Note
hi!! i absolutely love your work. i was wondering if you could possibly do something with thigh riding? i don’t see a lot of it and it’s one of my favorite things to read. basically the reader is very needy and larissa only lets them get off by riding her thigh. possibly mommy kink! ofc reader is 18+ and everything is consensual. if not, i will definitely enjoy everything else you put out. thank you!!
Self-Sufficient - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader
Summary: What the request says! Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x f!Reader Warnings: Smut! (Mommy kink x10, praise) Word Count: ~1k
Author’s Note: Anon, you said mommy kink and my brain ran with it. I hope this is what you were looking for! ♡ (un-beta-ed as per usual!) ╱ AO3
“You’re just the sweetest baby, aren’t you? Do you want to be good for me? Hmm?” Larissa’s voice is soft and warm just like the feel of her, hands settled on either of your thighs, gaze drifting over you languidly. She knows you’re floating - dangling - in that perfect little space between euphoria and painful desperation———just where she likes to have you, pleased with the way you whimper every time she speaks to you, the way you rock aimlessly in search of just the right type of friction. You’re beautiful like this: undone, just for her.
“Y-yes, please, Mommy. I’ll be s-so good for you.”
You’ve been straddling her lap for nearly twenty minutes now, growing restless with your hands clasped behind your back, the only contact between you where your legs meet her own, clenching around nothing as your sex hovers over the gap where her thighs are pressed together. No friction. Hardly any heat. All while she whispers and coos and strokes your cheek with the back of her hand: You’re such a good girl; my pretty little baby; Mommy loves when you sit so nice like this. The exhilaration courses through you unabated, pleasant shivers hitting you like waves, quietly panting, quivering lip when she drags her fingernails over the flesh of your thighs.
“Hands here.” Larissa guides your hands out from behind your back to hold fast to the back of her chair, and you instinctively lurch at her meager touch, inhaling sharp and sweet. “I have some work I need to do now, darling–––can you take care of yourself for Mommy?” She shifts so that you’re straddling the vast expanse of one of her thighs now instead of two, pressed deliciously against your core. You nod vigorously, already close and desperate for any sort of relief she’ll grant you.
“Yes, Mommy.” She smiles soft and proud at your response, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before she walks the seat closer to her desk and reaches under your arms to begin typing away on her laptop.
“Go ahead, my love,” she encourages, flexing the muscle of her thigh against you.
You whimper airily, head ducked against her shoulder as your begin to roll your hips. The smell of her floods you as you burrow your nose into the divet where her neck begins: Floral and ripe, mingled with the faint scent of sweat. You lick a thick, steady stripe up Larissa’s neck and whine when she tuts, moving her head away.
“Ah-ah. You’ll distract me,” she says, gaze focused solely on the work ahead of her. You bite down into your cheek but acquiesce all the same, returning your forehead to her shoulder as you rock against her, reveling in the warmth that washes over you with the feeling of Larissa’s thigh on your clit. She hums appreciatively and subtly rocks with you to help you along, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Her fingers never hesitate over her keyboard.
You can feel your wetness dripping a path of slick heat along her leg while you search for traction. You press up on your tiptoes to change the angle of your pelvis – and when you find the perfect tilt you moan into her skin, relishing the pressure of her muscle against that little bundle of nerves between your legs. Your blouse pulls tight against the sensitive peaks of your nipples with a delightful strain, brushing so with each throw of your hips.
A commotion from the outer hall gives you pause: what sounds like a group of rowdy students passing through, which drives you to freeze in your ministrations until Larissa squeezes your waist and urges the movement of your hips again: “‘s alright, baby; door’s locked,” she murmurs. Her voice is husked over with desire as she noses your shoulder.
You nod at her direction and press on, rolling your sex against her more and more frantically as your orgasm builds. One of her hands drifts to the curve of your back and pulls you closer, deepening your arch until you’re practically chest-to-chest. She’s panting in tandem with you, huffing in short and shallow bursts as if it’s her getting herself off on you–––and it only makes you hotter, a deep flush running along the length of your body. There’s a line drawn straight from your cunt to the tip of your head and it grows tauter by the second.
“P-Please, –– please, can I cum?” you whimper against her, pushing and pulling your hips faster as your muscles begin to tighten within you.
“Do you think you’ve earned it?” Larissa digs her nails into your ass as you move. Her breath runs hot over your neck as she speaks.
“Yes, yes please, I’ve been such a good girl.” Your whining draws a chuckle out of her and she leans back to press a kiss to your neck, nipping at you. You dip your head back in order to grant her more access, each lap of her tongue wresting desperate cries from the base of your throat. The heat of her, the closeness of Larissa, brings you ever closer.
“Cum for me, pretty girl.” You gasp sharply as the coil snaps within you, flooding your body as it tenses and releases in equal measure and pushes hard into Larissa’s front. You grip frantically at her shoulders and neck as she holds you with both arms wrapped tightly around you, laying out a series of sweet kisses against the curtain of hair that’s fallen over your face.
“That’s it, you’re so good for me.. That’s it,” the blonde coos as she gives you another squeeze. A buzzing warmth replaces the lightning at your core, runs through your veins as you come to slump against her, breathing hard. You trail your fingertips up from her thighs to the nape of her neck to help ground yourself, ruminating over her warmth, her lines and curves, her strikingly blonde hair tickling your cheeks. She takes such lovely care of you.
“Thank you, Mommy,” you hum, limp in her arms. “I love you.”
Larissa holds you close, subtly swaying side to side as you recover, stroking the back of your head.
“I love you, too, darling girl.”
#i really hope this is okay anon! i tried to write it as best as i could :)#rlly wanted to get something out since it's been a little over a week since i last posted a piece#brain's just been unkind to me lately tbh#but mommy larissa??#she fixes everything duh#larissa weems x reader#larissa weems x female reader#larissa weems x f!reader#larissa weems x y/n#larissa weems x you#larissa weems imagine#principal weems x reader#principal weems imagine#wasjustred#answered (request)
399 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey 🫶🏻 Can I request having sex with Sukuna when he is extremely jealous? Like reader is kinda popular and other guys always tryna flirt with her and shit (she is not interested ofc) So when Sukuna saw another man shooting his shot he needs to blow off steam by fucking you dumb 🤕 and he saying shit like “what a good little cocksucker, maybe I should record you and send this video to all those bastards, so they would know who’s dick you’re gagging on” 😭 I’m so sorry if this is too specific, feel free to ignore 😭
Love your works 🥰
𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ofc ofccc !! and ty for loving my stuff~
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; you and Sukuna are college seniors - rough sex - fingering (f! receiving) - impact play (spanking + pussy slaps) - oral (m! receiving) - dumbification - choking - backshots + legs-up positions - degradation (cocksucker, dumb bitch, slut, whore) - overstimulation - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - pet names (dove, little girl, princess, woman) - possessive behavior (it's sukuna, duh) - use of a phone; sexual photography and videography - heavy depictions of a blowjob - mention of tears and spit.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k
“—Khaahh, oohhh!! Sukuna, pleasee, it hurts—Ahhhnn...!”
“Who said you’re in any position to tell me how to handle you, woman?… Fucking shit, you’re tight as hell…”
Everyone knows that you are off-limits. Knowledge of this fact is the bare minimum when dealing with the one known as “Sukuna’s girl” — no one should dare lay a finger or bat an eye on his woman. And yet, somehow, Sukuna continues to find strays that think this rule doesn’t apply to all.
He saw it not too long ago today when a guy came your direction at the hall, concealing himself in the shadows to eavesdrop. The junior was dumb enough to invite you to some get-together, foolish enough to think he should even be speaking to the partner of the cold and intimidating Ryōmen Sukuna.
You were the most popular girl in the class year — expected as Sukuna wouldn’t deal with someone who wasn’t [barely] on equal footing as him. However, unlike him, you carried a much kinder cadence. You greet others with sweet words, converse with professors in a mutual light, and engage with everyone with a compassionate and tranquil soul. — the complete opposite compared to your boyfriend. So, of course, it would be hard for you to turn away people when they come to you for guidance or opinions.
In this case, you had expressed to the junior that you weren’t interested and had plans to study at your boyfriend’s apartment later. It wasn’t a complete lie, yet a respectful diversion that was expected of you and pleased Sukuna observing.
However, the dull-witted brat put his hand on your shoulder and continued to press on, emphasizing that you’d miss out on people wanting to have a good time with you. A ballsy thing to remark as if saying your boyfriend holds no priority over some boring party. Besides, the man had to stop the itch of coming out of the shadows to strangle the kid for laying his hands on you.
Nonetheless, you gracefully pushed his hand aside and apologized again for declining his offer before heading on your way. The situation was disentangled, both parties carrying on with their days. But that wasn’t enough to calm the salmon-haired man.
Especially when you were in his apartment, protected under his gaze the entire time; you were sitting across from him at the coffee table while sorting through your coursework, unaware of the fixed look of his red eyes on your frame. Because all he could do was look at you, replaying the interaction from earlier today.
It all angered him deeply — how the junior said your name so casually, the laughs you shared with him, and the touch on your shoulder. Everything from that moment added fuel to the fire scorching in his gut. He couldn’t relax, knowing there were still imbeciles who had the gall to act so familiar with you, his princess.
The twitch of his brow couldn’t cease, same with the bounce of his knee – his nerves having an inner battle of maintaining a low profile. And being the caring piece in this relationship, you noticed. You blinked up to where he sat, “Is everything okay?”
Of course not, woman. As much as he wants to put all the blame on the guy, Sukuna felt that you also played a part in this charade. To him, you were just as worse as that fucker. How could you, his precious dove, allow such trash to be so close to you? Allowing that thing to touch you was such an insult to him, downright disrespectful to the man you call your boyfriend. And the fact that you didn’t think of telling him — believing that you could keep this as a small matter insignificant to his awareness — left a sour taste in his mouth.
In his philosophy, Sukuna knew you were in the wrong as well. And for that, you would also have to be dealt with by him, to be reminded of your place in all this.
“Ohoooo! Ooof!! ‘kunaaaa, your fingersss…! Too fast, please slow—Daaahhh!!”
He’d smack your wet cunt, forcing you to grip his satin sheets. You’d instantly try to close your legs, but Sukuna wasn’t having any of that, quick to pinch the skin of your inner thigh to correct you.
“Dumb bitch,” he throws insults, void of caring that you were on the brink of tears. He brings a hand to your throat, resulting in you gagging from your circulation being cut off. “I told you to keep those legs open. First, you let some fucker touch you, and now you can’t obey me when necessary? Do you enjoy disrespecting me like this?”
“Ahck! I–hic–I’m sorryyy,” he could feel you clench on his fingers, gripping them as if you refused to let them go.
It humored Sukuna, who effortlessly removed his digits to give your slit another harsh slap that made you gasp for air. An action proved difficult with his whole right hand constricting your airways. “Are you? How can you be sorry when you’re latching onto my fingers like a slut?” His hold on your neck goes tighter; your hands claw at his forearm, a desperate plea that doesn’t sway him. “Say it like you mean it, Y/n.”
“Khh..Ahh—Please, forgive me, Sukuna…!” Your apology came through wheezes, tears now welling up to fall on your pretty face, yet you knew it wasn’t enough. “I should have…Never let that junior tou—Mmmph! …Touch me… I’m your princess, only yours.”
A pink brow is lifted, but his expression remains unchanged. With one last slap to your leaking chasm, Sukuna lets go of your throat for you to cough and gasp as much air as you can. While you do that, he removes his turtleneck and unbuttons his dark jeans, bringing his briefs down to spring his erection out before lying back onto the pillows against the bed headboard. “Prove it then,” his voice has you turn to listen. “Suck me off the way I like it.”
You are in no position to resent him, crawling towards him on all fours and immediately going to work. Your tongue greets his reddish-pink glans with swirls, licking his frenulum and nibbling on the skin before taking the head to your mouth. You lather his cock with your spit as you bob your head, hallowing your cheeks to take in every inch while your hand glides up and down his shaft.
“Nnmph, fuck,” Sukuna groans at the feeling of your feverish sucks of his cockhead, your hand stroking him while you tend to him with your mouth feels too good. He peers down to watch you suck hard on his tip, and you return his gaze with a hooded look while sucking on his balls, causing him to hum. You then bring the tip back into your lips, making raunchy noises as you take his girth and lick his precum.
“Heh, what a nasty little girl,” he comments after you exude a trail of spit onto his dick before hurriedly slurping him back inside your warm mouth. “I outta take a picture of you…No, a video is better.” He’s pleased to see your watery eyes twinkle with dread when he pulls out his phone from his jean pocket. He slides to open the camera application, “Maybe I should show that fool how such a good cocksucker you are for me.”
“S–Sukuna, please, anything but—Mmmm!” Again, no one said you were in a position to speak out of turn. Hence why, your boyfriend grabs your cheeks roughly with a single hand. Crimson eyes pierce through your fragile skin, and your figure fills with fright within milliseconds.
“What did I say about giving me orders?” His tone is enough to send shivers down your spine, his nails denting your cheeks. “Does my woman want me to expose them for the filthy whore they are? Cause I couldn’t care less if I one day start leaking these shits and have your reputation crumble in seconds as a lesson.”
A tiny bit of you wants to believe he wasn’t serious; however, the single tear shed from your unblinking eyes tells a different conscience. You reply with a shaky breath and a quivering lip. “No, Sukuna...Please forgive me.”
He releases your chin with a push of the thumb. “Then get back to it, dove.” The sweetness of that pet name wasn’t present as he smacked your cheek with his length. You listen to him, taking him back into your throat with a euphoric mewl while cupping and kneading his balls. He sneers and presses the record button, “Just like that, princess.”
And don’t think that it ends there — because it doesn’t.
“Ahhhnn! Oooooh, my God, ‘Kuna..’kunaaaa, I can’t—Ahahnn!”
“—Nngh, that’s right, Y/n; scream for me…Fuck, this tight ass pussy…”
Sukuna now has your face down ass up, pinning you to the satin mattress by the shoulders and hammering his bare cock right into your messy cunt. Your cries are muffled by the sheets you bite into, tears streaming down hot cheeks as your boyfriend plows himself deep side your core. The commotion coming between your sexes fills his bedroom outside of the squeals that bounce against the walls.
Your figure jolts with every thrust, Sukuna’s pelvis smacking on your ass that stings with hot skin after taking onslaughts of slaps from his hands. Your clitoris, exhausted from the constant tweaks and pinches, rests with the cool air treating the sore button. Sweat is covered all over your nude body, evidence that you and your boyfriend have been going about this for a long while, and of course, you’re getting a bit fatigued and overly sensitive to his every touch. But you know he doesn’t care; this is all for your punishment.
Sukuna throws your butt another smack, having your vaginal walls instinctively contract around his girth. He hisses with a grin, “Damn, I love seein’ you like this.” His eyes trail down from your sweaty shoulders, following your spine and hips, down to your ass, where he sees the insertion of his dick being swallowed by you. Seeing the white, soapy ring shielded around his cock makes him bite his lip. “All sore and dirty for me…Mmmph, gripping on me like a slut, going dumb on my cock.”
