty, and matters of the heart would not interfere. Then you came along, and you changed my perception of everything that I believed to be true.”

“That is not a bad thing,” Lorra says softly.

“No it is not. But I have lived my life keeping a comfortable distance from others, I always have. I was content in my loneliness, or at least I thought I was. It is disarming to have someone enter your life and feel that you are willing to risk the comfort found in solitude just to keep them at your side. I have never longed for anyone, and yet when you are not near me I find myself looking for you. I did not know what to do with that.”

“And do you now?”

“I am willing to learn.”

Softly, Lorra cups Aemond’s face in her hands. His eye flutters closed, leaning into the warmth of her palms.

“Will you let me in fully?” She whispers. “Let me see all of you?”

He feels her fingertips creep up his left cheek, gently tapping at the leather of his eyepatch, and lurches backwards, heart pounding.

“It would frighten you.”

“I do not scare easily,” she reassures him, placing her hands back upon his face. This time he does not pull away, though he sits rigid as he allows her to lift the patch away from his head, keeping his seeing eye downcast as he holds his breath, fearing her reaction.

Her touch is featherlight as she traces the scar that runs the length of his face, and when he dares to look back up there is warmth in her gaze, where he had anticipated disgust.

“You are beautiful,” she murmurs.

Shock paralyses him momentarily as she leans in, pressing her lips to his, but he is quick to recover. His fingers thread themselves into the silken ebony of her hair as he kisses her fiercely. The soft plushness of her lips feel every bit as divine as they had the first time, his cock stirring in his breeches as their mouths part enough for his tongue to brush against hers.

Lorra presses her forehead to his when they finally break for air, both breathing heavily.

“We really ought to sleep,” she tells him quietly, “tomorrow is an early start.”

“Oh…yes, of course,” he utters, a hint of disappointment in his voice as he rises, preparing to return to his own room.

She grips his arm, stopping him. “No, stay, please.”

Aemond’s pulse races at the suggestion, yet he nods all the same. Stripping down to their undergarments, they lay snuggled together beneath the blankets. It is an odd sensation to hold someone; she lays with her head upon his chest and his arms wrapped around her. Aemond has never done this with anyone before, but he finds that he enjoys the sensation of her flesh against his, her warmth is comforting. Pressing his nose into her hair, his nostrils fill with the familiar scent of rosemary and lavender. Sleep comes much easier to him that night.

As she had promised, Lorra ensures they awaken early the next morning to ready themselves for a day in the forest. They each take a crossbow and a quiver of arrows, though Aemond is uncertain of how much use he will be with his. His disfigurement leaves him at a disadvantage when it comes to the use of ranged weapons.

“I am assuming you can ride a horse?” She asks, as she leads Aemond to the castle’s stables.

“I am not as proficient as I am on dragonback,” he admits, “but yes, I can ride.”

“I have had the stable hand saddle Cregan’s steed for you,” she tells him, stroking a gloved hand over the velvety snout of a large, black horse. “He is more even tempered than any of our other geldings and less likely to throw you off.”

She winks at Aemond as she walks towards her own mount, and he watches with a smirk as she climbs into the saddle of a strikingly white mare.

“Her name is Nymeria,” she tells him proudly. “Cregan’s is named Rhoyne.”

The ride through the forest is peaceful, their horses trotting at a leisurely pace, side by side, beneath a blanket of deep green fir trees so thick that Aemond almost cannot see the sky above them.

“Your Baratheon girl must not be pleased that you are here,” Lorra says eventually, glancing over at Aemond with a demure smile.

“I have no Baratheon girl,” Aemond tells her.

“Oh?”

Aemond tightens his hold on the reins of his horse, his posture stiffening slightly. “It is…regrettable, what you overheard between my grandsire and I. The truth of the matter is that he had intended to send me to Storm’s End to petition Lord Baratheon for the hand of one of his daughters in marriage. I refused.”

Lorra laughs softly. “He cannot have taken that well.”

“He was not pleased, no. I came here instead, on the promise that I would secure an alliance with House Stark.”

She says nothing, averting her gaze towards the trees, and they continue to ride in silence. Aemond glances at her every so often, hoping to catch her eye, but to his disappointment she is always on the lookout for game, or is at least pretending to be. The quiet hangs heavy between them, the only sounds are the gentle hoofbeats of their mounts and the distant chirping of birds.

“I know it is not ideal,” he tells her, no longer able to bear her silence, “to have this obligation hanging over us, but it is my duty. But I need you to know, I am not choosing you out of duty. To have you in my arms as I did last night was no easy thing for me, and it is not something I take lightly.”

“I know,” she says softly.

“Do you think that joining our Houses is even possible? Your father and brother do not seem fond of me.”

“Lords of the North are not quite so tyrannical over their daughters as they are in the South. My father and brother are wary of you because they are aware you have hurt me. But my father will respect my decision and pose no opposition to an alliance with your House, if I choose to marry you.”

“So, you accept?”

Lorra laughs, rolling her eyes. “I said if.”

They lapse back into a more comfortable silence, though there are no deer to be found. Aemond can feel his teeth begin to chatter, despite how warmly he is dressed, he has not acclimated to the chill of the air of the North. It nips at his skin, feeling as though it seeps into the very bones of him.

“I think Cregan had the right of it,” Lorra sighs, “we are to have no luck today. I expect our chatter has likely frightened off any deer we might have hoped to see.”

“Do you wish to turn back?” Aemond asks hopefully.

“You are cold. Fortunately, we are close to one of my favourite places to warm up.”

Aemond’s curiosity is piqued, and despite the cold that stiffens his joints, he continues to ride alongside her, until the trees clear, revealing an opening in the side of the rock face.

Lorra dismounts from Nymeria, securing her reins to a nearby fir tree, and Aemond does the same for Rhoyne.

“In here,” Lorra gestures towards the rock face.

Aemond’s brow furrows, but he follows her in regardless, immediately enveloped in warmth and darkness alike, the furs and leathers he is wrapped up in suddenly feeling much too hot. He picks his steps carefully, walking slowly behind her until light from an opening above them beams daylight down upon a steaming pool of vibrant blue water, nestled within a basin among the craggy stone.

“Hot springs,” Lorra tells him happily, unfastening her cloak and allowing it to drop to the ground. “It is the best defense against the cold while out on a ride.”

She begins to undress and Aemond freezes, his first instinct being to look away, but he finds that as more of her flesh is revealed to him he cannot keep his eye from her. Desire flickers hotly in his lower belly as he looks upon the swell of her breasts, the inwards dip of her waist, and the curve of her hips as she peels her clothes away from her body, dropping them to the floor, before stepping into the water.

He is taken aback by just how brazen she is, unashamed as she turns, once submerged up to her thighs, and looks at him with a grin.

“Are you going to join me, or just stand there gawping?”

Aemond’s eye widens, he opens his mouth to speak, but finds no words will come to him.

Lorra giggles. “Shall I turn away?”

He clears his throat, shaking his head. “N–no…”

His breaths come shakily as he disrobes, wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible. Once fully bare, he steps into the water, his lack of modesty almost forgotten with the sigh of relief that leaves him as the heat of the water soothes the ache of the cold in his joints.

“You forgot this,” Lorra tells him, stepping towards him and reaching for his eyepatch.

“Wait.” He grabs her wrist, stopping her. “I need to know…if you have not decided if you wish to marry me, then why are you doing this? Sleeping in the same bed with me, bathing together. If this is all a game to you, then I can go no further.”

Lorra lowers her gaze, pursing her lips. “I do want to marry you, my feelings have not changed. But I cannot accept that you have changed on words alone. I need to see that you desire me as a husband desires their wife, I need to know it is real.”

Aemond pulls away his eyepatch, discarding it to the side with the rest of his clothing, and pulls her to him by her waist. He inhales sharply as he feels the softness of her dampened skin meet his. “Is this real enough for you?”

The ends of his long, silvery hair are beginning to form loose waves due to the humidity, and her fingers reach up to stroke through them.

“Do you think you could grow to love me?” She whispers.

Aemond’s thumbs trace lazy circles against her sides as he gazes down at her, carefully considering his words. “I am not certain I know what love is. I think of you often, I crave your presence when you are not there. I feel a sensation akin to physical pain when you are sad, and your happiness serves to elevate my own. Perhaps that is love? And if it is, then I believe that I already do.”