His hips then propel erratically, having your howl with eyes shooting up. You were too far gone to think of proper thought, with your brain churned into mush and your head pounding nonstop. The heat on your face is just as unbearable as the throbbing sensation down south. Your trembling legs try so hard not to give in and slump, yet you can’t lie; you’re tired, sore, and sticky all over.
“Nmaahh! OhhhJesussss, ‘kuna, pleaseeee, lemme cummm—Mmaahh!” Another smash to your ass, followed by a pinch to your clitoris to juxtapose with the slow strokes he uses to massage the delicate spots of your walls.
“Why do you think I should let you cum, woman?” He swipes on your clit, listening intently to the whines that climb higher with the brush of his finger.
Your words come out in slurs, yet you must answer to him. “I’m shorryy, I didn’t mean to—oh, fuck…do you wrong. Yer the only man who can touch me, wound me,” You peer over your shoulder to see Sukuna, an action that has him release your clit and hear what you have to say. “And love me…just as I love you, and only you. No one else can have me like you…Hahhh, I’m yours, both in mind and body…” Salmon brows furrow as you continue. “I love only you and want only you to touch me, ‘Kuna..Please forgive me, I won’t do it again…”
He was already sold once you turned to look at him, you little minx. Your watery eyes suddenly struck his heart — you are the only thing in the world that could do that, his little dove. He can tell by your heaves and pants that you wish to rest, that you had enough of his lesson and want to be in his embrace.
However, no unpleasant deed shouldn’t go unpunished. Within a second, Sukuna has you flipped on your back with your legs brought up to his left shoulder. He brings out his phone once again, swiping to put on the camera after inserting his length back inside you. “Hey, princess,” he calls to you. “Why don’t you say hello to the camera for me? Want something to look back to.”
You gulp with a dry throat, sheepishly smiling at the camera phone. “Hello, I’m Y/n—Ooohh!!” He surprises you with more ruts to your chasm, clamping onto him as if your life depended on it.
“Who do you belong to, Y/n?” He calls out to you with a steady breath, as if his pelvis wasn’t poisoning deep to grind your insides to evoke pretty moans to escape puffy lips.
“Hahaaa!! I—Hnnph..I belong to Sukuna Ryō–hic…men…”
“Who does this pussy belong to, Y/n?” Ruts become harsher with every word.
“—Mmoohhh, fuuuhuck, it’s yours, only yoursss,” you voluntarily take up your legs and hold them from behind your knees, bringing them to your chest. “Me and this pussy belong to only Sukuna, no one else can touch me…!”
Sukuna pans the phone down to the union of his dick, moving to and fro from your slit. The white essence painting both sexes was making an erotic mess, strings of his come covering his girth with every push and pull. He chuckles to himself. “This right here is all mine, ya hear?” He looks at you to see you nod your head hurriedly. “Don’t you ever forget that, understand?” You nod again, clenching around him when he drops the phone and leans towards you to place his hands on yours.
It’s here that he finally finishes with you, pounding his hips into you as hard as he can. Your voice gets higher and higher, your headache getting intense with the ruts on your cunt. And with how he stretches and grazes your walls? Jesus, it was terrible to control yourself, your orgasm increasing by the second. “I wanna cumm, ‘kunaaa, let me cum on you, pleaseee….!!”
“Heh, desperate to tighten some more for me, huh.” He adds more weight onto you, forcing you to submit to him. You shudder under his bow, “You may now cum, dove.”
As if on command, you let yourself loose and allow the climax to finally be free, wailing during yet another crescendo as your vagina flutters around him for the fourth time that night. And Sukuna relishes the feeling of you tightening on him, doing excruciating slow strokes to enjoy the moment.
“Hmmm, that’s it, just like that…Remember this, princess,” He bends down to lick the tears on your cheeks before kissing them. “Know your place.” He then brings the phone back up to close this session.
“Now smile for me.”
requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are wholeheartedly appreciated ☆ header edit done by me, dividers by @/benkeibear.
#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen smut#ryomen sukuna smut#sukuna ryomen x you#sukuna ryomen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fic#jjk imagines#anime smut
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Dp x dc AU - If the Internation Space Station orbits the Earth 16 times a day, then so does the Watchtower.
Danny’s on track to move out of his parent’s house and move to Gotham for college (He swears that Sam bribed the board to let him in- and she wasn’t even going to that university!) but the dorms don’t open for another three days and he cannot wait to escape. Seeing his parents try to perfect yet another weapon to use against him while he changed out the ecto filters on the portal was too much. He’s completely over the idea of staying when he already has everything packed and ready to go.
The solution? Take all his boxes into his haunt in the Ghost Zone, leave them there and then spend some time in camping in space. He’s already explored the Infinite Realms enough to be bored of it for a minute (not to mention he wants to avoid getting more ‘favors’ to do from Clockwork) and hell, he just wants to see some stars.
He grabs his tent, a sleeping bag and all the food and things he could need and brings it into the atmosphere with him. Keeping it all tethered to him, Danny stays in a fixed position above Gotham (Cause that’s where he’s going next, duh) and treats himself to some quality Me-time.
Only problem is that several times a day he has to make himself intangible while he lets satellites and things pass through. Easy enough and honestly pretty interesting to observe as a wannabe engineering student.
He doesn’t know when exactly it happened the first time- but it turns out the Heroes of Earth all congregated in a satelite office building? It was bigger than the ISS! What the heck!?
Going intangible but not invisible, the JL spot Danny and are incredibly confused how an ‘Alien’ teen just happens to appear in their meeting rooms disappearing at the rate (slowly but surely) of the Watchtower moving through space. Was that camping gear? How was he roasting a marshmallow? Did propane camping stoves even work in space??
16 times a day they get the opportunity to ask Danny a few questions. He mostly ignores them or gives them joke answers. Eventually Martian Manhunter phases through the Watchtower to join him.
They talk about how hard transition periods in life can be and having strained relationships with family. J’ohn returns to the watchtower on its next cycle and reports that the kid is just fine, being an adult is just a hard thing to do.
#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#Danny Phantom#justice league#watchtower#dc#dc crossover#dc universe#martian manhunter#so much potential for him to haunt them but tbh he just wants to keep looking at the stars#dont ask me how his camping stove works in the vaccum of space google was unhelpful and i failed physics 2#well i mean i passed it eventually but i failed it the first time#thats the energy im bringing and the energy i feel like vibes with danny#the iss moves around earth 16 times a day tho and i think thats neat#martian manhunter is like dude earth relationships are legit so hard and im not just saying that as a refugee#id also like to think that miss martian eventually joins them and danny gets invited to join the YJ
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
*ੈ✎ xoxo, gossip girl!
content: leo valdez x reader, percy jackson x reader, jason grace x reader
╰┈▸ back cover: how would gossip sessions with them go?
warnings: cursing, rude humor??
librarian's annotations: doing this instead of requests um
*ੈ LEO VALDEZ
SASSY MAN APOCALYPSE
god hes probably talking shit more than u
"oh her? yeah she was such a bitch like no way she looked at you like that when i said i was so obviously taken!"
"and her hair? has she ever heard of a brush? like, if you're gonna come at my girlfriend, at least make yourself look better so you don't embarrass yourself. oh wait, you can't!"
probably laying on you as he does this, and starts squeezing you tightly
"because my girlfriend is the prettiest girl in the world!"
awww that's cute right?
WRONG this man is so quick with his comebacks its actually insane
does NOT think before he speaks
doesnt hold back, even against you (booo why did ur gf privileges not apply to that)
"leo! can you like, move your fat ass off me?" you groan under him as he lays down with his dead weight on top of you.
"like the fat ass you don't have?"
were you silent or SILENCED
everytime you think he wouldnt take it that far?? oh he will go THERE (but he always makes sure u know hes joking)
doesnt want to invoke your wrath so he apologizes IMMEDIATELY
"fix your hair-"
"fix your face- IM SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO-"
*ੈ PERCY JACKSON
guys. we cant forget abt the OG SASSY MAN
also talking shit a whole lot more than he should
"uh, she needs to get her act together before she can start coming at others; like-" rolls his eyes for EMPHASIS "who does she think she is, talking to you like that?"
damn, who taught this man sass?
bro was BORN with it or smth
even outsasses you sometimes
if you tell him to get like a snack or something and hes in the mood to just lay down with you, he will huff SO loudly
"ugh, fine!"
gets you extra snacks anyway in case you want more (and drinks obviously)
SO SO INVESTED like he has the WHOLE story down
but sometimes mixes up the ppl if its been a while
"wait wait, so the library girl and the jock are dating?"
"the nerd and the library girl are dating, but the jock wanted library girl."
"that makes a lot of sense, actually."
has tea of his OWN because the sea knows everything apparently
"tobias told me-" percy started.
"who the fuck is tobias?"
"the turtle, duh. anyway, he said that this guy always takes girls to the beach on their first date, to make them fall in love with him or something. like, every single girl he's dated."
"...does that count as a manipulation tactic?"
*ੈ JASON GRACE
will be on your side no matter what
like if you end it with an "it is what it is"
um??? it is NOT what it is hello?
doesnt look like hes listening but hes paying attention to EVERYTHING
like hes "reading" a book but hes been on the same page for the entire time youve been talking
tries not to laugh at your rather creative insults, but sometimes you get a soft chuckle out of him
you take that as a win
once, you caught him listening through the door as you gossiped with piper over the phone
he was SO embarrassed omg
after that, you made sure to tell him all the tea as soon as you have it
"—and he cheated on her with her SISTER. who's like, three years younger than him! like, what the fuck? that's not even all he did!" you sit up, hands playing with the blanket. you think you see him lean a bit closer, as if wanting to hear more. "she fucked his brother in his room, like, her ex boyfriend's room for revenge! okay, that was a bitch move, but was it deserved?"
jason shrugged. "i'd say no one deserves to be cheated on, but he kinda did deserve it."
"exactly!"
#*ੈ✎ stories#covey did u see the tobias sneak#leo valdez#leo valdez x reader#jason grace#jason grace x reader#percy jackson#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson and the olympians x reader#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo#hoo#pjo x reader#hoo x reader#heroes of olympus x reader#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa
809 notes
·
View notes
Text
to the brim ... <3
dom!abby x fem!sub!reader
!! not my pic !!
warnings: fluff + smut [MDNI and MEN DNI.] modern!au / no apocalypse, established relationship, softdom!abby [?], i couldnt think of good gifts dont mind it, abby is a gamer confirmed bc i said so, breeding [duh], abby has a breeding strap, filthy talk omg :(( ah!! i think thats it
a/n: ever since i read @seattlesellie's ellie breeding fic... i've been a changed woman. so here's my take on abby! p.s.: no desc. of hair, skin color, size, etc. :) this is also kinda long but enjoy my loves!
you and abby had been together for around 3 long, happy years. the happiest years, you could say. it was weird; you never thought you'd end up like this. never.. imagined being happy with someone, especially someone as outgoing and brave as abby. you were complete opposites, you being more introverted and kept to yourself while abby was loud and proud. even the way she asked you out [buying you your favorite flowers, making you dinner, AND two cute little matching rings] was memorable and creative. you've always loved everything about her.
today, in present time, is your anniversary. every year, you attempt to top the last year. always remembering little details and bookmarking whatever she sent you just for this moment. abby's currently at her office job; "busiest day of the year, but i'll be back in time for dinner," she explained earlier that morning. "promise!" you take this as an opportunity to buy her gifts and plan out a romantic dinner for the night.
lately, she's been wanting these lego flower sets [specifically the orchid ones since they reminded her of you.. :,)], so you quickly bought one. that isn't enough, you think, so you also get custom lego keychains of both of you, making them both wear wedding dresses and smile as bright as the sun. while you're at it, you get her favorite cake, chocolate with strawberry sprinkles, and have "happy 3rd anniversary, my love" on the top. you smile as you reach your apartment, already visualizing her surprised face. i'll get her this year, you think as you step inside.
── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────
hours later, you hear a slight knock knock knock on the door. perfect timing, you think, quickly fixing your hair and looking over your outfit. you're wearing a black maxi dress, tight-fitting over your curves, but simple in style. it's kinda casual, but abby insisted on staying home. "it's for my surprise," she argued, a smirk forming on her face as she said it. she always had some quick trick up her sleeve, but you're even quicker.
well. most of the time.
you peek in the peephole, and there she is. she's wearing her glasses today [her bluelight ones you bought for her your last anniversary since she always complained about her headaches], dressed in all black and her hair flowing down her shoulders. her hands hold onto the handle of a medium sized, deep red giftbag. she probably feels your eyes on her, because flashes a pearly smile up to the small opening. no matter how much she smiles, you never get tired of it. you quickly unlock the door and open it widely.
her pale skin turns a slight dusty shade of pink as she looks you up in down, lovingly taking in your beauty. her mouth opens to say something, but all that comes out is a soft, "hi, baby," before she pulls you into a tight hug, exhaling as she wraps her toned arms around you. she feels like.. like something familiar, but nothing you've ever felt before. something comforting. like home.
she pulls back, placing her hands on either cheek. her eyes move back and forth from one eye to another, almost as if she's trying to read your mind, hear your thoughts. "missed you so much, bun." she leans in, giving you two small pecks on the lips before pulling you into one last hug.
"missed you more abs," you murmur, "more than you'd ever know."
she pulls back, smiling as you mirror her expression. after a couple of seconds, she finally looks around the apartment. "babe?" she questions, clearly in shock. there's big, red heart balloons and her favorite candles are lit all around. she's completely enveloped in the candlelit room, gasping when she looks down and sees rose petals scattered beautifully on the wooden floor. you see her eyes lock onto two red, nicely wrapped gifts on the coffee table. "oh. my god," she looks from the living room back to you, astonished. "no, you didn't."
"oh, yes i did," you giggle as you close and lock the front door. she walks carefully over the fresh rose petals into the living room. she sits on the couch, looking up at you with doe eyes. "babe, if this is what i think it is..." she pauses and exhales. all you can do is smile; your excitement cannot be contained. "open them up!" you cheer, sitting down in the armchair beside the sofa.
she picks up the smaller box, cautiously shaking it. she was always great at guessing your gifts. but this time, she furrows her brows in confusion. she shakes it once more, a little harder this time, deep thought written across her sharp face. the scrunch in her nose makes you laugh a bit. "is it.." she starts, but cuts herself off. "i don't know.. actually."
you shrug, "then open it, babe." she sighs before accepting defeat and opening the small package. as soon as she gets the paper off, she gasps and looks up at you. "oh my god!" she exclaims. "wait, are these-" she looks back at the package, back at you, and holds it up to your face. "oh my god! it's us!"
you smile and laugh while she gushes over the fact they look exactly like you two. "how did they get my hair perfect? and the little dresses! i mean, look at it, oh my god." she admires them silently for a few seconds before uttering, "this is gonna be us, bun. i promise."
the uncontrollable urge to smile takes over your face, making your cheeks hurt a bit. she's muttering a thousand "thank you"s before opening the next one; the one you're the most excited about. she's been talking about this since last year, but she never had the time to get it or start it, matter of fact.
she tears the paper once again, immediately stopping in her tracks. her eyes move up to you once again and her jaw goes slack. "oh my FUCKING god," she yells, ripping the rest of the paper off. it's almost like she's a child again; the way her face lights up makes your entire day worth while. she proceeds to nerd out over the set once again, "this is so... oh my goodness i can't even explain how excited i am. thank you so much babe... wow.. i got so lucky..."
── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────
you made her favorite dinner that night, having it freshly prepared for her and still warm on the stove. she just rambles about how she's the luckiest woman in the world to have a beautiful girlfriend and how much she loves you. she continues this throughout the entire meal, making sure she can treat you with the same treatment whenever she can; wiping your cheek when anything got on your face, getting you whatever you needed with no questions asked.. anything. basically, your everyday treatment with her.
after dinner, you both sit on the sofa, talking about your days. mid-conversation, abby randomly gasps.
"and then he was li- uhm... abby?"
"oh my god. i almost forgot!"
"what? what's the matter?"
"your gift!!"
she practically jumps out of her seat, striding over to the counter where she left the giftbag. "can't believe i forgot my gift for my special girl." she scoffs at herself and sits while handing you the bag. it's not heavy, but it's also not lightweight. you scan through your memories of things you've mentioned to her: cats, a wedding ring, books... but it didn't seem like any of that stuff was in here.
you give up, opening the top and looking inside. your jaw drops. you see a long, light pink box. there's fancy gold lettering across the front that you can't read. you take the box out, and unwrap the ribbon bow from around it. as you lift the top up, you see plush flowers and.. a small hello kitty stuffed animal in between the flowers. you squeal as you put the bag down and hug abby tightly, muttering thankyouthankyouthankyou!! all she does is smile and whisper "of course, princess." you think that's it before you realize there's a small pink card and a even smaller box inside the bag.
confused, you pick up the card and analyze the cover. it's a baby princess themed card; such an abby thing to do. you glance over at her to crack a smile, but you realize she has on that devilish smirk plastered across her face. uh oh, you think. "why're you smiling like that, babe?"
"like what?" her smirk grows wider.
that's even more 'abby' like than the card.
you roll your eyes jokingly before deciding to open the card up. inside, there's a paragraph written:
"dear y/n,
happy 3rd anniversary, my love! i'm so glad you're in my life, even after all this time. you'll always be special to me and i see that we will grow old together. i know you've been wanting that bouquet for a while, but i noticed you've been obsessed with something more.."
you glance up at abby once again. she's watching your reaction with that same smirk. what is she up to? you continue to read:
"i hope you noticed the cover of the card; of course, you're my princess, and you always will be. but i always see you looking at baby clothes when we're out, gushing over baby videos at home, etc etc. and even though we technically can't make one.. i can still give you the experience. ;) love your [nonofficial] wife, abby"
you feel your face heat up as you close the card. abby's large, warm hand suddenly starts stroking your leg through the dress, jolting you back to reality. she chuckles, whispering, "mm, you want that, right? you want me to knock you up?" she's getting closer, her hot breath hitting your neck, making you shudder. "want me to fill you to the brim, baby? hm?"
she's kissing your neck, small pecks turning into full-on hickeys. she loves the way you whimper and squirm, the way you turn your head to give her more access. "i'll take that as a yes," she breathes, a small laugh leaving her mouth. her hand travels from your leg, up to your neck and chin, making you turn and kiss her.
"so pretty like this," she coos in between kisses. she's lost in your big eyes, your noises; lost in you. she toys with the thin straps of your dress, subtly signaling to take it off. you, of course, rush to peel it off. after you do so, you're almost completely naked while she's completely clothed. the drastic difference makes you feel small under her predatory gaze. she taps her thigh twice and demands, "come here, princess."
you straddle her lap, your clothed cunt slightly gaining friction against her pants, making you whimper. "such pretty noises," she murmurs, mostly to herself. her hands rest nicely on your sides, right above your hips. "so, tell me," she starts. "how you wanna do this, mama?"
the new nickname makes you feel a slight heartbeat in between your legs. "oh, you liked that, huh?" she comments, smirking as she looks up at your pretty little face. "well, if you want me to take control, i'll do it. i'll do whatever you want, mama."
"use me," you blurt out, desperately needing her right at that moment. you move your hips back and forth, grinding against her crotch to relieve the ache in between your thighs. abby lets out a breathy laugh, "oh, you want it that bad? god, you're so cute."
before you can respond, she's wrapping her arm around your waist and standing up. you wrap your legs around her waist and your arms around her neck out of instinct. she's walking you to the bedroom, just like her little princess.
when she gets into the room, she lays you on your back, legs behind held back by her large hands pinning them under your armpits. your breath is shaky, heartbeat practically bulging out of your chest. she leaves a trail of sloppy, wet kisses from your neck alllll the way down to your bellybutton. "f-fuck, abby," you shudder, her face getting closer and closer to your heat. "what's wrong?" she asks, "what you need, baby?"
"need you inside," you beg, not caring how pathetic you sound now. "oh, i know, baby," she coos, "but i wanna make this special for you, okay? no rushing. just us."
you appreciate her genuine care with your intimate experiences with her, but at this point, the ache was growing more and more painful as time went on. you whine, moving one of the hands pinning your leg to your cunt. "please, abs. need it."
"fuck, babe," her voice is low and husky, almost a growl. "okay, okay, i got you, mkay? i'll treat you right, promise."
her pointer finger ghosts over your swollen clit, forcing a small moan out. small little circles stimulate your bud, drenching your already soaked panties. she groans, "always so wet f'me, my god." as if she can't take it anymore, she practically rips off the small cloth off your aching pussy. the cold air meeting the warmth of your core makes you gasp, squeezing your thighs together in response.
abby's warmth comes back and divorces your legs apart, pinning them back to where they were originally. "gonna take such good care of you, mama," she mutters, kissing your inner thighs. after what feels like an eternity of teasing, she finally lays small, short kitten licks on your cunt. the small feeling of her warm muscle against your clit relieves the burning ache in your core, but only for a second. she lays a flat tongue, collecting your slick as she moves up. your small "oh"s egg her on, fueling her ego as she spreads your lips apart and latches onto your bud. your moans grow louder and louder, legs slightly trembling from how good it felt. little did you know, she's getting off on your pretty little reactions; she's moaning against your bud, vibrations making your legs shake even more.
"ffffuck-," you cry out, gripping the sheets from pleasure. the vibrations send you over the edge, the familiar tingly feeling in your abdomen unraveling. "m'cumming- oh my god," you wail, attempting to close your legs to get away from abby's tongue. her hands grip your thighs, forcing them apart once again. she continues to suck on your clit, overstimulating you. "t-too much - fuck!"
your juices and her saliva mix, coating the bottom of her chin. she finally unlatches from your sensitive, swollen bud and wipes her chin. "sorry, bun," she says, heavily breathing, "you just taste so goddamn sweet, i had to!"
as abby starts to walk away [you assume it's to help you clean up so you guys can sleep], you slowly drift away into a deep sleep..
"nuh uh, 'm not done with you, mama."
your eyes force open, eyes immediately landing on abby's bare chest. she was almost never topless around you - except when you two showered together - but it wasn't a norm in the house. you unintentionally whisper, "you're so beautiful," causing a wide smile to go across abby's kind face. "thank you, baby," she replied, "c'mere." she patted the edge of the bed. her usual black strap was buckled on, intimidating you from the end of the bed.
you crawl to the edge, sitting on your feet when you reach abby. she giggles, "get on your back, babe. you know the drill." you follow her orders, slightly chuckling at your mistake. as she lines herself up with your slit, she caresses your face, just telling you how much she loves you; "love you so much, bun. i'm so lucky to have you, y'know that, right?" she peppers small pecks along your face in between, smiling at your perfect face.
"'m gonna go all in, okay? jus' let me know when i can move," she warns. you nod, slightly nervous. the strap seemed bigger than usual; a bit wider too. it made you think she'd rip you apart with this thing! but as she bottomed out, the sharp painful sensation was short lived and replaced with a more pleasant sensation, the feeling of being full. and not just full, but full of her.
you start to slightly grind on her cock, trying to get any pleasure. the desperate motion making abby smirk and slam into you again, this time earning a loud, pathetic yelp from you. she continues to slam into you, holding your hips for leverage. "yea, keep makin' those pretty sounds for me," she groans, almost in an animalistic way. all you can do is tell her how good you feel, hands gripping onto her toned biceps.
she brings a hand down, right over your abdomen, pressing slightly. "you feel me right there, yea?" there's a slight bulge where her strap is; the sight makes you drool slightly. you nod feverishly, focusing on her voice and her dick pounding into you. her hips snap back and forth, squishing sounds filling the dimly lit room.
she, on the other hand, is hyper-focused on watching the black silicone disappear inside your gushing cunt, a vague white ring forming around the base of her cock. the sight alone has her pussydrunk and practically forming a pool in between her thighs. "such a messy fucking cunt," she murmurs. "wish i could fucking - shit - fill that little pussy up."
your moans become louder, your grip tightening on the meat of her muscles. your head goes back, putting the hickeys she gave you on full display. "oh, you fucking like that, huh?" she places both hands on either side of your head, still fucking you at a relentless pace. every thrust she does, her tits bounce slightly in front of you. her hair frames her face perfectly, the sweat beads racing down her skin as she pounds into you.
"holy fuck," you whimper. her cock, buried deep inside your greedy little cunt, hits that spongy spot inside of you, making you go insane. she smirks, she knows what she's doing. "what? speak up, princess," she speaks, a mocking tone laced in her words.
"s-so good," a choked moan cuts you short.
"you like the way 'm fucking you? like the way that dick got you going crazy, huh?"
a string of yesyesyes's is all you can get out, too lost in your own pleasure.
"wan' me to fuck my baby into you?" she's out of breath, start to whimper, but she doesn't slow down or stop. she just keeps. on. pounding. she's chasing her orgasm, clit bumping against the base of the strap. you're just a wailing, helpless mess under her, begging for her to cum into you. "i need it, p-please, abs!"
she moans loudly as her thrusts get sloppier, slowing down slightly. you feel a thick liquid unleash into your hole, filling you up. the new feeling causing you to gasp, looking down at where you two met. abby fully pulls out after a few seconds, when a gush of white liquid slowly drips out of your stuffed cunt. she whispers, "fuck, that's a pretty sight to see." using one hand, she spreads you open, your fucked-out hole on display, just for her.
you're still trying to steady your breathing, getting more tired by the second. abby sits on the bed next to you, pulling you into her lap. she caresses your face once again, "did so good f'me, baby. happy anniversary." she kisses your forehead, cuddling you close to her body. before you fully fall asleep, she picks you up, bridal style.
"wh- what are you doing?" you question, half asleep.
"gotta clean you up, babe." she giggles at your sleepy voice.
── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────
after a long, warm bubble bath together and a small cleaning session, you and abby finally lay back on the couch to watch a movie and cuddle.
"y'know what, babe?" she asks, shoveling chocolate cake into her mouth.
"what?"
"i wish i could actually get you pregnant."
you slightly giggle at that, "me too."
"i also want to marry you. really badly." she's looking at your face now, reading into your soul.
"we should get married," you speak, thoughtfully. what's the point of her bringing this u-
she gets up unexpectedly, walking over to your giftbag. confused, you ask, "what's up?" she pulls out that small box you saw earlier. "oh, nothing.." she walks in front of you, then dips down onto one knee.
you gasp. is this really happening? right here right now?? someone pinch me.
"y/n, you've made me the happiest woman on earth for the past 3 years we've been together. not to mention the first 4 of us being friends. now, i'm not gonna give a long, sappy speech during this amazing moment," she slightly chuckles, "but i want to ask you.. will you be my wife?" she opens the box, a shiny ring glistening in the light.
you can't see it that well since tears well up in your eyes. you could've never asked for anyone better than abby. she's made you a better person overall. she's been there for you, even in your darkest times. you nod, wiping your tears.
she's slightly chuckling, which you don't realize until your eyes clear. it's.. a minecraft ring. specifically a minecraft rose on a thick band of gold. you laugh and let her slide it on your ring finger.
"i'm sorry," she's still giggling as she gets up from the floor, "i saw this while i was out and i was like 'this is perfect.'" you're also giggling, "it is perfect. thank you, baby."
── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────
a/n: abby's such a jokester! anyway hope u guys enjoyed this took forever!
taglist: @unicycl @xnoviee @aouiaa @akenosimp167 @njplatesruler [if you're striked out, i can't tag u!! :(]
#abby anderson smut#abby anderson#the last of us smut#tlou fic#abby anderson x female reader#abby x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#tlou smut#tlou2 smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Young Gods (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: History has a way of repeating itself. Much like another pair before you, Aemond and you make each other worse.
Requested: Yup. Hades!Aemond with a not so literal twist. Strong!Reader. Requests still open!
Warnings: Dark fic? Rape is mentioned a lot. People in their underwear, non-consensual touching and nudity. Beheading. Kidnapping, duh. Plenty of self harm threats. Detailed TW after the whole work.
STORM’S END IS cold. As you dismount, the wind snaps your braid back, forcing you to grab it with one hand. You are careful to fix the flower shaped pins attached there. They were a terrible choice for today, as was your dress. It’s made of a fine red linen, bodice shaped like leaves hugging your body.
You favor botanical patterns, but it seems this keep is not the place for it. Sensing your distress, your dragon whines.
“Everything it’s alright, girl.” You shush her, affectionately. She is a lovely dragon, although on the small side. The guards don’t seem very impressed with her, and it vexes you. She may not be what people think of when they picture a dragon, but she had been with you since you were only a couple of days old.
Her youthfulness is seen by many as a hindrance, but not to you. Just as your brother’s dragons, your Green Lady is a daughter to Syrax. She had hatched when you were a babe, and shared your craddle until she got too big and needed to be moved to the dragonpit. The bond you shared was stronger than what older dragons could ever hope to have with second or third riders.
Perhaps because of your derisive thoughts about older dragons, there is a sudden, loud screech. Vhagar. Of course. That was why the guards were so unimpressed with your dragon. You chuckle, out of sheer frustration. What else could go wrong today?
The tensions in your family had always been more on the male side. Both Helaena and you had been left out of it, both deemed too queer to truly engage in clever quips and insulting toasts. Your uncle, in particular, had never paid much attention to you.
There had been some japes about your bastardy, but Aemond had been more focused on Luke and Jace. He preferred to single them out, take his frustrations out through humiliating your siblings.
Some of it, you guessed, had to do with the loss of his eye. Luke had taken it from him, after all. But a secret, resentful part of you thought it had to do with the fact they were men.