Lorra smiles, her blue eyes shining as she looks up at him. Her hands press gently against Aemond’s chest, pushing him back to sit on a ledge, submerged in the hot spring, where the water rises to just above his navel. She sits astride him, the brush of her thighs and womanhood against him making him painfully hard. His breath hitches, as he clings to her waist like a lifeline.

Her fingers caress his jaw gently, and she kisses him softly, their lips meeting slowly and tenderly in an unhurried gesture of affection.

“I would marry you tomorrow, if I could,” he utters against her lips, “wed you beneath the heart tree in your godswood, in the tradition of the Old Gods.”

“Really?” She sighs as Aemond presses his lips to her throat, his hands sliding from her waist to travel up her torso and palm roughly at her breasts.

“If you wish it, once we are married we can return to Winterfell and do just that.”

“Mmm…I would like that.” She tilts her head back as Aemond lowers his mouth to her chest, capturing a hardened peak between his lips and suckling gently.

Aemond has never desired anyone like this before, though he has never cared for anyone in the way that he cares for Lorra. He craves her touch, the need for her making him feel as though he teeters on the very edge of madness.

He removes his mouth from her breast, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as she begins to roll her hips against his, and his lips capture hers once more, gripping her hips to urge on her movements against him.

If he had known she would feel this exquisite, he would have barred the doors of the Red Keep and forbade her from ever stepping foot outside of it.

He pulls away, breathless as he stares up at her. “I want to marry you in the tradition of Old Valyria too. Once Aegon is King, and our ancestral seat is returned to us, we will travel to Dragonstone and do just that.”

“What does that involve?” She asks huskily.

“We shall wear the traditional robes of Old Valyria, red and white, and you will have a beautiful headdress.”

He pauses, eye fixated upon her as she raises up slightly on her knees, causing him to hiss through his teeth as she grasps the length of him, positioning him at her entrance. His stones tighten, mind going utterly blank, rendering him speechless, as the tight heat of her sinks down upon him, his fingertips push into the flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise.

She stills once seated fully upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Keep going,” she urges, “tell me more.”

“We will use dragon glass–ah, fuck!” He screws his eye shut, hips bucking up to meet hers as she moves against him.

“Use dragon glass to what?” She asks teasingly, her pace never faltering.

Aemond swallows thickly, the pressure building at the base of his spine almost too much to bear. “To…to slice against our palms...the blood that spills is collected in a cup which we will drink from.”

Lorra whimpers softly in pleasure, the rise and fall of her hips becoming more urgent, causing the water to lap in gentle ripples against their bodies. Aemond snarls at the increase in pace, pressing the flat of his palm tightly against her lower back, as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“Is that all?”

“No…” Aemond’s voice is strained, struggling to get the words out against the haze of pleasure that overwhelms him. “We will use the same dragon glass to cut our lips, the resulting kiss in addition to the combined blood we have consumed serving to bind us together forever.”

“If that is your wish…”

“Yes…bind yourself to me…”

Lorra gasps, her arms tightening around him as he feels her insides spasm around him in quick, successive pulses, her body trembling against his. He continues to thrust up into her, until the pressure within him gives way, causing his cock to pulsate as he holds her to him, spilling inside of her.

They remain as one, wrapped around each other in the steam of the hot spring as they each struggle for breath, slowly recovering.

Aemond strokes Lorra’s hair away from her face, running his fingers through it as he takes in her blissful, relaxed expression. In this very moment, he has never been more certain that this is love, and to experience what he has just felt makes him feel foolish for having pushed it away for so long. There is no doubt in his mind that there is no one else in the world for him, only her.

“So, will you?” He asks gently, continuing to stroke her hair. “Bind yourself to me?”

She gazes at him softly, a lazy smile upon her lips. “You have barely used two of your three days yet. I am sure there is lots more convincing you could do until they are up.”

Aemond smirks, tugging her against him in a tight embrace. That is an arrangement that he is more than happy to satisfy.

197 notes · View notes

meangirls-imagines · 6 months

Text

Welcome to the Poly!Plasticsverse!

collab with: @yungpoetfics (my fav bubs in the world)

Regina George

@queenbgina/@callmereginald (she/her)

North Shore's Queen Bee

Soft for her girlfriends

The mom of the group

Basically a sugar mommy for her girls

Lifehack Geek

TikTok hater

Has rational fear of werewolves

Will fight a bitch

Victoria's Secret girly

Female rapper stan (Doja, Cardi, Megan, etc.)

Gryffindor

Lesbian

Gretchen Wieners

@thegretchenw/@greatgretsby (she/her/it (only if ur special))

The second mom of the group

Softest human

Loves playing with her girlfriends hair

#1 Twilight hater

Has a letterboxd account just to leave bad reviews

The level headed one usually, but will snap when she needs

Cuddly as fuck

Loves Fleur du Mal lingerie

Stubborn as Fuck

Wine drinker/expert

Loves vintage music (Elvis, Elton John, etc.)

Hufflepuff

Bisexual

Karen Shetty

@karebearz/@karensheetty (any pronouns)

Ambidextrous™️

Loves Spongebob

Plant Parent

Knows Britney Spears and Lady Gaga choreo

Kpop girly (Blackpink, BTS, etc.)

Lettering expert

Has Funko Pop collection

Squishmallow lover

Ravenclaw

Pansexual

Cady Heron

@cady_heron/@defnotcaddy (she/her)

The third mom of the group

Whispers when angry

Carries bandaids at all times

Always has snacks

Lactose Intolerant (but LOVES cheese)

Cries at Rom-Coms

LOVES hugs

Cannot handle spicy food

Sleeps with a teddy bear

Happy to be here

Friends with everyone's parents

Token vanilla of the group

Has diary (with a heart shaped lock)

Bisexual

Aaron Samuels

@aaronsammy/@atomicaaron (he/him) or (ho/mie)

1/3 of Terror Trio

Y/N's best friend

North Shore's resident Himbo

Will do anything if someone says "I dare you"

Impulsive buyer

Has one brain cell (shares it with Y/N)

Overuses 💪 emoji

Usually confused

1/2 Golden Retriever duo

Can skateboard

Uses Axe body spray

Co-founder of Stuntmares

Dreams of grabbing a teddy in a claw machine (bucket list item)

Ass man

Owns too many grey sweatpants

Kisses his homies (homiesexual)

Has never watched Harry Potter

Watches lifestyle coaches on YT

Can play the ukulele (really badly)

Loves Eminem and Harry Styles (would fuck Harry Styles)

Writes Larry Stylinson fanfics

Kissed Y/N once (regretted immediately)

Bisexual

Damian Hubbard

@hubbarddamian/@damianishubby (he/him/they)

Learned how to sew from Janis

Does drag and has a YT channel (Anita Dick)

Huge Adore Delano stan

Will fight anyone who hurts Janis

Doesn't like Rupaul as a person, but is a religious Drag Race fan

#1 Poly!Plastics fan

Has an 8 step skincare routine

Cameraman for Stuntmares

Earlybird

Lies about having curfew to go to sleep early

Ravenclaw

(Lowkey wishes he was a Slytherin bc it's the "cuntiest house"

Him and Karen watch The Bachelor

Fav movie is Dirty Dancing (did the lift with Janis)

Learned how to twerk from Y/N

Gay

Janis Imi'Ike

@janiisimiike/@imiikenough (she/they)

Secret Barbie girly(live action and animated movies)

Will go straight for Ryan Gosling

Feral chihuahua of the group

Hozier stan

HATES THE KARDASHIANS

Pain in Regina's ass

Anger Issues™️

Secretly loves Olivia Rodrigo

Mentally Ill friend

Emotional Drunk

Karaoke Queen

Tits girly

Leather Jacket lesbian

Getting piercings > therapy

Has a suit collection

Thrifter

Loves her friends

Dog person (secretly)

Quotes niche memes

Kinky af

Middle Child

Lesbian

Y/N Y/L/N (FC: Chrissy Costanza)

@thisbeyn/@reginaslefttit (she/he/they/it)

2/3 Terror Trio

2/2 Golden Retriever duo

Has matching fried egg tattoo with Aaron.