Thank the Gods your mother had sent Luke to deal with the Arryns. You shuddered to think the face Aemond would make when he saw you, but had you been Luke, you feared that he would have snapped. He would probably have ended up doing something unforgivable.
You tell one of the guards your name. “I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”
The man looks at you, pity in his eyes. He knows as well as you that your mission is doomed from the start. If you had beaten Aemond there, if you had something more substantial to offer…
Thunder cracks. Rain seems about to start. You square your shoulders, and smile at him.
“… Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” It chafes, that the knight doesn’t refer to your mother by her proper title. You bet that when he announced Aemond, they named him brother to the King.
When you enter the hall, your eyes do not linger on any decorations or the people there. Your eyes scan over them, searching for a tall figure, dressed in all black. Aemond is looming to the side of Lord Borros’ throne. Next to him, stands a girl with a no nonsense expression, dressed in Baratheon's colors.
“Lord Borros.” You address the man on the throne. He is big and broad, with a long beard. He is also wearing a tremendous scowl. You give him your sweetest smile. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”
“Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King.” The man gestures at Aemond, tone dripping with condescension. “Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”
Some of the guards present and the Baratheon girl laugh. You keep your expression pleasant, unaffected by the mockery. Having grown as an unusual child, you are used to it. It had endeared you to your aunt, but unlike her, you were adept enough with social cues to know you were being laughed at.
I’ll tell you a secret: Humiliation still tastes the same, even when you are expecting it.
“What is your mother’s message?” Borros asks, when it is clear you will not react. You step closer and hand him the letter. “Where is the bloody maester?”
You watch as the maester reads the letter aloud, whispering into his lord’s ear. You don’t notice how Aemond steps closer.
“Remind me of my father’s oath. Bah.” Borros scoffs. Despite knowing your mission had been doomed from the start, you still feel disappointed. As silly as it sounded, you had been harboring a secret hope that he would change his mind. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact.”
“If I do as your mother bids… Which one of my daughters will you wed, girl?” He mocks, and you see red. You wish to tear him to pieces, this smug man, Daemon, Jace. It comes down to that, once again. The fact that you are not a man.
Your mother had yet to name her heir. She always excused herself by saying her throne was not yet secure, the succession issue would be settled in time. But you knew her true thoughts. Her sweet girl, she called you. The strange firstborn, who liked flowers and dressing up as a forest nymph. The one that was not fit to rule.
There is no succession issue, you wanted to scream, sometimes, as you watched Daemon pat your twin in the back, give him secret smiles. He assumed he was to be King. The bond they had was one you envied, sometimes. Daemon had never looked at you as a daughter, having two of them already. But Jace was his first son.
It wasn’t fair. You had come out of the womb first, wailing, before even Jacaerys was pushed out. Your mother was doing to you what her own father had done to her, refusing to recognize her as heir. But unlike what had happened to her, you doubted she would change her mind.
“I would wed one of your sons, my lord.” You say, smoothly. The anger, the fire and blood that make you a dragon, threatens to burst through. “But I do not know if I am free to marry, for my twin brother heads North to offer my hand to Lord Stark.”
Offer. As if it were not yours to give. You are not sure of how you will lay with a man when you despise them this much. The mere thought revolts you, tales of the birthing bed and the consummation making rage bubble up under your skin. You wish you had been born a man.
Your brother rides North with tales of your beauty and fertility, the same you must have inherited from your mother. As if you were a breeding bitch, of impeccable stock, to produce more pups for the northern wolf. They do not see you as a person, so why should you see them like one, too?
“So you come with empty hands. Go home, girl. Go back to playing with your flower crowns and dolls.” It stings. A hand goes to your dark hair, held back in a braid adorned by marigold pins. You feel like such a silly little girl, and you hate him for it. “Tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”
You smile at him, coldly. You give him a curtsy, back ramrod straight, jaw hurting from clenching your teeth so hard. If you were a man, you would be allowed to be incensed at the insults being thrown your way. Hell, if you weren’t, they would call you craven. But as a woman, if you show your anger, you will be called hysterical.
“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.”
You begin to exit the hall, hands tightly clenched into fists.
“Wait… my Lady Strong.”
You recognize that voice. You would know it anywhere. Despite it, you keep walking. Aemond moves to intersect your path, bodily placing himself between the entrance and you.
“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”
You stare at him, eyes full of hatred. You wish you were wittier, that you could give him a scathing quip about using your proper title and being half cunt, as Daemon says. But you are not. Instead, you try to evade him, but he steps into your path again, smug little smirk on his face and hands clasped behind his back. The picture of confidence.
“I will not fight you. I come as a messenger, not a warrior.” You say, voice firm. Despite it, your hand lowers to the folds of your dress. Against your thigh, you carry a dagger. A last resort, and a precaution, Daemon had said, when giving it to you. Men were cruel to beautiful maidens all the time. His eyes had lingered a tad too long when you strapped it to your leg. More than what a father’s should.
Despite your unfortunate coloring, you still were Rhaenyra’s daughter through and through. The similarities weren’t in the bone structure, but in much subtler details. The tilt of your head when you laughed. The way you walked. How your cheeks dimpled. Enough that men noticed.
“A fight would be little challenge.” Aemond mocks, hand coming to grasp at your jaw. Something odd crosses his eye. Almost… Wishful. It scares you. You jerk out of his grip so fast your cheeks ache. “No. You love your brother, don’t you? Luke.”
You stare at him, unmoved. Aemond stares back. His gaze feels full of disdain to you, as it draws a path from your light red skirt, to the crown of flowers in your hair. He makes you feel small and trapped, and you hate it. You are not less because your father is not Laenor Velaryon, you remind yourself.
“I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine. One would serve. I would not blind you. Mm. Plan to make it a gift to my mother.” His eye looks crazed, face dangerously close to yours. His expression is close to the lust you have seen in Daemon’s eyes, and it terrifies you. Because Aemond doesn’t admire your resemblance to his wife. His lust is for blood.
“No.”
“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.” And he lunges at you again, and you can’t help it, really. You shriek, rushing towards the doors and avoiding him as best as you can.
“Not here!” Borros interferes, for the first time. He sounds worried. You would be, too, if you saw a man stalking behind a woman in the way Aemond is going after you. Your heart is in your throat, you fear it might leap out if you speak.
“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” And this time, he does grab you. Your hands go to cover your eyes, and you keep screaming, shrill and high, terrified.
“Not in my hall!” And there are hands tugging at you, tugging at your dress, getting Aemond away. You open your eyes to see Borros’ knights dragging him away. “The girl came as an envoy, and I will not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Escort the Princess to her dragon.”
You can’t believe you are still alive. Aemond looks enraged, body positioned forward as if to lunge again. He struggles against the grip the guards have on him. There are at least four holding him down. He is a man possessed.
You do not hesitate. You hike up your skirts and run.
BY THE TIME Aemond leaves Lord Baratheon’s hall, it has already started raining. The guards release him only after you are out of sight, but rage still flows through his arteries, warming his blood.
His face feels hot. He is no doubt blushing. Aemond is unsure if it is from fury or shame. Holding you against him, soft skin yielding like butter under his fingers, smelling of flowers, he had gotten struck by a memory. That smell…
You had been a girl. No older than eight. You had sat in the gardens, surrounded by flowers, their perfume lingering in your hair and skin. Searching for fairies, you had explained, with the most serious face. Helaena was searching with you, giggling in excitement. The two of you had invited him to join, but Aemond had refused, citing fairies didn’t exist.
For a moment, he felt as the rude nine years old he had been, sneering down on silly girls who smelled like flowers. The memory had hit him with the force of a war hammer, dragging him out of his thoughts of getting his revenge on your siblings through you.
He had been jerked out of it when you had started screaming your lungs out. It was not that you dared be sweet, with your flowers and childish dresses. Nor that you had grown into an objectively pretty woman. It was that you had dared push him off you when he had only wanted to gaze upon your eyes, that you had made his stomach swoop with uncomfortable feelings, that he found you so damn irresistible.
Some fools in the realm called you the prettiest maiden in Westeros. Once, he had thought them exaggerated tales, to please your whore of a mother. Aemond despised agreeing with the masses, and yet, he now had to admit there was a certain truth to it.
His grandfather was right. Bastards were treacherous creatures, made only out of lust. There had to be some sorcery at play. Aemond was sure of it, and he was going to end you for daring to use your tricks on him.
“My Prince, are you sure you must leave?” His betrothed gives him her best cow eyes. Aemond is sure they are supposed to be seductive, but he is too annoyed to care. Besides, she seems as daft as they come, and conniving too. Nothing more dangerous than an ambitious fool. “The weather is so terrible, and all of that with that wretched girl…”
“Dragons care not for rain.” He answers, striding towards Vhagar regardless. Hearing you being called a wretched girl only serves to rile him up more. It was not Floris’ place to criticize you, she was forgetting her position. A whore and a sorceress you might be, but you were half Targaryen. This one was plain whore. “And mind your tongue, less you bite it and poison yourself.”
Vhagar was agitated when he mounted her. Seeing your dragon had excited her, perhaps. It encouraged her to fly faster, more daringly than usual. It meant Aemond caught up with you in no time.
He sees your back first. Your braid is whipping against the wind, most flowers gone. The few that remain look askew. Your red dress is absolutely drenched, clinging to the curves and dips on your body in an indecent manner. It makes his blood boil. You must have worn it to attract attention. Harlot.
Your smaller dragon is having trouble keeping up with the weather. The wind hits against her wings, and she doesn’t have the experience Vhagar has when flying in adverse conditions. Your voice is carried by the wind, sharp commands in High Valyrian, ordering to fly lower, avoid the clouds. The poor thing tries, but not even your attempts at helping her are making a difference.
“Riiñaa…” Aemond taunts, trying to reach you. At first, you don’t hear, his voice covered by the noise of wind and rain. “Riña!”
You jump on your dragon’s back. Unlike him and his siblings, you don’t ride chained to the saddle. You look back at him, brown eyes panicked. The rain sliding down your cheeks looks eerily like tears.
“Adere.” You order your dragon. But Aemond will not allow you to escape that easily. Not when he has you so close. He orders the same to Vhagar.
“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā!” He shouts at you. A debt. For the eye your brothers had taken, and the trick you had played on him mere minutes ago.
“I don’t owe you anything!”
It’s all a blur when he later reflects on it. Some things happen too fast to be stopped, and you can only watch in horror as time seems to pause before the disaster happens.
Vhagar screeches, excited by the thrill of the chase. Her jaws snap towards your dragon.
“No… No… No! Vhagar, serve me! Serve me, Vhagar!”
But she ignores his commands. No matter how hard he tugs on the reins, Vhagar won’t budge. It is both the foreboding crackling of distant thunder, and the desperation he feels at being powerless, what makes him reach forward, and grab your arm, tightly.
Your dragon ducks. One second you are sitting in the saddle and the next you are not. Aemond can’t feel his hands. You are screaming so loud his ears ring, and Vhagar is roaring again. There is a sickening crunch, your green dragon roaring in utter rage. You cling to his arms, grip slippery and cold, rain still pouring over the both of you.
He pulls up, as his shoulders crack in protest. Were it not for the fact that he is chained to his saddle, you might take him with you in your fall into the abyss. Your nails dig into his skin, painfully. You are howling like you are the one being murdered, but you climb, bravely placing a foot on Vhagar’s scales and helping Aemond get you in the space between the saddle and Vhagar, in front of him.
You start to wail.
“No, no, no!”
Aemond doesn’t dare look. His own hands are shaking. But as you start to try to throw him off Vhagar, slapping him everywhere you can reach, he has to. He needs to know.
Your dragon is covered in blood. It is sprayed along her belly and wings, as if Vhagar had not only bitten her, but also shook her as a dog with a bone. Her front paw is missing, and she howls in agony with every turn. But she has the same bravery as you do, and she is trying to defend her rider, about to slam against Vhagar in a suicide mission.
“Call her off!” Aemond orders you. “Call her off, she is going to die.”
He knows how painful the loss of an eye is. He cannot imagine losing a limb. But the great beast, your Green Lady, as you call her, is still fighting. Her devotion must be stronger than the pain she is suffering. She doesn’t seem to care that Vhagar is much bigger and could eat her whole.
Vhagar licks her chops. Aemond shouts something. He is not even sure what is coming out of his mouth any longer, but you sob, and peer to the side.
You had not noticed she was still alive. You howl. Your dragon responds to your cry, roaring at Vhagar.
Aemond looks at your face. He sees the calculation in your eyes, deciding if to call your dragon off or not, if it is worth the risk. If you could jump from the saddle, from Aemond’s front and into your own mount. It’s risky.
“Lykirī!” You finally scream, and he nearly sags in relief. Your dragon obeys much better than Vhagar, stopping on her tracks. She hovers by, as if unsure why she should not try to kill the threat that took her human and her paw.
Things are about to get nasty. He can tell. No matter how tame she is, she is still a beast, and the urge to protect and fight will surpass her training.
“We need to land, now.” Aemond orders, and without waiting for your permission, nudges Vhagar into dropping. But your dragon gets in the way once more, set on headbutting Vhagar. Aemond has to do a swerve to the side to avoid his dragon eating the damn thing.
You say nothing. Your whole body is tense, anticipating the opportunity for a rescue. Your hands let go of Vhagar and instead, start to reach forward.
Aemond snarls. He grabs at your braid and tugs back, sharply.
“Don’t you dare!”
“Lykirī.” You shout. Aemond’s mind is racing. What to do now? He almost killed you, he thinks, and cannot help himself. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until you are flinching in his grip.
Seven Hells, what is he supposed to do? He can’t land. Bringing whatever is going on between your two dragons to land is risky. If allowed, Vhagar would eat yours whole. And that is not considering they might as well take to the skies on their own and leave you stranded. There is nothing for miles, not even a Keep.
You have family in the Vale. He could fly there and… What would he even say? I accidentally almost killed my niece? Your kinsmen would slaughter him.
There are a few heath leaves in your hair, pink and glorious against the dark backdrop of your braid. Solitude, Aemond thinks. Are you as lonely as him, or do you simply like pink?
The memory comes back, unprompted. You, laughing in the gardens, smelling like flowers. A crown of marigolds in your hair, running among the tulips barefoot, sun kissing your skin. Searching for fairies.
He has never gotten anything pretty for himself. But maybe… He touches a pink petal, watching how the rain clings to it. It’s almost like dew.
Your mother had sent you away on your own. She didn’t value as she did your siblings, clearly. For any princess, no matter how loyal her dragon, should travel with her guards.
He had wanted your eye. But it would be too cruel, wouldn’t it? To scar such a beautiful face. If he took something else instead…
No one would notice. No one had to know if he just…
“Where are we going? You said we were going to land.” You ask, turning to look over your shoulder. The tilt of your head is enchanting, and he finds himself fascinated by it.
You huff, annoyed by his lack of response. He observes how your brows pinch together, and thinks of the debt your family owes him. His eye. The eye of a prince for the maidenhead of a bastard girl. It wouldn’t even scar you forever, even when it would forever haunt you. It seemed like a fair exchange.
“To the Vale.” Aemond lies, as smoothly as he can. “You have family there, and can no longer be my problem.”
You keep an alert position, but you relax against him. You are too trusting for your own good. It is precisely why a woman, you, shouldn’t inherit the Iron Throne.
When the two of you fly past the Vale, you do not notice at first. Your eyes are trained on your dragon, dutifully flying at Vhagar’s right, slightly behind. Just unreachable enough for you to jump on her, but also just unreachable enough for Vhagar to bite. Freedom in exchange for safety.
You have not said a word during the whole journey. Perhaps you fancy yourself irritated at him.
“Prince Aemond!” You scream, once you notice the terrain under you is no longer the green hills the Vale is known for. “What…?”
“I lied. We are going to the Red Keep.”
You call your Green Lady to you, high and panicked. Aemond grabs your braid, making a fist close to your skull and forcing you to arch your back. You yelp in pain.
“Don’t you dare! Tell her to fly behind Vhagar. One wrong move on your part and your dragon dies.” Aemond warns. You get the same calculating look in your eyes, lowering them to the clouds under you. The fall would be fatal.
“I will never forgive this.” It comes out from behind clenched teeth. Your back is still arched, Aemond’s grip still strong. He tugs a little more, if only to see you take it, pretty little body making a perfect bow.
He thinks of his rage, and how he is starved for death and blood. He thinks of himself as Vhagar, biting down on your paw and shaking his head until his own mouth is covered by blood. Of your dark hair spread over white sheets, a halo. Of a boy’s dark hair, and a knife. The stench of blood, your wet body, your smile, the sinful urges.
Maidenheads were just blood, too.
YOU CAN HEAR your dragon screeching as the dragonkeepers drag her away. They prod at her, as she cries her distress, mirroring your own. Just as Syrax cries when your mother is in the birthing bed, your Green Lady cries with your despair. You scream, trying to get to her, and Aemond’s hands tug at your dress, your thighs, anything he can reach to keep you.
When he tires of you, he throws you over his shoulder, hands digging into your thighs so hard it hurts. You are sure that there will be bruises left in the aftermath of his grip.
You do not stop screaming. All the way to the entrance of the keep, you scream for help. Every servant you see is one you ask to help you, the same for the guards. But while some of them pause in their duties to stare, Aemond doesn’t.
He strides confidently, despite being in wet clothes and with a woman hanging upside down in his arms. You get glimpses of the Red Keep as you pass, tapestries and dragon motifs gone and replaced by the Seven Pointed Star. Gone are the crimson and black banners your grandfather had favored, replaced by green ones. The call to war is not missed on you.
You are familiar enough with the layout of the building to know that the room you are shoved in is his. The door slams after you, Aemond not even caring to check if you landed on your feet. You don’t waste your time looking around, choosing instead to try to force the door open.
“Let me out!”
No one answers. You scream and scream, but no one comes. You are unable to tell if Aemond has walked away or is still in the hallway. After a while, you begin to hear hurried footsteps.
“Was that…?” The usurper dares ask.
“That’s Rhaenyra’s heir! You will undo everything this family has…” Alicent. At least she is being reasonable, you suppose. Perhaps she will convince them of sending you back.
“I have gained us a hostage, you mean.” You can almost picture Aemond’s haughty expression. His tone is cold, as if he finds Alicent’s concerns dumb.
“Your grandfather..!”
“…Just because you are not ruthless enough to do what…”
A slap, hard. Aegon laughs, a bit hysterical. You wonder what Aemond had been suggesting, what Alicent had seen in his eyes to prompt the slap.
“Do not take that tone with me. Dishonor the girl, Aemond and the Seven help you..!”
Dishonor. Oh. Did she think the two of you were involved? You frown. You don’t like this. Anxiety begins to pool in your stomach, a sense of dread so strong it makes you feel dizzy.
“One would think, with how often you called her mother whore…” Aemond argues. Instead of making you bristle, though, it only heightens your uneasiness. You are more focused on his tone than his words, and he sounds wrong. Like he had sounded when he was laughing after Vhagar bit your dragon.
“A highborn woman can be two things: A maiden or a mother.” Alicent cuts him again, and the feeling of wrongness intensifies. Unable to see them, you feel like you are missing half the conversation, but your gut tells you it is bad.
“Are you suggesting..?” Aegon sounds as confused and horrified as you feel.
“No! You will not use rape to terrorize our enemies.”
Rape. Rape. You feel as if you are underwater. Everything sounds muffled, except from the thump of blood in your ears. You can’t breathe. In your mind, rape is not something that happens to Princesses like you. It’s something you read about in your history books, something that happens to servants or lowborn women.
No one would dare touch you, you had thought once. For you were a good maiden, one that didn’t dress too provocatively and who was kind to everyone around her. But most importantly, your mother was going to be Queen. No one would touch you. They couldn’t.
Men’s lustful glances were nothing new to you. As a princess, you were a coveted prize. You knew they lusted after your blood, the Valyrian children and the dragons you could provide. But never had you caught one lusting after your body. You still dressed like a girl, running around Dragonstone with flowers tangled in your hair and no shoes.
If any man had looked, Daemon disposed of them. And while the glances your stepfather gave you were charged, you never thought he would act on them.
“… The bannermen will think us fools!”
Men who raped women weren’t princes. They were commoners, soldiers drunk on power, dirty beggars who pounced on strangers in alleyways. Drunkards in taverns, that smelled like piss. If there were any lords that partook in those horrid acts, you always thought they were cruel ones, like the Boltons, and always on serving girls.
You had never felt unsafe near Aemond. He was a prince, he was part of your family. It had never occurred to you that you could be stripped naked and forced to share his bed, not even imprisoned as you are.
You imagine him, ordering one of the guards to remove your clothes. You imagine yourself, naked, trying to preserve your modesty, and being beaten for it. Aemond’s hands, touching you, forcing your legs apart, hitting you when you do not comply. Your uncle, your uncle who preferred books to people, who was always so quiet, being no different from those terrible men at all.
It's impossible, you think. He is only doing it to rile up his mother, to seem more manly in front of his brother. He has always felt the need to compensate for something. Yes, Aemond is incapable of it.
Your entrails turn to ice. If it is so impossible, you think, why does it scare you so much? Why are your palms sweating, why are there acrid tears burning through your cheekbones, leaving a scorched path down to your jaw?
Where is this fear coming from?
“I could send her back, broken. As a warning.” Aemond taunts. You feel like a giant fist is squeezing your heart, until it turns into a bloodied pulp. You taste the blood on your throat.
Who is this man, that has taken you from a safe world and dragged you into this hell? This man, who talks of breaking you, of sending you back dishonored and beaten. You do not recognize Aemond. Not even after all the years of taunts and resentment you would have expected anything like this.
Like a prey animal, you freeze next to the door, hands wringing together anxiously.
“A lesson.” Another voice joins. Otto Hightower. “But there are more efficient ways to bring down our foes. No. You will take her to wife. Rhaenyra will have to be Queen, of course, but then it shall be her turn…”
It all turns into static in your ears after that. You probably won’t be raped today, but you might still be. Who knows if Aemond will give up his plan because his mother and grandfather say so? Once, when you thought you knew him, you would have thought you were safe. He would never dare disobey them. But he would never dare suggest raping a woman either, right?
“… Running to a brothel no doubt. Essos, was it?”
You no longer care about the conversation, but you guess they are speaking of Aegon. It is a mystery how he will fit in their plans. Be it as it may, you don’t intend to find up. You grab your dagger, and sit on the bed.
When Aemond enters, this is what he finds.
You, still wet, dripping water into his bed. Hand holding a dagger to your own throat.
“Take one step further, I dare you.” You whisper, eyes cold.
Aemond’s expression darkens. He stands straighter, looking every inch the warrior. His eye moves from your dagger, to your eyes, then back at the dagger.
“I could take that from you in a moment.”
“I swear to you, if you step any closer, I will slit my throat and bleed to death right here in your bed.” You tilt your chin up, letting the cold kiss of the blade caress your skin.
You had heard once of a culture where women would jump into fire pits when their men were defeated in battle, to avoid being dishonored by the conquering armies. It’s not a bad way to die, you think. Sounds less painful than the horrors that await you in this bed. You, too, would prefer death to being brutalized.
“You are nothing more than a little girl playing pretend.”
“This is not a game to me.” Aemond steps closer, and you make a slashing motion with the dagger. Blood starts to pool at the cut you make, barely deep enough to leave a mark. You lift the dagger again, set in your grim choice. Death before dishonor. Death before betraying your Queen and becoming a pawn in the Greens desperate bid for power.
“Wait!” He cries out, eye wide with anger and fear. You imagine his heart must be thumping as loudly as yours was when you heard him proposing to break you as if you were an unwilling mare. “Stop! I will take the blade from you, you stupid…”
“I’ll be dead before you reach me.” You taunt, with a vicious smile. It feels good, seeing him feel the terror you had felt mere moments before. The dagger rises again, your hand trembling slightly.
It is not fear. Only an acute feeling of satisfaction, that feels close to sexual arousal, with how good it is. You are under control now. He has taken everything away from you, but he will never be able to take this.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Aemond’s nostrils widen, face twisting into absolute rage. You had thought him a man possessed before, a devil wearing your uncle’s face. But now, he looks beastly, a bull ready to charge and ram anything on his path. You don’t waver. “You are a woman, and you only possess the amount of courage women have.”
You think of your mother, who took six times to the birthing bed. You think of yourself, all the old hurts that made you who you are. The times you had felt less, the times you had felt scared. And you think of how good it will feel, how much it will scar him if you die in this very room.
“Put me to the test, then. If you dare. You know nothing of courage, you might surprise yourself.”
Aemond examines your face. You do not know what he finds there, but it must terrify him, for his hands raise in surrender.
“Fine. You win. You win, my Princess.” He takes a step back, and then another. You do not lower the blade, still holding it against your throat. You fear he is about to trick you.
His hand goes to his belt, where his own dagger hangs. Your body coils, ready to spring up into action, but Aemond merely takes the sheat off it and throws it at you.
“You win. Keep that as your prize.” And he is turning on his heel, and leaving the room. Before he exits, he shouts at you. “I'll send for clothes and a bath, less you catch your death.”
Without taking your eyes off the door, you lean down and pick up the sheat. You catch a glimpse of your reflection on the metal. For a second, you think you see a woman watching you back, eyes cold as obsidian and a crown of dead flowers in her head. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, chopped off roughly. But when you blink again, the familiar brown eyes you are used to stare back at you. Your braid is slowly coming undone.
THE SCREAMS YOU let out as Ser Arryk holds you down are more than enough satisfaction for Aemond. He might not be able to break you fully yet, but it's more than enough of a substitute. He imagines what it will be like, chipping your resistance away little by little, and cannot stop the smirk spreading on his face.
He might not be allowed to rape you, but no one said anything about breaking you. It was fine, really. Rape was nasty business, despite its effectiveness in breaking a person. Aemond could testify to that.
Your dagger had been taken from you early on by the Kingsguard, when you had tried to stab him for holding you down. This time, Aemond wasn’t going to repeat his mistake of allowing you to keep the dagger.
He strips you down to your chemise, just for the sake of it. He takes a good look at your teats, barely covered by the wet cloth, and trusted outwards with the way Ser Arryk is holding you. At the way your poor little buds stand to attention, even if unwilling. At how the white chemise looks obscenely sheer, clinging to all the curves and dips of your body.
“No, please. No. I rather die. Don’t… Don’t… No.” You start to cry when your dress is peeled away from you, terrified. Your eyes are wide as saucers. They glint with your tears, highlighting their offending color. Poor little bastard girl, thinking Aemond will get enjoyment out of your body.
He might. Just not in the way you think.
“You are pretty when you beg, riñitsos.”
“Aemond, please. No. I am still a maiden, I can’t…” You choke on a sob, next words unintelligible.
Ser Arryk looks vaguely uncomfortable. He averts his eyes from the scene unfolding in front of him and stares to the wall, past Aemond, and over your head.
“They call you the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms.” Aemond comments, idly. He unpins your braid, letting it fall down your back. With Ser Arryk behind you, and him pressing close on your front, there is nowhere for you to run. It’s delightful, the fear on your face.
Unable to help himself, he pinches one of your breasts, making you yowl like a cat.
“I like your teats best.” He leers, doing his best to imitate Aegon with the serving girls. It’s not that he is actually getting any sexual satisfaction out of this. This is about control and fear, and you have shown this is what you fear most. It would be foolish not to take advantage of it. “Do you think they will call you the most beautiful woman, once I am done with you?”
Ser Arryk looks at you with pity. He leans his head down, perhaps thinking he is being subtle.
“At ease, Princess. You won’t be harmed.” He whispers. If Aemond had not lost his eye, he might not have heard him. But thanks to your beloved sibling, his hearing is more acute than a normal man’s. “Prince Aemond won’t disobey the Queen. He is only trying to frighten you.”
Aemond smirks. He tugs at your hair.
“I am not allowed to dishonor you, of course.” He smiles, pressing the dagger to the part of the braid that lays over your nape. You don’t notice, too busy hiccuping and recoiling in fear. “But I understand nothing done on the marriage bed is dishonorable. We might even call for a bedding, wouldn’t that be nice?”
“I know no other queen but Rhaenyra Targaryen, queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. And she won’t allow her daughter to marry a craven cripple.” You stand up straighter as you speak, no matter that Ser Arryk is holding you. Your words are as much for the knight as they are for him.
The urge to slap you, or stab you with the dagger is strong. For a terrifying moment, Aemond fears he might actually go through it, and ruin his grandsire’s plans. Impudent little bitch.
The dagger is so sharp it cuts through your braid in one pass. You howl when you hear something ripping, thinking it might be your chemise, by how you struggle. Aemond smugly presents it to you, some withering marigolds still weaved into the dark hair.
“Something to send my dear sister.” He says, as he places the two long braids in a silk bag. You cry harder. Aemond wasn’t exposed to you much during your teenage years, but he remembered that as a little girl, your brown, glossy hair had been your pride and joy. A shameful proof of your bastardy, no doubt, but one that everyone complimented.
You had taken to flaunting it, when older. Wearing flower crowns, and embellishments on it, keeping it long. A girl in the bloom of her maidenhood, more forest nymph than Targaryen Princess.
And it was all gone. Packed neatly into a silk bag, along with your dagger and red dress. He hoped the old whore howled with the same agony when she opened it.
When Ser Arryk lets go of you, the first thing you do is reach up to feel your hair. A few locks fall from it still, chopped off badly. It is now about the same length as Aegon’s, cut in a way more suitable for men. Your hands are shaking.
“I’ll never marry you.” You shout. Your eyes are hurt. It doesn’t feel good to be tricked, it seems. “I wish you were dead! I wish Luke had plunged the dagger deep, and cracked open your skull!”