Co-Founder of Stuntmares

"Hi, I'm Y/N and welcome to Stuntmares" *jumps off roof into pool*

Cuts her own hair

Blooper Reel Queen

North Shore's resident stoner

AUDHD (autistic + ADHD)

Playlists range from Beethoven to ashnikko

"IT'S NOT A PHASE. IT'S A LIFESTYLE."

Demisexual

Plays electric guitar

Has slight speech impediment

Gremlin of the group

D&D Dungeon Master

ALWAYS falls asleep during movie night

Power Nap Addict™️

Insomniac

Monster Energy Drink Enthusiast (collects the cans)

Oddly good at Origami

Tweets everything she thinks

Has been banned from Fortnite and Roblox

Married to Gretchen on The Sims (regina and karen were sad)

Anger issues

✨Spicy✨ Latina (do not fuck with her people)

Matching rings with her gfs

Def had one night stand with Cady

Shane Oman

@shaneomann/@omantastic (he/him) or (dumb/hoe)

Loves Old School Rap (Biggie, Tupac, Snoop Dogg, etc.)

Hates Y/N at first but comes to love her like a sister.

Only person who can outsmoke Y/N.

Has a dropped truck with red LED lights under it.

Blasts music walking down the halls.

Always has the zoomies.

Orange cat friend.

Has elevator music playing in his head 24/7.

Challenged Damian to a dance off. (He lost. But he had girls simping over him)

Posts thirst traps on TikTok. (Regina's mom is his #1 follower)

Has a frying pan tattooed to match Aaron and Y/N.

Always on Stuntmares trying to create new world records.

Or eating a bunch of weird combos.

"Oman! Not again!" *proceeds to eat a marshmallow and spam sandwich*

Ralph Lauren man

Whenever the polycule argues, he's a "fuck this shit, I'm out" person.

Professional party crasher

Dine and Dash expert

Has nipple piercings (Aaron and Y/N dared him to get them)

Curses like a fucking sailor (Half of his lines on Stuntmares are just censor beeps)

Talks way too fast.

Knows Italian and Spanish (Him and Y/N talk shit in Spanish)

His ringtone for Aaron and Y/N is the remix of the Windows error sound

Loves t-shirts with offensive prints (Regina tries to make him dress normally)

Has gc with Aaron and Y/N called "Hoemies"

Would fuck Aaron

TICKLISH

Major gossip (Him and Gretchen meet once a week to talk shit)

#regina george x reader #karen shetty x reader #gretchen wieners x reader #aaron samuels #cady heron #janis imi'ike #damian hubbard #poly!plasticsverse

219 notes · View notes

acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years

Text

Shrinking Violet (Rhysand Smut)

Hi! Happy Friday, my loves! I impulsively wrote this first thing this morning. Don’t exactly know what came over me but I thought I would share it 😏

Also, I’m using my updated General ACOTAR Tag List for the tags, so if you’re not on it and you wish to be, please click the link and comment so I can add you! ♥️

Warnings: Smut, of course! Enjoy!

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The violet-shaded dress had seemed like a good idea at the time. A time when you’d felt daring and mischievous and like you could do whatever the fuck you wanted.

Now, with a tight-lipped servant tugging your corset strings as you stared yourself down in the mirror, your audacious nature was refusing to rear its head, scattered to the ashes by nerves.

“I wish to have a gown the exact shade of Rhysand’s eyes.”

Rina, your good friend and the Hewn City’s most reputable seamstress, had looked up at you from the various sketches on her dress. She was snowed-under with orders with the upcoming event — Rhysand’s first visit as High Lord of the Night Court. It was nothing short of a damn coronation.

“Are you sure you should?” Rina had raised an eyebrow at you. The look she always got when you were up to something. “He’s High Lord, now. Things are different. Should you truly make a statement with your gown that most certainly won’t go unnoticed?”

“Should I not?” You’d spun around, palming the various fabrics that made up an entire wall at the back of the studio. “High Lord he may now be, but I know Rhysand more personally. I wish to have a violet gown that is an ode to those depthless eyes.”

Rina had shook her head, but said no more on the matter. You were paying — well, your father was — and you had a design in mind. That was that. She’d known you long enough to know that there was no talking you down from an elaborate idea.

Besides. Besides, besides, besides. You did know Rhysand more personally.

More personally, in the form of him secretly fucking you in the darkest corners of the Hewn City, when he had just been the High Lord’s handsome son, learning the ways of the court. You were his filthy little secret, someone he would never display publicly on his arm. Would never think of you beyond the haze of lust that clouded him. Perhaps that was what the dress was secretly about. Capturing his attention.

Things had changed dramatically since he’d last had you pressed against a wall, a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans as he’d pounded into you. He was always ravenous for you behind closed doors and totally different in the open. A game — it was a game the two of you played.

But he was High Lord, now. You were excited to see what that looked like.

Violet gown, indeed. You smoothed your hands over the tight bodice as the servant stepped away. As the daughter of a member of the Night Court council, you would be expected to look every bit the rich, expensive, pretty subject who would bat her eyes at the new High Lord and offer polite well-wishes for his future.

While wearing a gown so tight it was like a second skin, the very daring shade of his eyes.

Anything to keep those eyes on you.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Rhysand had been trained for this, of course. Right down to the finest detail. Any outsider looking in would presume him to have been High Lord for far longer than a matter of months. There was something effortlessly arrogant about the way he lounged on his obsidian throne, one leg hooked over the arm, a chalice of wine in his hand that was constantly being topped up.

He was the centre of attention, and he was loving every second of it.

You’d never seen the instating of a new High Lord. Rhysand’s father had been on that throne for your entire life, until he’d gone and gotten himself killed. And now…now it was time for a fresh face. One with a feline smirk and a lilting voice behind it that sounded like music.

You knew precisely what that voice sounded like when he was close to falling off the edge.

You hadn’t yet spoken to him or caught his gaze. The evening’s proceedings had been fine-tuned to run smoothly; food and drink and music and dancing. Now, a long line of people queued up to the dais, forcing Rhysand to listen to the same sentence on a loop with every person who knelt before him.

I welcome you, High Lord, and pledge my allegiance to you as your loyal subject.

The words had become a monotonous drone. You wanted to spin around in your violet gown and make a show of yourself and catch the High Lord’s gaze. You wanted to be adventurous and fun, just like you and Rhys had always secretly been.

Your father went before you, prattling off the same oath as those who’d gone before him. He and Rhys exchanged pleasantries, and Rhys’s voice seemed to snake past your father and round to you, caressing every bit of your skin that was on show. The sound was like silk. You wanted to tear your dress off and wrap it around your naked body.

After what seemed like an eternity, your father was stepping aside and leaving you to wander up to the dais. Feline eyes met yours, the exact shade of your gown that felt suddenly too tight and too hot on your body. You gave a polite acknowledgement to the two Illyrians at the High Lord’s side — Azriel and Cassian — before you offered a flourishing bow.

“I welcome you, High Lord, and pledge my allegiance to you as your loyal subject.” You spoke, your voice slightly lowered. Just for him.

Rhys’s eyes slowly studied every inch of you, starting at your hair, your painted face, the heavy jewellery that complimented the column of your neck and the lobes of your ears. And then they flicked down to the gown, studying the beaded detail. The way it sinfully clung to your body before flaring around you in layers of violet tulle.

Heat flashed across those eyes, and you knew — he’d clocked exactly what you’d done.

“Good evening.” He drawled, his head falling on a tilt. His hungry gaze roved you once more. “And what have you come as?”

A subtle smirk tugged at your painted lips. “A shrinking violet.”

The High Lord tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. You wanted to drag it between your teeth, too.

“There’s nothing shrinking about you, darling.” He purred. He took your hand in his, brushing his lips to the backs of your fingers. “Enjoy your night.”

A dismissal. A teasing one. It was all part of the game. His eyes fell to your gown again, and you spared him one last glance before flouncing away to dance.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You liked this game — yours and Rhysand’s.

Dark, shaded alcoves and long, winding corridors, perfect for a session of cat-and-mouse. Huge, unoccupied rooms, the walls of which volleyed your moans back and forth. You’d played the game a hundred times before, and you wanted to play it tonight.

The party was unending, and so was the flowing wine. All part of the game. When Rhys had merely been the High Lord’s son, his apprentice, the two of you had always waited until everyone was gloriously intoxicated before you would share a heated glance and slip away — you first, and him following moments later.