“You will.” Aemond answers, coldly. He hopes to hurt you as much as your words have hurt him. “For what is a girl to the Iron Throne?”
He leaves you to your grieving. He would rather not admit it, but deprived of any blades, your words have still managed to cut him. You can be his mother’s problem from now on.
The next two days are spent into lingering guilt and extraneous exercise. Every time Aemond’s thoughts go back to you, he spars with whoever is available. His whole body hurts by the end of it, and you still haunt him. He might have gone overboard, but he will never admit it out loud.
There is a dark sense of satisfaction in his stomach. It slips past his guilt, sometimes. The terror on your eyes had been exquisite, worth every reprimand he had gotten afterwards. As he hurt you, putting the fear of the Seven in you, he imagined hurting your bastard of a sibling and finally felt peace.
It’s best not to think of you. You bring up conflicting feelings and memories, the girl you once were, kind and sweet and the woman you now were, indifferent to him and easily frightened. The images superposed in his mind, betrayed eyes as he proclaimed he was going to dishonor you, crying at the funeral of Laena Velaryon, worried as Daemon whisked away with your mother, as Lucerys appeared covered in blood.
It is easier to punish keep himself occupied in the training yard. He doesn’t think of you when he spars with the knights or when he swings his sword until his arms feel like they will fall off. Nor when he falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion, bruised black and blue.
Not until his mother comes looking for him.
At first, he doesn’t notice her presence, busy hacking at straw figures until his arms ache. But she clears his throat many times, forcing him to turn. He does so while still holding the sword.
His mother looks odd in the training grounds. She is small, almost dainty looking, a flame of green standing among the mud. Aemond approaches her in four short strides.
“Mother. Is something the matter?”
“The girl is sick.” She says, a troubled frown on her beautiful face. Aemond has always admired her grace and beauty, and even though life has been cruel to her, she has only cultivated it more. She is what she thinks all women should be, gracious and pious. If it had been up to him, he would have married someone like her, he thinks. Her only flaw is her sentimentality.
“Get her a Maester.” Aemond says, annoyed at being interrupted by something so trivial. You probably have a cold, foolish girl that you are, having insisted on staying in your wet clothes and refusing a hot bath.
“I got her plenty. She nearly scratched the eyes off one, and when they tried to give her Milk of the Poppy…” His mother makes a pained face. Aemond doesn’t want to know. Truly, whatever you had done was probably willful and cruel. Gods, why did he have to marry you? You weren’t demure, you weren’t pious and you certainly weren’t gracious. “She is now refusing food.”
“Let her starve off. When she is hungry enough, she will eat.”
“The girl can’t die, Aemond.” His mother grabs his arm, brown eyes filled with mania. “It would mean war. They say Rhaenyra has scoured the Seven Kingdoms each night on dragonback since she disappeared. She has only calmed after receiving the package, but negotiations are not going well.”
He stays quiet. His mother glares.
Aemond hates that his mother is still so attached to his sister, even after all the time that has gone by. He had never intended to be a part of this hare-brained scheme to save them all, much less her. He had not taken you because he had some great political ploy to put in place and needed you as his figurehead.
Aemond had been thinking of something much more simple. Your family owed him a debt, and it was going to be paid in fire and blood. If he couldn’t have Lucerys’ eye, he would have yours. Or your maidenhead. Or any blood he could draw out of you, he wasn’t picky.
If someone had asked him, he would have preferred Aegon as King. It was much simpler and the way things should be.
“What am I supposed to do?” He asks after a while because he is sure you will not listen to him.
“Convince her.” His mother orders, and Aemond sets down his sword and goes to your room.
To get inside, he has to enlist two Kingsguard and a blacksmith. You have not spent your time free from his mother idle, it seems. Instead, you have moved a dresser or some sort of heavy furniture in front of the door.
The blacksmith has to pop the hinges off the door, and only then, Aemond and the Kingsguard get to move the dresser and unblock the path inside. How you managed on your own, he has no idea.
When he steps in, the smell of vomit and old sweat hits his nose. It’s revolting. There are several plates and cups upturned and laying in disarray over the rug, staining what once was pure white fur. A pomegranate, cut in half, has rolled to a corner. It is your favorite, but it lies untouched.
Aemond’s annoyance spikes. He knows you are aware he has you situated on what were his personal chambers. The careless destruction you have left on your wake irks him.
“Lady Strong.” He mocks. “Where are you?”
His bed is unmade, missing the covers. Aemond checks inside the dresser that had taken three men to move and finds nothing. He then checks under the bed. Nothing either.
It is only when he checks the bathing chamber that he finds you, sprawled on the floor. The covers are forming a cocoon around you, and your forehead is pressed tightly to the cold tiles. You only wear a sleeping shift.
Your eyes are open and feverish, face sweaty and tinted red. You don’t seem to recognize him, but your head lifts slightly at the sound of the door opening.
“Seven Hells.”
The looking glass is smashed on the floor. You clutch a shard in your fist, tight enough to bleed as it digs into your skin.
“I will not be drugged again.” You say, voice barely more than a rasp. “And I do not want a Maester.”
“You are in no position to make demands.”
“If you force me again to do something I do not want…” You trail off, clutching the shard more tightly. He should take it from you, but you look half mad already. If he hands you back to your mother like this, war will be inevitable. He doesn’t dare push you farther.
“May I touch you?” Aemond asks, instead.
“Since when do you ask for permission?” You lay your head down, once again pressing it to the tiles.
“Come.” He grabs your arms, pulling you to your feet. Your skin is concerningly hot. Burning up, truly. “I’ll send for a lukewarm bath. And this time, you will take it.”
You stagger. Your movements are sluggish, and your eyes are glassy.
“I do not want anything from you.” But you lean on him, allowing Aemond to take you away from the broken shards on the floor. You are not wearing slippers or socks.
“Let me get you a Maester.” Aemond offers, getting you to the bed. You land on it without any grace, and promptly begin to kick the covers away.
“I do not want a Maester. I want… My mother has a midwife.” It is as puzzling as it is unexpected. A midwife tending to a princess. His mother would have kittens.
“Are you pregnant?” You had thrown up, after all. The room smelled like bile, so much it was upsetting even Aemond’s stomach. He fought the urge to gag himself.
“No. But she knows how to cure other ailments. Upset stomachs, colds.”
“Do you feel nauseous?”
You shake your head. Aemond’s grip on you tightens.
“Don’t lie to me. It reeks of vomit here.”
“Your mother put Milk of the Poppy in my food. I threw it up.” You deadpan.
“You induced…?” Aemond is not sure which one is more interesting. His mother drugging you? Oh, you must have been throwing a spectacular tantrum. The fact that you were ruthless enough to force yourself to retch shouldn't be so surprising, though. You had been ruthless enough to threaten to kill yourself, twice.
“Yes. And I won’t eat or drink anything else after that, you snake. Bitch. Alicent is… Daemon used a word…” You mumble to yourself.
“What do you want me to do?” Aemond asks, frustrated. Why must women give him such grief? First Vhagar, with her willfulness and refusal to heed commands. Then his mother and her hare brained schemes to protect Rhaenyra. And now you. He must be cursed.
You ignore him, eyelids growing heavy.
“Cunt.” You say, after a while. You laugh.
Aemond sighs. He sends for a lukewarm bath and some servants to tidy up the room. It will not be an easy night, it seems.
“PRINCESS, PRINCE AEMOND is requesting entrance.” Ellia says, softly. You turn to look at her, from your place on the bed. You close the book on your lap.
The girl has been your constant companion ever since the incident. To ensure nothing untoward happens, said Aemond, and that you feel safe. She had kept watch over you as your fever broke, her hawk eyes following Aemond as he tended to you.
“Tell him I wish to bathe first.” You decide to test him, once again. Your uncle seems more in control of himself lately, but you still feel on edge around him. Aemond had shattered your trust in him and in men in general.
You cannot bear to look at Ser Arryk. Your shame is too great. To think he had held you, and looked as Aemond…
No. You cannot think like that. Not with the news from Dragonstone. The negotiations are going better, it seems. Your mother has been considering leaving you here, from what Aemond says.
Her betrayal hurts. You have always known Jacaerys was her favorite, but this is low, even for her. She is probably making more children with Daemon, trueborn and ready to contest your claim. Your suffering will mean nothing in the end, not even with Alicent’s plans.
It is beyond cruel, to allow you to hope that you will get the Iron Throne. Not when she is throwing you to Aemond as a sacrifice. Is this what maidens in your tales had felt, when they were used to appease an ancient deity that asks for a price in blood?
Your mother has abandoned you. You are alone in this world.
“The Princess says you cannot come in now, for she wishes to bathe.” You hear Ellia speak, her voice hard. You do not listen to Aemond’s answer, but considering Ellia comes back in and starts getting things ready for your bath, you guess he was not angered.
“He asked that you not get dressed yet. He wishes to examine you.” Ellia says, helping you sink into the water. You keep your eyes on the ceiling, not wishing to look at your reflection. You already know what you will find. Dark circles under your eyes, unflattering haircut, skin waxy and pale. As if all life had been robbed off you.
You try to avoid her, this stranger wearing your face. She looks like the woman you had seen reflected on metal during your first day here. More ghoul than woman, all hail the Queen of the Seven Hells.
That Aemond wishes to examine you doesn’t surprise you. He has been taking care of you since you have gotten sick. You were quite fearful of Maesters, both for being men and for what you had seen them do to your grandfather. Even in a feverish daze, you had refused them.
Alicent hadn’t respected your choice then. But unexpectedly, Aemond had. Considering his uncouth and terrifying behavior before, you weren’t inclined to trust him, but had little choice. The feverish version of you was as weak as a kitten, and unable to resist his tender care. You feel lucky that you survived with your maidenhead intact.
Once you are done with your bath, you dress in another shift, a cotton one that buttons all the way to your neck. You sit primly on your bed, covers drawn up to your waist. Ellia brushes your short hair, making tears well up in your eyes.
Your mother had called it once the crown you never took off. A lion’s mane, for her brave girl. You had never imagined it could be taken away so easily. Gone were the elaborate braids adorned with flowers. You couldn’t even pin it back now.
Aemond knocks. You brush your tears away. When he enters, you look perfectly composed.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, sitting on the side of the bed. He places a parcel down next to you. “I brought you a gift. Thought it may cheer you up.”
You ignore him. Aemond sighs.
“It’s a dress. And a cloak. The dress comes from Highgarden, it has flowers embroidered on it. I got you a brooch to wear with the cloak, too. It’s a silver marigold. You like marigolds.” He explains. Your expression doesn’t change. You stare resolutely at the wall. It is not the first time he tries to bribe you with presents.
His regret is not sincere. Not when he takes advantage of every chance to touch you, and make your skin crawl. Yet again, you have to get used to it.
No way out in the underworld but through. Best to not look back. If he wishes to exercise casual cruelty to feel better about himself, good for him. You would do the same if you were allowed.
“I am going to check your lungs now.” Aemond says, and you tense. His hands slowly open your nightgown, with great care. Your breasts are exposed, so you cross your arms over your chest to cover them.
Shame and fear make you feel like you are about to throw up. You remember his hands, and the way he had cruelly pinched you, as Ser Arryk forced you into position. You jerk your head away.
You will marry him. That is what Alicunt says. You must endure his touch, and provide heirs for the Iron Throne. The thought sickens you.
Aemond grabs at your wrists, pulling them away. To your utter embarrassment, the thought of being restrained makes you freeze with fear, and begin to tear up.
“I think you can listen to her back.” Ellia says, sharply. She draws your shift closed, with a harsh tug. The girl is a few years younger than you, but she is fierce and outspoken. You wonder who chose her for this job. She is perfect for it.
“I…” Aemond stammers, taken aback. He isn’t very used to being told off by the help. “You are right. I apologize, Princess.”
He buttons your shift again. You stay very still, waiting for him to push you forward and press his ear to your back. But nothing happens. Ellia’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, clutching you tightly.
“I have made a right mess of things, haven’t I?” Aemond asks, after a while. You are unsure if he is speaking to Ellia or to you. His lips form a bitter smile. “Fuck. What have I done?”
He rubs his good eye, almost punishingly. You feel very numb. Something broke in you that night, something that you do not think can be fixed. He had not taken your maidenhood, but he had certainly taken your innocence.
“I apologize. I behaved in ways that are not befitting of my station, and much less…”
“I don’t think I can forgive you.” You interrupt, before Aemond thinks he can begin spouting out some remorseful tirade and get things to how they were before. Your relationship with him cannot be mended.
There was once a string connecting the two of you. It had been pulled tight by the years and disagreements among your families. Despite it, the thread gave. It stretched, and tensed, and never snapped. But Aemond had pulled it too hard this time.
The string is no more. It lays broken between you two. He is no longer the boy who had played with your brothers. Now, he is just a cruel man. A small, bitter, man.
“It is one of those things you don’t really forget, I suppose. I know a bit about that.” He gestures to his eye patch. You wonder if his string with Luke had been cut by your brother that night. You wonder if your pain and his are comparable.
The both of you stare at each other. You place your hands on your lap.
“You will be pleased to know your Green Lady is doing well. She will be able to travel in about a week.” He comments, seemingly out of nowhere. A way out. Ellia doesn’t notice, still standing behind you.
“I wish to be Queen.” You answer him, also seemingly out of nowhere. Your heart aches for a whole different reason. All of your suffering would be in vain if you heed his advice. You would be another Queen that never was.
“Would you like some jewelry, next time I visit you?”
“My mother prefers Jace over me.” You have nowhere to go. You look up at him, and try to convey that no matter how much you may wish it, your mother would never forgive you. Not after being so close to getting everything she wants.
“Aegon is in Essos.” Aemond suggests, a strange look on his face. It is then you realize this is his attempt at doing you a kindness. Sparing you. Apologizing.
Have you grown so used to cruelty you do not recognize kindness anymore?
“I wish to be Queen.” You repeat. You wonder what he thinks of this cold woman that you have become. The one that only wishes for a single thing: A crown. “I will think of travels then.”
Your mother appears on King’s Landing a few days after. She comes with Daemon, your siblings, Rhaena and Baela and even Princess Rhaenys. It seems she has taken every dragonrider available with her, to show both the common folk and the Greens that the might of House Targaryen stands behind her.
You have dressed today, which is a miracle on itself. You have not really been feeling up for anything. The dress you wear is a sober, red velvet gown. There are no flowers in sight.
“Mother.” You greet when she dismounts from Syrax. For a second, you think of running towards her dragon and taking to the skies. Your mother used to take you riding with her as a child. Perhaps Syrax will still recognize you now.
“My wonderful girl.” The endearment is new. She looks half mad with worry, crossing the courtyard in one long stride. You curtsy, but she grabs your hands before you can sink into it, and pulls you for a hug.
Her hands shake as she smooths the short strands down.
“What have they done to you? Your hair… And you are much too thin.” She sobs into your shoulder. Her embrace is comforting, making you melt into her. You start to chastise yourself for judging her too harshly. She must have been doing her best to get you back, but wars were difficult. More so among kin. “I am so sorry, I never intended for any of this to happen.”
You think of your imminent wedding. Of the six moons you will spend at Dragonstone, with only Aemond to keep you company. Of Alicent’s cruel eyes as she told you to get used to it, for Aemond would have a right to touch you from now on. I have suffered, her brown eyes seemed to say, so every woman must too.
“Why did you agree?” You ask her, brown eyes meeting lilac. You need to know.
“To save your life.” She whispers. “To stop a war.”
But her eyes tell a different story. When you look over her shoulder, you see Daemon being greeted by the Goldcloaks, a smug smile on his face.
What is a girl to the Iron Throne?
Your smile falls. There is a terrible feeling on your chest, as if your heart, which had been beating so merrily, has just about turned into stone.
You remove yourself from your mother’s embrace. The pomegranate you had for breakfast tastes like ashes on your tongue.
YOU SPEND MOST of your time reading. Hiding away in the library, where you enjoy pretending Aemond can’t reach you.
Aemond doesn’t understand it. Dragonstone is so big you could go on with your day as normal and never cross paths with him. But he leaves you be, just as he had left you be during the wedding night. It seems to help you.
He dedicates his time to exploring the island instead. Unlike you, Aemond won’t get to leave it while you go back to King’s Landing. Nor is he allowed any visits. It feels suspiciously like a punishment, perhaps for what he almost dared do to you.
He is sure his uncle is behind this. It reeks of him. Exile with only you for company? Surely, your mother wouldn’t be so cruel, more thoughtful of what he could do to her precious daughter. But Daemon? He would find it outrageously funny.
The island is very intriguing to walk. There are several dragons here, and Aemond recognizes them all. There is the Cannibal, and the Sheepstealer, Silverwing, Verminthor. He had been fascinated by them as a child, when he had no dragon of his own.
Vhagar seems happier here. He supposes it is much better than the confinement of the dragonpit. But your dragon, the pampered green thing, seems to hate it. Competing for food is not something she cares for.
Aemond wonders if he will get to see the dragons reproduce. With all the spare time he has, he might as well solve the mystery. He could do some research, but the library is your domain. He would have to wait for you to retire for the day. You spend almost all your waking hours there.
What in the Seven Hells could you be doing? You had not been the studious type as a child. Nor had you been energetic like your brothers. You reminded him more of Helaena, but instead of insects, your obsession was flowers.
He tries to think of something else, but he is so bored and his curiosity is piqued. His feet lead him to the library almost without meaning to.
Aemond often does things out of sheer curiosity that he later regrets. The first time he had fucked a woman had been the product of that, and it had left him feeling ashamed and unsure, but wanting more. It had been the oddest thing.
He had claimed Vhagar only to see if he could, too. He had made that cursed toast, wanting to hurt the four of you, but also curious about what your reactions would be. Watching Aegon slam Lucerys against the table would be forever one of his fondest memories, but the scolding after…
You are sitting at a table near the window. Sunlight hits you from the side, giving your brown hair an almost golden glow and bathing your features in a soft chiaroscuro. Thick tomes are spread around you, bearing oddly familiar titles.
“The art of war. Seven accounts of the battle for Dragonstone. Ten thousand ships. The first dornish war, a treaty.” He whistles, unable to help himself. It is quite the collection. “Are you planning on declaring war already, niece?”
You startle. The quill you are holding falls from your hand.
“Husband.” You say, tone haughty. “If you must know, I am trying to learn strategy.”
“Strategy?” Aemond echoes. It’s not something he is very well acquainted with himself. He has some knowledge about it, from books and listening to his grandfather and Cole, but he is nowhere near an expert. His intellectual pursuits had been centered around philosophy and history, more than this. When he read about wars, he often glossed over the accounts about formations and such, more interested in the economical and political ramifications of them.
Strategy was also something a father should teach. Viserys had never been too interested in it, having not seen battle himself. What he had learned had come from observing Cole. Never having been at war, it was challenging to conclude if he had the right of things.
“I plan to be a good Queen.” You answer him, closing your book. Your tone is awfully civil. “And education is the greatest equalizer.” You give him a pointed look. Equals. You want to even the playing field between the two of you, so he can never frighten you again. How funny this is the topic you choose to learn.
“You shouldn’t worry about that.” Aemond snorts. “I hardly know about it myself.”
“But you are a man.” You say, astonished. “Surely, you were taught! Daemon taught Jace, someone had to…”
“My father was never interested.” He leans against the window, observing you. You observe him back, eyes glued to his hands as if you expect him to lunge at you and stab you. “How come Daemon didn’t teach you too?” He stresses your stepfather’s name.
“I am a woman.” You say, bitterly. “He thought my time was best spent learning to sing and play an instrument, so I could secure a good match.”
“He never seems to disapprove of the womanliness of your mother.” He arches an eyebrow because while his uncle might not be a good role model, he is exemplary when it comes to marital devotion.
“Doesn’t he? He has her popping out babes like there is no tomorrow.” You start gathering your parchment and quills. You have a small bound book inside which everything goes. Aemond had seen you with it before, but he had thought it a diary, not a set of instructions on how to go about a siege.
Showed how much he knew you. Go figure.
“You find having babes demeaning?”
Your expression turns positively murderous. Children seem not to be a good topic of conversation. This will probably become a problem later on, when the two of you need children of your own. He makes a mental note of it and moves on.
“His word is law. Or used to be, in our home. She defers to him.” You say, tone bitter. Daemon has fallen out of your good graces. Aemond almost wishes to travel to the Red Keep with you when spring starts, to see what you will do to him. Almost.
There would be nothing that could prompt him to enjoy his sister’s court. He refuses.
“Perhaps they are partners, and she seeks his counsel.” Aemond offers if only to irritate you. He is starved for intelligent conversation, and if he has to defend Daemon to keep you talking, he will. His boredom is driving him mad. There is nothing to do here beyond eat, sleep and train.
“He is great at it, just like you.” You say, coldly. Then, you say something very interesting. You repeat the same words that he had said to you once. “What is a girl to the Iron Throne?”
“Ah.”
So your resentment towards Daemon wasn’t about favoring your brother, or fucking more brats into your mother, but rather much more simplistic. You felt as if he had chosen to sacrifice you, so your mother could get her throne. Fascinating.
An angel passes between the two of you. Aemond can almost feel its wings brushing against him. Then, you inhale, sharply, and break the silence.
“So. Strategy. You should learn too.”
“You think war will come for us? And here I thought you trusted Jacaerys.” Aemond mocks.
“Let’s not delude ourselves.” You say, touching a strand of your hair. Brown. Strong brown. “There are new players in the game.”
Your mother’s babes, Aemond thinks. Daemon’s trueborn sons. Like a monster of myths, you cut one head and two more appear. You had disarmed your opponents in this generation, making them toothless dragons. Aemond was chained to you, Aegon in Essos, Helaena in Oldtown with her children. But as dragons tended to do, there were new ones hatching already.
War would come for you. And him. Aemond had never truly imagined himself sitting on the Iron Throne, he had been born a supporter. He had always thought he would stand behind a King.
But just as Daemon Targaryen, he could stand behind a Queen instead.
“So we learn, wife. And we fight.” Aemond sits across you and reaches for his own tome. Prince consort of Westeros had a nice ring to it. Perhaps his uncle was onto something.
You eye him warily. But you go back to pouring over your book, shoulders relaxing slightly.
It takes a few weeks of repeating the same routine, the two of you reading side by side during the afternoon, for you to warm up to him. Timidly, you show up to break your fast with him one day and never leave.
He is an early riser, always making use of the training yard before the sun is out. You never wake as early, but you need to do it if you wish to catch him before he starts his day. You manage to be out of bed at sunrise every morning that week. Aemond doesn’t comment on your change of habits. He is not sure that he wants to stop it.
“Aemond.” You say, one day, as he peels a pomegranate for you. It’s not like he is doing you a favor, really. It is for his own good. Your hands are small, and you press too hard to break the seeds out, making a mess of the whole table. It’s best if he does it and saves himself from being sprayed with the red liquid. He finds it stains terribly. Your tiny hands always end up red for days, and it’s not proper at all for the future Queen of Westeros. “Could you…?”
“What?” He cuts the pomegranate into quarters and pops the seeds out, placing them in a bowl. He slides them towards you, with a spoon. Savage thing that you are, you might end up digging right in with your hands.
“You owe me a debt.”
“I do?” He startles. Aemond is unsure what you are talking about, but his guts twists. You have a long memory, he has come to learn. And an intrinsic ability to quote his own words back at him at the most inopportune moments.
“What you did was awful, and while our truce has been pleasant, I wish to forgive you. And for that to happen, you will do something for me.” Your voice is careful and steady. There are no tears in your eyes. Only the slight shaking of your hands as you reach for the spoon betrays the scars that evening had left in you.
Aemond doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. He wipes his hands with a napkin. The stains on his hands look awfully like blood, and they won’t come out, no matter how hard he tries.
“Who says I want your forgiveness?” He deflects. He does want it. But this past few weeks, pretending to be a normal marriage, have been too blissful to risking upsetting the delicate balance the two of you had found by ignoring the past.
“I do.”
Aemond looks at you. You are a bit pale, but your expression is calm. It relaxes him slightly, knowing that you are at ease.
“What I want is to get out of this damn island.” And it is true. He needs to get out of here, or he fears he might go mad. Seven Hells, Aemond fears he might already be. When had he started worrying about how you felt? Thinking of you as an ally and not a ball and chain?
“That won’t happen in the near future.”
“You are not my jailer.”
“Am I not?” You smile at him, deliciously wicked. It seems the little dragon is waking up, ready to torch everything in her path. Aemond’s scar starts to throb. He can tell something bad is about to happen. This doesn’t feel like your usual banter. “You want to rule. But before me, you were nothing. Only a second son.”
“And before me, you were nothing. Just a whore to throw at Cregan Stark and see if the damn dog was led by his cock enough to support your cunt of a mother.” Aemond’s mouth works faster than his brain. He is just so angry at hearing you say he was only a second son that his words come out before he can stop them.
You laugh. It only irritates him further. He feels as if he is unraveling, coming apart at the seams, but he just can’t stop it.
“Well, look at us. We made each other worse.” There is a smile in your lips, a coy, infuriating little thing. Insolent, impudent, just as your mother. He had been so wrong calling you a bastard. You are all dragon. “But you will earn my forgiveness, if you wish to share my bed.”
And it infuriates him, your presumption. That he will fall at your feet like a lovesick fool because you paid him some attention. Aemond half lunges at you, barely managing to stop himself from throttling you.
“You whore! I could just use you.”
You jump too. Your cutlery falls to the floor. Your eyes are alarmed. It is only then he notices what he has said. Aemond has crossed the line he had sworn he would never touch again.
“I am sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. It was in poor taste, of course.”
Your eyes keep darting from him towards the exit. You are terrified, eyes both looking at him and somewhere far away. Are you there again, Aemond wonders? In that room with Ser Arryk and a version of him consumed by his bloodlust?
The next time you speak, your voice is but a whisper.
“You never think. That’s the issue.”
Aemond swallows. He has broken things once again, but he doesn’t know how to mend them. He needs to fix it.
“What did you need? The favor, what were you going to ask?”
Your lips turn white with the force you are using to keep them pressed together.
“It’s best I don’t.”
He thinks of you sitting in the library, hands smoothing down your parchment. Education is the greatest equalizer, you had said. An idea sprouts, half formed. As always, his mouth is speaking before his mind has time to catch up.
“If you knew how to wield a sword, would you feel safer? If I taught you to defend yourself?”
“I do not think…”
“I will let you trash me around the training yard, even.” Aemond offers because maybe wearing some of your bruises will help him feel better. Punish himself by letting you have a go at him.
“Fine.”
You are a good student. Despite an initial hesitance to be near him, you thrive on the training yard. You use your smaller form to your advantage, twisting and ducking in impossible ways. All those dance lessons seem to have paid off. You are light on your feet. He might make a swordswoman out of you yet.
“Do you think I could find Rhaenys’ sword?” You ask him, one day, as you laze on a rock. You are watching him hack at a straw opponent. The sun is hitting you just right, and lazy cat that you are, you are soaking it all up. “She had to have one.”
“Probably. But you think it is here?” Aemond pauses, out of breath. He sets his sword down and wipes the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt. Your eyes trail his movements with barely concealed interest. It is a recent development.
“Where else?”
“Essos? Sold by pirates?” He offers, very reasonably. You have a tendency to daydream, he knows. Despite being a cold, calculating thinker, ready to go to war for your crown, you are still a young woman. Aemond doesn’t have the heart to tell you Rhaenys might not have even had a sword. It would shatter you.
You huff.
“You lack a sense of adventure.”
It is how he ends up joining you in a chase around Dragonstone. The castle is scoured from top to bottom, running up flights of stairs, scandalizing the servants and opening up secret passages. You force him out of his boredom and actually get him interested in discovering the castle’s secrets.
Aemond's chest hurts when he thinks of what he will do when spring comes, and you are not there to distract him. It is probably the sappy thought that distracts him, truly.
He falls down a flight of stairs, over his ankle. It hurts like the Seven Hells. It’s nothing compared to the loss of his eye, but it does make him cry out in surprise.
“Sprained.” The Maester says, as you fuzz over him. It bars him from running around the island, so you invite him to listen to your tenants.
Aemond finds holding court in Dragonstone is not as dreadfully boring as he had feared. He supposes he will have to do it in your stead when you travel. He despises the thought.
But what he finds he enjoys more, is being your sword. No matter that you are growing more adept with yours, Aemond rather likes standing menacingly behind you to intimidate the men that dare interrupt you.
It spirals out of control when winter starts. Aemond has commissioned you a small diadem in the shape of a flower crown, and he gifts it to you just as the last leave falls from the trees in your garden. Dragonstone is hard-pressed for flowers during summer as it is, much more in autumn.
“You have not worn flower crowns in a while.” He offers, as the only explanation, when he places it on your hair. You smile, admiring the glittering jewels on the top of your head in the looking glass.
“I love it.” And your eyes meet his in the reflection, and Aemond has to look away because he fears what he will say if you look at him a moment longer.
He focuses his gaze on your shoulders instead. You aren’t tense any longer, and you seem unburdened for the first time in a long time. He is slowly starting to see flashes of the girl you used to be, the one that would fill rooms with laughter and sunlight.
He finds himself drawing strength from the memory as the morning progresses. The petitioners today have been especially irritating, and a gruesome case has been presented for the Princess to pass her judgement.
A woman with a scarred back is brought before you, still bleeding from a lashing. The wounds seem to have cured badly, due to her lack of access to a Maester. As you had sent her to the one in the castle, the husband had been brought in front of you, and Aemond knew with just a look that he was going to be trouble.