The night had reached that point. The frenzied music had become languid and sensuous, the bodies on the dance floor grinding against each other. Not one person in that throne room was sober. And so you set your drink aside.

You strolled casually past the dais, shrugging out of the numerous dances people tried to pull you into. Rhys’s gaze seemed to find you immediately, and as you passed in front of him, you met his eyes and dipped your chin. The signal. The game was starting.

But he was High Lord, now. Far more scrutinised and important. Perhaps he wouldn’t follow. Perhaps he was done with your antics—

Mere moments passed between you slipping into an empty corridor and the door opening behind you. A smirk played on your lips. You lifted the skirts of your gown. Kicked your heels off. And ran.

Your feet slapped against the cold concrete floor as you sprinted away from Rhys. A dark, lilting chortle echoed behind you, and his pace picked up as ran after you.

You were light as a feather, weightless as a cloud, shoving through doors and empty rooms, skidding along polished floors, climbing huge, ornate staircases. Rhys was always a few steps behind, and you knew he could easily catch up if he wanted to. But he savoured the chase as much as you did.

You flew up another grand staircase, up and up to the very top of the gargantuan building. You knew precisely what you were doing, and so did Rhys. You took a left, veered down a long corridor. A dead-end. The door at the end led to an enclosed room.

“Where do you suppose you’ll go now, little violet?” Rhys called behind you, his breaths heavy. “I do believe I’ve caught you.”

Indeed, he had. You laughed wildly and opened your mouth to retort, but your already-huffing breaths were stolen from you as his body smacked into yours from behind, slamming you against the door. The wood groaned as he pressed his front to your back. The evidence of his arousal was already waiting for you.

“Got you.” He hummed into your ear, his nose brushing your neck. “Now, what’s my prize?”

You bit down on your lip as he pushed his groin against you. “Your prize is whatever you wish it to be.”

“Excellent.”

He reached past you, opening the door to that unoccupied, echoing room. His hand splayed over the bodice of your dress, keeping your body flush to his as he walked you both inside.

“I think I would have you against the wall.” His hand travelled down, fisting in the skirts of your gown. “Or perhaps on the writing bureau. Or the chaise lounge. Tell me, which would take your fancy?”

“Why not all of them?” You bit down on your bottom lip as his hand finally found a way under the fabric, skirting your thigh.

“Naughty, wicked thing. Why not, indeed.”

You were suddenly being spun in his arms to face him, and there was barely a chance for your eyes to meet before he was claiming your lips with a scorching kiss and backing you towards the wall. Your back hit it with a light thud, and Rhys was boxing you in, settling his knee between your legs and very deliberately pressing it against the very centre of you.

“You know,” he purred as he broke the kiss. “My father used to tell me to stay far away from you. He said that I should find a female fit to pop out heirs. That females like you like to play games.”

You sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed your neck. Crawled downwards. “Your father would be right about that.”

“Hmm.” He hummed. “But, you see, I like to play games, too. And the bastard is dead now. I am High Lord. Your High Lord. And I’m feeling mighty playful tonight.”

His knee pressed harder against your soaked underwear, and a soft moan slipped past your lips.

“So play,” you said.

Rhys struck.

In a flash, he was sinking to his knees before you. Like you were his High Lady. He lifted the skirts of your gown, throwing them over his head. The sight of him disappearing beneath the fabric might have been amusing had his nose not nudged against your centre, causing you to jerk.

“Now this,” he yanked your underwear down, blowing a breath against your slick folds, “this is a feast fit for a High Lord.”

His silver, sinful tongue licked a stripe right up you, and your head fell back against the wall, a loud moan breaking free of your throat. Rhys wasted no time in feasting on you. He licked and lapped, his teeth grazing your clit, and you imagined what he must look like beneath your skirts, his face flushed and soaked with your wetness.

“I love your taste.” He groaned against you, sucking on your clit. “You have no fucking idea how much.”

Perhaps not. But you could hazard a pretty good guess just how much as he damn near devoured you, bringing you to the very brink of bliss. When he heard your moans and breaths hitching in your throat, felt your hips jutting forward, he sank two fingersinto you.

“Gods,” You gasped, writhing against him, against the wall. Your mind fractured into a thousand tiny pieces as your release slammed into you. Your legs shook.

Rhys licked and pumped all through it, enjoying every moment, every gasp and groan. Only when your walls ceased their contracting around his fingers did he pull away.

He emerged from beneath the fabric, his hair tousled, his eyes heated. His mouth swollen and glistening. One look at him, and you were fisting your hand around the front of his perfectly-tailored jacket, yanking him to his feet.

You wanted to taste him just as he had tasted you, but he stopped you from lowering yourself to your knees. His hand grasped your clothed breast, and he kissed you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You were bored of the dress, now. Pretty as it was, just like his eyes, it was too much of a barrier. You tried to reach behind you for the laces—

“No.” Rhys nipped your lip, staying your hand. “I want you to wear it while I fuck you.”

Your eyes flared. “As you wish.” You glanced down at his lips. “High Lord.”

A guttural groan escaped him, and the tether on his control snapped. The following moments were a confusing, heady circus of heavy kisses and panting into each others mouths, both your hands fighting to undo the laces and buttons of his trousers. As soon as they were loosened enough, he was shoving them to the floor.

“I think about you, you know.” Rhys said, hissing between his teeth as you wrapped your hand around his length. “I come to the thought of you. How do you manage to make a mess out of me without even being there?”

“Because I wish it to be so.” You squeezed gently. “And so it is.”

“Wicked, wicked creature.”

You silenced him with a kiss as you pumped his cock, savouring the feel of it twitching in your palm, jerking at the very brush of your touch. Rhys emitted a growl, and he was batting your hand away, replacing it with his own.

“If I don’t get inside you,” he dragged the head of his cock through your slick folds, “I think I may bring this city down around us.”

His eyes held a promise to do exactly that, and as the head nudged at your entrance, he grabbed the back of your neck, sliding his lips over yours.

The tip had barely slipped in before thudding footsteps approached, and a knock was pounding on the door. Rhys growled beneath his breath. Ignored it. Pushed into you further. You gasped.

“Rhys.” Cassian’s voice came from the other side.

“Not now, Cassian.” Rhys thrust into you, right to the hilt, giving a very audible grunt.

“You’ve been gone for too long.” The Illyrian general persisted. “People are starting to notice.”

“Not fucking now, Cassian.”

He pulled out to the tip, his angry words breathed against your mouth. You swallowed them greedily as he thrust right back into you once more, a slight pinch of pain within the pleasure that wrangled a loud moan from your throat.

There was a pause on the other side of the door, a curse — Cassian muttering “Cauldron fucking boil me” — before his footsteps retreated once more.

“Look at you,” you nipped Rhys’s lip. “Keeping your loyal subjects waiting.”

“I am.” He shifted, slamming into you again. “For you.”

Your response because lost amongst the pleasure as Rhys fastened his hand at your hips and lifted you from the floor.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded deeply. “And hold on.”

You did just that, your legs locking around his waist, your arms around his neck. Rhys pressed his head against your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin there.

And he fucked.

“Gods, you feel exquisite.” He groaned, slamming into you harder, faster. “I could spend the rest of my existence buried inside you.”

You moaned, your head falling back. You felt his tongue against the column of your neck. “That seems like a foolish way for a High Lord to spend his time.”

“Nothing about this is foolish.”

He was damn right about that. Words eddied away from your tongues, the room being filled with moans and grunts and gasps and screams. Rhys filled you so utterly, so completely, that you couldn’t imagine anyone else being able to do so.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He grit out, reaching down to circle his thumb against your clit. “I wish you could see yourself right now. Coming undone for me. Coming on my cock.”

“Fuck, Rhys.” You gasped. They were the only words you were able to get out before he sent you hurtling over the edge.

The fall of your second climax was euphoric, addictive. You were hot and cold, asleep and awake, present and absent, lost somewhere in the ether. Your moans filled the room, perhaps the whole building, the entire city, as your walls clenched his cock hard, his thumb continuing the ministrations to your clit.

Rhys’s thrusts picked up, the pace frenzied and desperate. You could feel him tightening inside you, hear his breaths and grunts hitching in his throat, the pleasure furrowing his brow. You purposefully clenched around him once more, and he lost it.

“Gods!” He roared, stifling the sound with a hungry kiss to your lips. His hips stilled abruptly, and he was spilling into you, every last drop filling you.

It seemed like ages that he spent moaning and groaning and whining, emitting needy little noises, drawing out a few more languid thrusts despite having emptied himself entirely into you. He was completely at your mercy. Undone by you.

He was your High Lord, and yet tonight, you had ruled him.

He was still breathing heavily as he pulled out of you. His eyes locked with yours, and a strange, indiscernible expression crossed his face.

“Come back to Velaris with me.” He breathed.

You snorted. This was all part of the game, the continued teasing. You liked that a lot.

“Would you give me a crown?” You jibed.

Rhys’s eyes glittered. “Only if I could fuck you in it.”

You smirked, toying with the lapels of his jacket. “And what of your throne? Would you fuck me on there?”

“I would fuck you in every last corner of my city. Over and over until my people have committed our moans to memory.”

Such a poetic, silver-tongued male. Your smirk remained as you let go of him, but he was having none of it. He clutched you against him.

“Come back to Velaris with me.” He repeated.

You smiled vaguely. “No.”

“You could live however your heart desires. We could play there, too.”

Your laughter was light, airy. You pushed him off, squirming out of his grasp. “Such pretty words.”

His hand caught yours, and he pressed it to his chest. “Come back to Velaris with me.”

“No.” You said again.

You smirked at him, and he smirked back. And as you leaned in, he slammed his eyes shut, bracing himself for your kiss.

You didn’t deliver. You merely swiped your thumb over his lips, erasing the evidence of you ever having been there.

“Until next time,” you hummed. “High Lord.”

You finally pushed around him, smoothing your dress as you passed, your bare feet padding on the floor.

“This is inconvenient.” Rhys called as you braced your hand on the door handle.

You glanced over your shoulder. ��What’s that?”

“I am your High Lord. But hearing you call me such makes me desperate to bury myself deep inside you again.”

A soft trill of a laugh left you, and you turned your back on him, opening the door. “Don’t be greedy.”

You stepped out without looking back. That was how this wicked, glorious thing between you went. The best thing you could do to not make it hurt so much when he ignored you before his subjects. Rhys being High Lord hadn’t changed that. Nor had it taken away the mischievous, playful male with honeyed words that you knew him to be. But walking away like that, you had the power.

His laughter followed you down the hall, and you smirked one more.

High Lord, indeed.

You both knew his control had been obliterated at the first sight of you in that violet dress.

A gown the exact shade of Rhysand’s eyes.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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sehodreams · 9 months

Text

Pathetic people also fall in love

WC: 7.3K (I’m so sorry it feels like with every fic I write more)

S: Eunseok is busy enough with his life, he has an 8-year-old daughter and is overworked at his job, he didn’t need to add another thing to that list, so when he puts the unused room in his house for rent, he expects his life to become easier, not to wonder why his tenant is so hot!

TW and Tags: Singledad!Landlord!Eunseok x Tenant!Plussize!reader, aged up Eunseok for the story, all consensual, mutual pining, smut, p in v, use of condom (poor Eunseok is traumatized after his first daughter), fingering, mentions of dacryphilia, fluff (I think near the end, if you don’t think so please let me know and I’ll erase it from here), they’re just two losers falling in love.

Comment: Hey guys, sorry for not having post much lately, this was actually first a Sungchan fic because an anon asked me for a Singledad!Sungchan, but while writing I thought wth this is my baby Eunseok and changed it. I want to clarify that this is not dark at all, so be careful if you go through my other fics because most of them are, I’m all soft since 119, still hope you like it!

You were the best tenant anyone could ask for, and Eunseok knew that, so why was he acting as if he was desperate to drive you away?

When you moved to the room next to him in his house he had his doubts, you were younger than him, which usually meant problems, like drunk boys out of his house throwing up on his flowers at midnight, or loud music when he tried to work, but he needed the money and the extra help, and when he interviewed you, you were relatively fine, a young girl that moved away for school and was more than eager to help around for a significant discount on her rent.

You were so fresh, a 22 year old student with the character of an older sister, and he liked that, you always paid your rent on time and made cookies on friday night instead of going out, you also took care of his daughter when he needed to go out in an emergency at work, only asking for some food when he came back, so you were a good girl and the best tenant.

He couldn't lie to himself, he liked you a lot, which made him feel pretty much guilty, because you were just a sweet young thing who hadn't discovered how the world worked, while he, even if he was still young at his 27 years, had gone through everything in a rush, from heartbreak to disappointment and frustration, perfectly knowing he shouldn't look at you the way he did.

He had too many responsibilities to let himself be swayed your way, he had an 8 year old daughter, an overworking job and too many things on his shoulders, and your presence had started to bring him problems, especially at night, when he dreamed of fingering you in the kitchen before breakfast to thank you for making his coffee, or you receiving him in the entrance wearing nothing but an apron with flour stains, and after you gave him a taste of your freshly baked cookies, he dropped to his knees to taste something even better.

He dreamed all that and woke up feeling more tired than when he went to sleep, and with a painful boner that wouldn't leave him alone until he came over the bathroom titles when he took his quick morning shower, thinking of you with him there, taking his length like the good girl you were.

He couldn't look at your face when you said good morning, the guilt making him blush to his ears, wishing he could go back in time and not let his impulses win over him, because he was sure you would feel repulsed if you ever found out what he thought about you.

For you, he was just your landlord, the older guy with a daughter that worked in a restaurant and brought you leftover pasta every now and then, nothing more, and he had to come around that.

But you made it so hard, making breakfast with your pajama shorts and the thin t-shirts that showed your beautiful nipples, bending down with that gorgeous ass when you pulled the tray out of the oven, or with the sound of you vibrator that woke him up at 2 am, with your little moans going through his wall and making him gulp before he decided to wait for you to cum to go back to sleep.

He could help you, he thought that every time he heard you, he could walk the five steps to your room and fuck you like you deserved, nasty and rough, telling you how good you acted that day, making his favorite dish for breakfast, or playing with his daughter until he came back home, "Such a good girl, don't you want to be my little wife? Such a sweet thing should cum over a real dick every night".

His cheeks became red, he shouldn't be thinking that, not before work where he could do nothing to soothe the need.

He rushed to the door, with his coffee cup in one hand and his daughter backpack in the other, she was already waiting for him in the entrance when you ran to them, were you going to give him a goodbye kiss? He wished.

"I made too many of them yesterday, take them for lunch" you gave him a paper bag with two muffins, he felt the sweet aroma of them through the bag and his eyes followed your lips when you talked again, "I already put one in her lunchbox, these are just for you".

He wanted to kiss you so bad, he didn't care that your hair was still ruffled from your night, or that you weren't wearing any makeup at all, he thought you looked fucking gorgeous in that moment, and he wanted to kiss you to say thank you, thank you for being so good, thank you for treating his daughter with care, thank you for everything you do for him even when you didn't need to.

"Okay" he said, and left.

"Okay?" Sungchan asked when he arrived at work and told him what he did.

"Okay" Eunseok passed his hand through his hair, exhausted with everything, with his 10-hour shift, his daughter telling him she missed him, and his body not being able to sleep properly because it needed his tenant.

"What an asshole, that sweet thing just gave you two of the best muffins in the world for free, she made your coffee and helped you get your daughter ready for school, and you say 'okay', not even a 'thank you'? Man, if I was her, I'd leave your pathetic ass immediately, doesn't matter how cheap the rent is" he grabbed one of the little pastries and was about to eat it when Eunseok snatched it from his hand.

"Mine" he said and walked away, making Sungchan scoff.

He didn't meant to be so cold, it was like his body was in survival mode, trying to save his feelings from getting hurt before he even got a chance to do something about them, it'd be too uncomfortable if things didn't work out, you were precious for him, and he didn't want to lose you, but if he kept acting like that, he wasn't just going to drive you off, but you'd hate him in the process, and he couldn't deal with the thought of you hating him, not like that.

That night, when he arrived from his shift, he brought pizza and your favorite drink.

He left them in the counter and walked to his daughter's room, the house was in silence, his daughter already sleeping in her bed and after giving her a good night kiss, he searched for you, you were nowhere sight, so you must be in your room, right?

When he knocked no one answered, where could you be?

You came out of the bathroom seconds later, with just a towel wrapping your body, your tits were overflowing from the grip it did to not fall and he couldn't help but watch you from head to toe, your uncovered shoulders, your soft thighs, even your pretty feet with red nail polish.

"Hey Eunseok, you're early today" you proceeded to tell him about what his daughter had for dinner and how she was sleeping already, and that you were waiting for him before you went out. Almost everything got lost in his ear, he was too busy watching your back and the drops falling down your neck.

"I brought pizza" was the only thing he could say.

"Thank you, I'll eat it after I come back" you closed your door before he could say anything more and, not knowing what else to do, walked to his room.

He looked himself in his mirror, his boner was showing in the reflection and his face was red, he really had a problem, so he took care of it while listening your soft voice singing on the other side of the wall, feeling like a pervert when he finished over his hand.

He changed his clothes for something more comfortable and went to the kitchen to eat a slice of pizza before bed, he was tired and even if he came back earlier than normal, his body was exhausted from all the nights without sleeping well.

He was just finishing his portion when you walked down, looking like a fucking angel ready to take him to the afterlife.

You were wearing a white flowy short dress, showing your beautiful curves and the full of your chest through the cleavage that made you look even more angelic.

But where were you going dressed like that? It couldn't possibly be...

Your phone sounded before he could ask and you ran to open the door, a skinny boy with long black hair was there, waiting for you with the worst resting bitch face he had ever seen, so different from your excited ear to ear grin, "Hi Wonbin" you said with your pretty smile, and he only gave an acknowledged nod in response. Asshole, he thought.

He couldn't say anything to stop you from going out, to scream how you were his and how that lanky boy couldn't give you what he could, he wouldn't appreciate you like he already did, because he didn't know how special and amazing you really were.

Eunseok, still in the same place, heard the door close and then a car starting outside, driving away.

He felt fucking pathetic looking at you smile to another man and leaving the house with someone like him, but maybe that little boy was better than him, even if he didn't like the thought, he could be younger than him, and not have a daughter, just a normal boy for his age, without the weight of thinking about the future, because he didn't have anyone who depended on his actions, just himself.

He closed the pizza box and grabbed a beer, such a pathetic loser, he told himself, having the girl he wanted so close and stopping himself from getting her, blaming his circumstances instead of the reality of him being a coward.

The night felt longer than usual, he used to think that nights didn't have enough hours to rest, and now, with you outside, he thought it felt endless.

He just needed you back home, to know where you were, and what you were doing, with him steps away, to know you were safe.

Hours passed and when the eleven-news started and some traffic accident showed on the screen, he heard a car park out of his place, recognizing your steps to the door. When you opened the door he saw you alone, with a sad look and your pretty hair different from when you went out, as if you tried to brush it with your fingers to look put together before you walked in. His blood wanted to boil at the thought of him touching a single strand of your hair, but he was too preoccupied with your face, what could've happened in your date for you to arrive like that? Was he the jerk he appeared to be? He knew that boy didn't deserve you, but at the same time he wished he was wrong.

"Welcome back" Eunseok said, giving you a small smile. You dropped your purse to the floor when you saw him, looking too exhausted to reciprocate the awkward greeting smile. He felt bad for you, you continued with the disappointed air all over you and he didn't know what to do to cheer you up, "there's still pizza in the kitchen".

You denied his offer, walking to the couch he was sitting, letting your body fall on the other side of it, leaving a big space between you.

You watched the news together for a couple of minutes, in total silence. He understood you didn't feel like talking, you went out after such a long time, getting all dolled up with a dress he had never seen you wear before and such uncomfortable shoes. You almost never went out like that, more into comfortable loose clothes, and around the house you never used make up. He still saw you gorgeous though, but Eunseok was different, he thought that when you had your hair up in a ponytail while cooking, or when you left his daughter use her toy makeup on you, and he loved to see you wearing that swimsuit when you played on the child pool with her, your tummy showing through the clothing and your full chest covered with a top that wasn't your size, it couldn't be your size, he swore that because every time you used it your tits were too much for it and the fabric was hanging on for its life over your body, which to be honest, was incredible hot for him.

And you did all that for a boy that couldn't even walk you to your door at the end of the date, he can't imagine what else did he do that night to make you come back home with such a disappointed look.

"How was the date?" He asked and sipped his can of beer, trying to appear nonchalant, like he didn't care, but he was dying to hear about it.

"It wasn't what I expected" you answered while taking off your high heels, he saw a little blister forming on your feet and he wanted to grab them and give them a well-deserved massage, he was dying to do something for you, but he shouldn't, so he did the only thing he thought would comfort you without him touching you, he passed you his beer for you to take a sip, which you did, you grabbed it and drank a big gulp of it, looking a bit more refreshed after, making him feel good with his choice. "He made me pay for the movie tickets" you continued.

Eunseok opened his mouth, not believing what you told him, he knew the boy was going to be a jerk, but to such extent?

"Yeah, I know" you said when you saw his surprised expression, making you laugh but from embarrassment. "I... I didn't know how to say no, we were already in the que, and I thought that maybe it wouldn't be that bad, maybe it was going to be just that and then he'd pay for the popcorn, I-I don't know what I was thinking"

Of course you knew what you were thinking. You didn't go out with him for the movie, you wanted to get laid, and he was the only one who had offered to go out with you after so long, you didn't have another choice.

You weren't an easy girl, you knew you deserved more, but since you had moved to Eunseok's house you felt more and more needy, praying every day for him to not notice how your thighs clenched when he was around you, or how you touched yourself when he took care of his flowers under the sun, the sweaty look of him was too much for you to contain himself, and you had fallen for various reasons, how he always took a few of his precious creations to decorate your room, how he always brought you your favorite pasta when it was on the daily menu of his restaurant, even how he made sure you were always comfortable around him and his daughter.

How could you not fall for a guy like that? So caring and sweet, and you lived with him, it was like torture to have his smell around you, his body, his warmth, and not be embraced by him.

The only reason you accepted to go out with Wonbin was because your friends told you he was going to be a good fuck, but the only nearly good thing that night were his guitarist fingers playing with your pussy during the movie, "for the ticket" he had said, but you honestly would've preferred the money. It felt good for a second, the teasing was hot, and you told yourself it'd get better, but when he took you to his car and to that dark place instead of a nice room and a comfortable bed, fucking you in his backseat and coming after a few thrust, all that after he asked you to give him head, pushing his fingers on your well braided hair, making a mess of it even when you told him you didn't feel like it, everything got boring for him and he drove you home in an uncomfortable silence.

You felt disgusting when he dropped you off and immediately drove away, leaving you there in front of the house, not even checking if you walked in safely.

The only thing you could think while walking those few steps to the house was Eunseok would've never treated me like that.

So, when you opened your door and saw him sitting in the couch, in front of the tv, when he should be asleep after a long work day, waiting for you, you wanted to cry, because he hates the news, and he would never watch them willingly when he could use that time to sleep instead.

You contained yourself and sighed, biting back your lip from quivering and showing how weak you felt at that moment, you were a big girl, and you couldn't cry every time something went wrong.

But you couldn't deny that you were also more vulnerable because of him those days, and how he was pushing you away when you tried to get closer, just that morning, when you gave him those muffins, it hurt you to hear the 'okay' came out of his mouth, it felt like you were being too much for him and he didn't know what to say to your advances anymore, and perhaps that's why those days he seemed in a worse mood, troubled with your presence near him.

When he offered you his beer you feel slightly comforted, how pathetic, you thought, a girl feeling comforted just because the guy who was rejecting her gave her a sip of his beer.

Some pop star was in a dating scandal and you couldn't care less, but you didn't want to leave, you wanted to be with him for more time, as long as he allowed you.

"Did you want to go out with him?" He asked after a couple minutes. You denied with your head.

He finished his beer, so he got up and walked to the kitchen, coming back with two cans and opening one for you, sitting slightly closer this time.

"Then why did you accept?" Some politician was talking about being honest on his campaign, what a bullshit, he would lie, just like you, a normal human being, has being done since you came to that house, acting like you didn't feel anything for Eunseok, and that everything you did was out of your heart, it partly was, but you did it more eagerly because you wanted him to look your way, to maybe see you different, not the young girl that rented the room next to his in his house, and if not an equal partner, at least some kind of comfort from his daily life, something to come back after his tedious routine and that could give him the peace he needed, just like he and his home did for you.

You decided to not lie anymore, if he asked you something, the least you could do was to be honest with yourself and with him, you didn't have long until everything spilled out of the glass already full of your feelings, and it would kill you to move away from him, his daughter, his house, and everything that had become familiar to you those months, but if you were still going to get hurt, you should be honest before everything went to hell.

You drank another big gulp of your beer before talking again, to feel more confident, "I wanted to get laid". He almost choked with his drink, coughing and looking at your direction to try to find out if you were making a really bad joke or you were telling him the truth.

You didn't look at his direction, some festivity was about to start in a few days and the city was getting ready for a festival, it looks pretty, I should go with his daughter before I move out, you thought.

Every day you had contained yourself from going to his arms, kissing his lips and asking for him to pay you attention had come to that, and you had resigned to leaving when he asked you to, because if before he was uncomfortable, now he was going to find you unbearable, and it would kill you to stay and see the place you called home crumble in front of your eyes.

Still, you had never felt so free.

He saw the decision written all over your face, you knew what was going to happen next, and he was afraid of the outcome, of what was going to happen if you ever left him, what would he do without your coffee? Without your laugh filling his house, without the smell of your shampoo all over the room after you took a long shower, or with the way his daughter had started to depend on you for certain questions, just, what would he do without you?

He wanted to come home after his shift to be welcomed by his two favorite girls all over the world, and he was an adult, he would get over it with time, but he didn't want to, he had already compromised with many things, with leaving college, with not going to friend's parties anymore, with only drinking beer once a week, with not being the first place in his life never again, he had already accepted too many things, and you leaving wasn't one of them.

"Well, you didn't have to ask another man when you have me right here" he couldn't process what he said, he just said it, his lips moving before he could think twice. You stared at him taken aback from his words, you expected him to call you dumbass or anything along that, but he was making clear you had permission to see him not like your landlord or just an older guy, but like a man.

Your eyes interlocked and the tension got thicker, both of you were closer without any of you noticing, shoulders touching, and when you moved your face slowly towards him, waiting for him to tell you he didn't mean what he just said, he tenderly grabbed your face and made you kiss him, erasing all distance between you, finally.

Your eyes shut and you kissed softly at first, tasting the lingering bitter flavor of his cheap beer, enjoying every second of it, until you whimpered on his lips, and he, reacting to it, tapped twice with the palm of his hand over one of your thighs, to signal you that he wanted you to be over his lap.

You let your weight fall over him and he loved the way he felt your ass flushing with his knees, his hands roamed all the way from your waist to the softness of your legs and followed the same trail back, addicted to the way your body, even being bigger than normal and nothing like he ever had in the past, felt perfect on his hands, as if you had been designed for him and only him to touch and indulge in.

The hem of your dress had rolled with your movements and his hands didn't help neither, trying to lift it up as much as he could to feel the plump of your ass.

"To the movies with a dress like this one? Tell me the truth, did he finger you with people around? don't you feel any shame?" He asked, making you rock your hips over his boner. You sighed on his neck, not daring to look at him in the face, shame creeping your red cheeks.

"Why do you say that?" You asked curious of his remarks, they were true, but how did he know?

"Because he's no better than me, and I'd have done it too", he made you look at him, one of his hands still over your ass and the other on your jaw, admiring you over him, his glossy eyes were all over your face, from your flushing cheeks to your lips with the mild cherry color of your lipstick that was almost completely removed by his kisses "you're too pretty, no one would be able to resist" he said, lips finding your again, kissing you deeper, wanting to satisfy the part of him that had been screaming for your mouth every day until now, as if it was possible to ever calm it.

You started to blush even more, embracing him with your arms around his neck to kiss him better, and after a couple of seconds, when he let you breath and hide your face on his neck again, licking his lips and still making you bounce with the strength of his hands on your waist, moving you to his liking, his bulge perfectly touching your clit under your panties, you nodded to his past question, Wonbin did finger you, and you did feel shame, but with him, with Eunseok, you were sure you'd have let him take you right there in front of everyone and you'd have said thank you when he finished with you.

"I'm sure he fucked you, did he fuck you in his car? He doesn't look like the kind of boy who takes you to a nice room to give you what you deserve, I'm sure you couldn't even cum once with him, this sweet thing needs to be taken care of by someone who can handle it, someone like me" he whispered that to your ear, biting back his groans and making fun of you trying to hide your soft moans, adding to that the way you nodded to everything he said, he felt exhilarating, wanting to tease you even more, wondering what would happen, would you cry for him to stop? Or even better, would you cry for him to not stop?

The thought did things in him, and as a result, his thumb touched your pussy over the fabric of your panties, fumbling around it to feel how wet you were getting, making you moan louder than you expected, sensitive after being teased before but not finding the satisfaction you needed.

You supposed it was that, how Wonbin played with your pussy just hours before, you didn't think it was probably from all you went through for months, hiding the way you needed him, or how you played with yourself thinking of him behind your door, everything accumulating and being too much for you in this moment, the cathartic minute in which you finally were feeling his body against you, his aroma as close as you begged past nights, and his hands prying the place that suffered his absence the most.

"It hurts" you cried, begging for him to touch you directly with his hands. The air in the room was hotter and your untouched skin was burning. Your hips moved perfectly over him and he imagined himself making you lie on the couch to fuck you until you screamed, he was in pain too to be honest, too many nights needing you almost made him weak, but he wanted to enjoy it as much as he could, in case it was the only night he'd have the privilege of having you, to never forget you in case what you had decided for tomorrow didn't include him.

He kissed you again, he couldn't take you there, on his ugly old couch, he had to take you properly, like you should be treated, "I know baby, I know" he said, eyebrows frowning and breath hitching from getting closer to his orgasm, he had been too painfully untouched and sure you were the same, asking for each other at midnight, each of you in their own rooms, praying for the other to do something about their desire, "let's go to my room, okay? I know you can do it for me, I need to touch you more, and for you to be comfortable in every moment of it, my precious baby"

You wanted to tear up of how good he talked to you, giving and asking for compassion at the same time. For him, you had earned the right to be treated like that, to demand it from him, working hard and giving parts of you he didn't ask for and hadn't realized he needed until you came into the picture of his dull and exhausting life, making it brighter and more bearable every day you spent together.

You didn't want to move, so close of your first orgasm over his lap, but he clapped his hand over your thighs, telling you to move away from him "come on angel, I know you're a good girl, you heard me, let's go" you were a good girl, his good girl, so with the pain of your heart, and your clit, you moved out of his lap, letting him drag you by the hand to his room. The path was short, just the staircase and a couple steps to his room, but the way he was showing you his back, making you walk as fast as him to get to his bed, made your pussy throb. This was happening, really happening, and you smiled feeling content.

When both of you arrived to his room, a secret place you had never been able to set a foot in before, door always closed, you sensed the last line between you both blurring, because nothing, not even an earthquake, would make you get out of his bed tonight, you'd receive everything you had been yearning for, and you'd be grateful at the end, in case he only accepted you one time.

He kissed you again against his door, making you stand on your tip toes to meet his mouth. Your chest was touching his and you were dying for them to touch directly, without any fabric stopping your nipples from feeling his hard chest, even if he didn't train that much anymore, you had seen him come back sweating after a morning jog every sunday, waking up at 6 AM to come back with your favorite bread freshly baked.

While kissing he made you walk back to the bed, pushing you over it and taking off his shirt to then go back to his duty over you.

His mouth couldn't leave you alone, and groping everything he could with his hands and rutting his erection over your pussy, he made sure your lips, and your tongue, were focused on him.

"Please, I need more" you told him, tired of not feeling him on your skin.

He didn't answer you, two of his fingers found your clothed pussy and pressed your underwear, sensing how wet you were under his fingers, a big warm spot was formed, and he decided to not tease you anymore over it. His palm went under your panties, and if over your panties he felt you wet, now you were dripping. His hand was quickly covered on your juices immediately, making him groan, how could he tease his baby so much when she was suffering like that?

"Fuck, I’m sorry angel", two of his fingers found your hole and started to play with you, fucking you without problem because of how wet you were, and you received him like all the time, making him feel welcome with your warmth.

Your body was shaking under him, hands on his chest touching his skin, trying to grasp as much of him as you could, slightly pushing him away of how good he was working you with just with his fingers, but without the force to actually do it, it was just your body reacting to him, because you really wanted him to be closer.

"Wait-" strangled words wanted to come out of your mouth, he was so good with his hands your eyelids were fluttering and the only think you could see in the dark room, with the little light coming through his curtains, was his grin watching your pussy take his fingers, and his arm making that possible.

Two fingers became three and his hand started to fuck you more, like trying to find something inside you, fingers in and out on scissoring movements, until you started to cry louder and leak over his hand, making him feel proud of his work, "that's right baby, come on, cum all over my hand".

You had your first orgasm, making a mess on his hand and your panties, it was uncomfortable to keep wearing them, wet and sticking to you, so he took them off, making you lift your legs to take them. You didn't know if he could see you in that darkness, but he could, your pussy glistening was impossible to ignore, and the image in front of him was everything he had been dreaming of for months.

He took of your dress too, enjoying the view even more, you weren't wearing a bra, and your tits jumped in front of him, gravity making them fall a bit to each side of how big they were, so fucking hot.

His mouth went to your little buds, tongue flicking over one and grabbing the other, and exchanging the work between each of them after he thought it was enough attention to one. They were so soft under his hand, skin overflowing his grip and making him think maybe I should die here, because there was no place more comfortable than there over your beautiful chest.

"Eunseok, please don't tease me" You cried under him, you had watched him so concentrated on your chest you didn't want to distract him, but the pain on your pussy was becoming too much for you, and you were still leaking all over his grey sweatpants.

"Such a crybaby" He smiled, pulling down his sweatpants and his boxers, just enough to free his cock and put the condom he had on his nightstand, he wanted to fuck you, but he had already learnt his lesson, he wanted to take care of you for a long time, to fuck you many more times. He slapped your pretty cunt with his length, enjoying your little jolts. "Sorry, it's because you're the prettiest girl, I couldn't contain myself" he said, pushing his dick over you, simulating the way his cock was going to fuck you in just a second, you opening your legs even more without you intending to, all so he could be closer to you "I'll give you what you want, don't worry" he kissed your forehead to take your attention away from the tip of his dick sliding through your hole, but it was so long he still had you squirming under him, even with all the preparation, you felt him stretching you like no one had done before, "You're dripping all over my bed, it's because of me or him?" He asked after his cock made a wet sound when he finished pushing it into you.

"Uh?" You couldn't process his words, too lost into the sensation of his cock inside you, fucking your guts, so deed the only thing that went through your mind was fuck me, fuck me.

"Who made you like this, me or him?" He repeated his question and you realized who he was talking about, Wonbin, and even if he had fucked you, he was nowhere near Eunseok.

"You, Eunseok, just you" you cried, his hips had stopped for a second to hear your answer, and when he heard the desperation on your voice, he understood you weren't telling him just what he wanted to hear, but the truth. Your nails started to mark his back and he, because of the intensity of the moment, didn't feel it, too concentrated on the sensation of your walls accepting him so easily, something uncommon for him since his length was bigger than normal, but of course his little angel would do it without problem, you were made for him, and he had no intention of ever sharing you again.

His hips moved again, pulling as far as he could to dive all in, making your tears drop one by one of how good you were feeling, you felt high, like touching the sky, and with each trust he took you back to earth, to that room, demonstrating you how the only thing you needed to feel complete was him.

Your heart was racing, you could hear it beating on your ears, but you didn't know what was that you were hearing, his cock making you ignore anything else that wasn't him and his groans.

"Fuck, so tight, has no one been taking care of you since you came here? I'm sure your little toy doesn't compare" he asked and the rhythm of his hips increased, his cock pushing deeper with each thrust. "Were you thinking of me when you used it? Did you want me to hear it so I could go to your room and fuck you?" You shook your head, you used it because you were too horny after spending time with him, and just the image of him coming back home with his white shirt and his ruffled hair made you crazy, he always looked so stressed you had to resist the temptation of dropping to your knees to suck his cock when he told you your daily good night, your mind only repeated I'm here, please use me!, and without being able to receive anything from him, you had to rely on your toy.

You wanted to talk and tell him everything, but no coherent sound came out of your mouth, your insides were being so fucked any function in your mind had shut down, focusing only on your pussy and the pleasure he was giving you.

You couldn't talk and that frustrated you, making multiple tears fall down your cheeks, sobbing at this point. Your hands didn't want to let him go and you tried to hug him and get him closer to you, but you were crying so loud he had to stop to check on you one second, to make sure you were okay.

He looked at you worried "what's wrong baby? Am I being too much?" He caressed your cheek with his thumb and cleaned the strand of tears.

You denied, focusing all your mind into talking again "feels so good, please don't stop". He stared at you for a long time, appreciating your face and your body, trying to get all into his memory to never forget how beautiful you looked at that moment, crying for him and his cock, begging for him to not stop.

He didn't know what he would do if he couldn't fuck you again, if before he was deep into you, now he was in a place that had no escape.

You moved your body under him, trying to get the same feeling from seconds ago, making you forget everything again, making you forget who he was, who you were, and what would happen after you both finished.

"You have no idea of how much I fucking like you" you wanted to say me too when he talked, but his hips had started to work you again and you could only moan loudly when you tried to talk, so you decided to bite your lip to stop being too noisy instead. "I'm sorry baby, I know you want to be loud, but we'll get in trouble" you nodded, understanding why he said that. He put his hand over your mouth and kissed your temple while fucking you, pushing you to the same abyss he was in, needing more of your juices to make a mess over his bedsheets, to let your smell linger around him for more time.

The way he was looking at you was something you'll never be able to forget, something you had never seen before, no one, in all your life, had stared at you with such intensity, full of need and possession, like screaming mine, mine, mine, and you couldn't correct him, he was right, you were his.

Your walls clenched around him and he let your mouth free to kiss you again, his tongue had intruded into your mouth, stealing the little air you had and making you even more dizzy, mind scattered all around the room like your clothes, pushing his dick in a more erratic way, not calculating so much how and what to push, just feeling.

"I'm so close, cum with me angel, fuck" his hips were practically punching yours, making the sound of both skins clapping so dirty you felt yourself tightening just with it. You nodded, both of his arms were on each side of your head and your hands held onto them, trying to not fall wherever you felt you were about to, as if he was going to push you, with him, into some state of clarity you had never experienced before.

He did push you into something new, the orgasm was so hard you lost yourself for a second, mind becoming black and eyes rolling for a long moment, your heart and breath completely stopping and toes curling into the bed, feeling his cock throb inside you while some liquid leaked out of your used pussy.

He brought you back to reality with soft kisses. His hair was sweating over your forehead, and you felt his skin sticky against yours, but you felt complete, after so much time, you were where you should be, in his room, on his bed, with him and only him.

He let his body fall over yours, squishing you with his size, his cock was still inside you, and you didn't want him to move, he could stay like that all night if he wanted, you'd never ask him to move.

Sadly, he moved apart minutes later, when both of you had regained their breaths and your hand was caressing his broad back. He lifted himself, still between your legs, pulling his dick out of you to remove the condom, making you whimper a protest. He laughed quietly, looking down at you, such a needy baby.

He walked out of the room and you started to get doubtful, was he going to regret everything you had done? You loved every second of it, you didn't want to be apart from him ever again, but maybe... Maybe he just needed some release.

Your eyes started to get wet, you always thought you would be satisfied with one time, but you became greedy after feeling his touch, and one time would never be enough again.

He came back minutes after, you heard his steps, but you didn't turn back to him, afraid of what he would tell you.

"Angel, I brought you your tea, have some before you sleep" he touched your shoulder and made you look at him, when you did, he gave you the softest smile and moved a strand of your hair out of your face. You wanted to cry again, touched by his treatment.

You drank some of it, still fresh and cold, while he cleaned you with a wet towel between your legs, so you could sleep more comfortable.

Then, when you gave him the cup, he tossed the used towel away, and, after leaving your cup over a couple of his gardening magazines on his nightstand, he made you cover yourself under his bedsheet, lying next to you, accepting your hug into his arms and giving you a goodnight kiss on your forehead, erasing all doubts from your head, because he'd never be able to give up on his little angel again.

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