He had tuned out the words you were speaking, choosing instead to stand behind you, a hand in the back of your chair. But it is as you sentence the man to a week in the dungeons, that he hears it.
“… You are a child. I won’t allow a child, wearing a flower crown, to dictate how to discipline my wife!” He bellows out, and makes to lunge at you.
You flinch. Your expression, relaxed, turns into a frown. He can tell you are embarrassed about it, your crown of flowers. You had not worn them ever since that meeting in Storm’s End.
The guards step forward, ready to intervene. But Aemond’s blood is boiling because how this did man dare mock his gift to you? Who was he to mock you for who you were, when it had taken you so much effort to go back to a semblance of normalcy?
“My wife may wear all the flower crowns she wishes, for she is to be Queen of Westeros.” He says, stepping forward before the guards can do anything. He unsheats his sword. Aemond cannot hurt him, not yet, but putting the fear of the Seven in him will be delightful regardless.
“If you think anyone will support this… This…” The man argues, pushing him and trying to intimidate Aemond with his bulk. Aemond lets himself be shoved, smirking. Got you, he thinks.
“That is treason. Do you know the punishment for treason?” He asks, very calmly. He raises his sword. The man, busy glaring at him, doesn’t see it.
“It’s the truth! She is as touched in the head as…” But before the man can finish his comparison, Aemond beheads him.
“Aemond!” You scream. He smirks.
“He was growing tiresome.”
Aemond goes back to standing behind you, feeling rather pleased with himself. After that, no man dares raise their voice at you.
Spring and summer are unbearable months in Dragonstone. Aemond entertains himself with keeping your lands in order. He patrols the island daily, and makes sure to handle petitions the way you would like it done.
The day the first leaf falls, you arrive on dragonback. You jump out of your saddle as soon as you see him, tumbling out into his arms.
By the Seven, if Aemond hadn’t caught you, you would have broken a bone.
“You are back.” He says, a bit perplexed by your enthusiasm.
“It is my home, is it not?” You say, smile bright and smelling of flowers. The diadem he has gifted you with shines on your dark hair.
“Oh.” Aemond says, as if struck by lighting. “I…” He has been a fool, hasn’t he?
You surge forward, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and tangling the other in his hair, and you crash your lips to his. You are so warm against him, so small, and there is fire in his veins instead of blood, spreading through his body, reaching his heart and setting him aflame with just one touch.
You smile against his mouth, a smug, infuriating thing. He kisses back, harder, crowding you against your dragon. You fall back against her, and he follows, giving a teasing squeeze to your waist.
You pull back.
“It is good to be home.”
“Indeed.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
DETAILED TW: Aemond knows reader is scared of rape, he feigns he is about to do it to her to scare her. He has thought of the reader in sexual ways, but it is clear in the scene he doesn’t intend to go through it since it is told from his pov. He does grope the reader. Reader threatens with suicide to avoid rape. Twice. Pretty much dark fic.
#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond x reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#prince aemond x you#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x original character#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen fic#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#hotd fanfic#hotd x reader#hotd aemond#prince aemond#aemond the kinslayer#asoiaf fanfic#asoif/got#asoif fanfic
318 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Helping Hand
Rhysand Week Day 4 : Lord of Night
Summary - High Lord, Husband, father. Rhysand's plate is just far too full, leading the Inner Circle to take over some duties.
Warnings - workaholic Rhysand, discussions of classism, new dad Rhys, platonic bond, loose editing so forgive me if I fix things later
A/N - I am so sorry this is late! I think someone *cough baby daddy cough* accidently deleted it when he did a run through for me. But anyways, happy late day 4 and day 5 of @officialrhysandweek! It'll be a double post day 💕
✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️
“Please just let me handle this for you,” you were firm in the request, hand still on the request of approval to renovate the Opera house in the Rainbow. “We both know this project is completely unneeded. There is no reason for you to waste your time penning the letter.”
Rhysand stared at where your hand met the paper. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, “I-”
“No. It's time for us to have a serious discussion.” You took the paper from him and then held his hands. “Rhysand, you have spread yourself far too thin. You are not sleeping well with a newborn, you are helping Feyre as she's healing, you are recovering from trauma. Let me help you by organizing the report by who should actually be handling them.”
Rhys seemed to consider your words before nodding, “I want final-”
“Rhysand, we have known each other for 500 years. Do you truly not trust me enough to make a decision based on your preferences?”
He tugged that power exchange bond between the two of you, silently asking for a bit of your energy. You offered it to him without hesitation, without even so much as thinking about your well-being over his. “I do not want the fae in this court knowing I'm not the one running the court.” You couldn't help but sigh and roll your eyes and stare at him, blinking as if to say, “Duh.” His lips twitched into a smile at you, “What are you going to do, sweetheart? Forge my signat..” His eyes went wide as he realized that was exactly what you had planned. “I expect brief rundowns first.”
“And you will have them. Now go take a nap.”
The Inner Circle gathered in the new father's office claiming reports left and right. Cassian took anything involving Illyria and the training camps. Azriel took anything involving newcomers to the City of Starlight, border related issues, and requests for visiting. Mor and Amren split Hewn City. Dividing those reports among issues relating to rumors of uprisings or requests for help and sanctuary from tortured females. It left you with things regarding the inner workings of Velaris. You were curled in your own office, writing the rejection letter for the Opera House Project. The Opera House had been a gift to Velaris after Rhysand's return home. It was barely more than a few years old and every single feature had been planned to perfection by you and Rhysand as a way to heal the odd bind that tied you two together. The wealthy fae of Velaris were asking to redo the seating. Specifically, they wanted the seats to be made larger.
You knew this wasn't for comfort. You had fallen in love with studying the patterns of consumerism throughout Prythian history. You knew this project was aimed at accessibility. Less sears meant higher prices for shows. Higher prices meant exclusion of the middle and lower classes. Exclusion from the arts was dangerous, though. Something you, Rhysand, and Feyre stood firmly against.
Hours seemed to pass as you finished one thing and moved to the next, realizing how far behind Rhysand had gotten. He was hardly sleeping, rotating nights with Feyre, or just forcing her to sleep while he handled nights with a newborn alone. He was being the father he never had. One who earned the title of Dad, and you knew the last thing he'd want was the fae he cared so much for to suffer because of it.
The sunset when Cassian arrived, his work completed. “Rhys has been given the gist of everything. I am to only have to send one thing to the camp leaders,” Cassian slid a letter, one penned by himself over to you. “Rhysie is having them start to direct all issues to me first. Using your whole chain of command idea.”
Silence.
Cassian's words were met with silence as you swallowed hard, holding in tears of pride. “He's delegating?!”
The commander nodded, scarred lips twitching to smirk. “He is.”
You'd never faked his signature so fast, quill flying across the parchments, “This is good.”
Azriel was next with Nuala and Cerridwen in tow, “City guard is to report issues to the twins from now on,” he leaned into his chair. “If they deem it serious enough, they will handle it unless I need to get involved.”
“And if you can't handle it,” you questioned as a joke.
Azriel scoffed before schooling his reaction to your jab, “Then, and only then, is Rhys to get involved. My part of his reports are done and sent. I didn't think anyone would have issues with me answering security related issues.”
They'd be a fool to, is what you wanted to reply with. Azriel was not the type of male to fuck with unless you had a death wish. He was petty at times and loved to plot.
Mor came next, throwing herself dramatically into the chair. “I hate how your Office is a dry zone,” she groaned. “I'll be visiting daddy dearest.”
You gagged at that and the two of you launched into a gossip session. Turns out, her father had taken Rhysand's recent absence in Hewn City as an open invitation to run a few illegal trade rings. Rings Mor was all too happy to be putting an end to.
“That summarizes what Amren and I will both be dealing with,” she yawned, perfect red nails flying to her lips. “I'm going to bed.”
10.
11.
Midnight.
2am rolled around and your door opened again, a sleepy Rhysand carrying a sleeping Nyx. “Go to bed,” his tone was commanding but held an air of affection to you. “You're no better than me.”
You only maintained eye contact, smirking as you put his name on a document approving a community vegetable garden and greenhouse, “Yet here we are,” you whispered. “All your reports, acquisitions, and petitions done and handled.”
His face fell, eyes shutting as he nodded, “You all got me caught up?”
With a wave of your hand, all the stacks vanished to their proper locations where they would sit and wait to be opened by their receivers. “We did,” you stood as silently as possible and moved to him and Nyx, “Do you want me to go lay him down?”
Rhysand only responded by pulling you into a tight side hug, his face burying in your hair, “How can I repay you for this? You have no clue what this meant to Feyre and I.”
The hug was payment enough. Contact with your best friend making that power bond hum as you hugged him back, “No repayment is necessary, Rhys. We all need help sometimes.”
“But-”
You whispered again, interrupting him, “We all need help sometimes.”
Understand, gratefulness, and admiration filled his almost violet colored gaze, “How did I get blessed with Feyre as my mate and you as my carranam?”
“Good question,” you shot back. “Maybe it was so we could keep you humble.” You took Nyx slowly, moving to walk the little heir back to his nursery. “Or maybe it was to keep you from dying in your office. Goodnight, Rhysand.”
You could tell he wanted to sass you back, to have the last word. It had been so long since that side of him came out, and you were glad to see a day of rest brought some fire back to him. He seemed to settle with nodding, walking backwards as he watched you take Nyx, “This isn't over. Once I wake up refreshed tomorrow, it's on. Goodnight, Y/n.”
General Taglist:
@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f
#elizabeths.updates#acotar#acotar x reader#rhys acotar#rhysand acotar#rhysand fanfic#rhysand x reader#rhysand x you#rhysand x y/n#rhys x reader#rhys x you#rhys x y/n#rhysandweek2024#rhysandweek2024 day 4#prompt : lord of night#high lord rhysand#high lord of the night court#inner circle x reader
205 notes
·
View notes
Note
could i request my loser gp!sakura who keeps getting a hard on during rehearsels because of seeing reader doing the throwing it back move in Perfect Night 😓 and ofc reader has to helo help!!! duh!!!
(Pervert Sakura is a popular favorite am I right or am I right yall?)
Sakura looking at you like this as you kept practicing the same moves over and over again ‘cause you couldn’t seem to get them right. At first she was just cheering you up, calling your name and clapping so you could feel supported and motivated by her as the good member and unnie she was<3 but when you were throwing it back -
Even after you got that part perfect, she kept telling you to work on it ‘cause “you weren’t there yet”, she’d say while discreetly fixing her boner in her shorts. What a good unnie, even offering to stay with you when everybody else left so you wouldn’t be alone practicing :((. Whole time she just loved how you moved and wanted to watch you without the risk of the other members and the choreographer catching her. Having to constantly check she wasn’t drooling ‘cause she kept staring at you with her mouth open like a dumbass 😭. Telling you she was gonna help you fix your posture, but it was just an excuse to get her hands on you, rubbing herself against your ass hoping you wouldn’t notice it ‘cause she wanted that feeling in her brain for later on that night when she gets home and touches herself thinking about you.
But Ofc you noticed, girlie was hard af, and too much of a stupid pervert to realize she was being too obvious.
“Unnie, what’s that?” You said, trying to turn around to see what was it that was poking your low back lmao
“W-what’s what?” She asked, trying her best to sound calm.
“I think your belt is hurting me wait”
“No! y/n wait-” she argued, trying to stop you from turning around, she didn’t need one of her members knowing how dirty minded she is :( but as you guys struggled a bit, she fell on her ass. With her hands still on your waist, she took you with her, making you fall seated on her lap. “Oh fuck..” she groaned, the pressure on her cock hurting but not in the bad way at all.
“Oh God, unnie I’m so sorry, are you ok?” You asked her, worried that you might have hurt her since the sounds she was making made it seem like it.
“Hmm y/n wait, stay like that please…” Sakura practically begged, starting to lose a grip on herself, having you so close to her like this making her forget she couldn’t just have you without making sure you were ok with it first. Her hands firm on your body stopping you from getting up. Her behavior got you a little confused, did you actually hurt her? If you did she would’ve tried to get you off her, right?
“What? Kkura unnie are you sure you’re ok? And what’s this on your pocket that keeps poking my leg-” you moved a bit just to give your hand enough space to check what was it on Sakura’s pants, and stopped when you realized. How stupid were you not to think about that possibility before. Sakura gulped, both ‘cause of the contact of your hand with her member, and because you caught her in such an embarrassing state. She was a little scared, what if you were disgusted by it? What if you didn’t wanna be friends with her anymore? What if you tell the others? Oh god, how would this affect the whole group? A million thoughts running through her head, while her other head stayed hard as a rock. However, you were everything but disgusted by this.
“So that’s why you kept telling me to continue practicing, huh?” You said, teasing her neck with your nose, your breath causing shivers on the older girl. “Tell me, unnie. When did I actually get it right, hm? For how long you kept me going just ‘cause you wanted to see me?”
“y/n, I-I’m sorry. I really am, I didn’t mean to-” she started apologizing, her voice trembling.
“Shh, it’s ok. You’re already having a hard time right now anyways, aren’t you?” You asked her, your voice softening as your eyes moved to her covered member. “Does it hurt, unnie?”
She didn’t say anything, she just nodded while her eyes followed yours, ashamed to look at you.
“Then I guess I should help you.”
“Eh?!” Sakura asked looking at you so fast with eyes wide open, not sure if she could trust her ears.
“Oh please, don’t act silly now. We both know this is what you wanted, right?” She nodded again, her face red. “Then let me be good and help my unnie. She helped me enough today with my practicing, right? It’s just compensating.”
And that’s how you ended up sucking her dick while she was seated with her back against the wall, the mirror in front of you guys as she enjoyed looking at you from time to time. Sakura’s cock was so sensitive though, that with every lick your tongue gave it she left out whimper after whimper. The tip turning from a pinkish to a more red color, you couldn’t help but play with it with the tip of your tongue. This making her not know what to do with her hands, they went from rubbing your back as she moaned “so good, baby. So fucking good…” to biting her fingers, to grabbing her own neck slightly with one hand, to her nails scratching the floor and the wall behind her, trying to grab anything while her brain became nothing with the delicious sensation of your mouth on her length. The deeper you got it inside your mouth, the closer you were pushing her to her orgasm.
“Ugh baby I’m so close, just like that…” She asked, her hands grabbing your head and keeping you close, making sure you stay right where you were. “Be good and keep unnie’s cock in your pretty mouth when she cums, ok?” She cooed you, letting you breathe for a few seconds only.
“Yes unnie…” you said, catching your breath as you quickly put her back inside your mouth.
“Good girl, such a good girl.” the older girl moaned, her voice hitting higher tones as she started fucking your mouth. You looked up and felt yourself clenching around nothing as Sakura looked so hot lost in her pleasure. Her eyes closed, biting her lip to try and fail to contain the obnoxious noises coming from her mouth. “Oh my god…” you heard her at the same time that thick ropes of cum went down your throat, barely allowing any air to enter but you didn’t care at all, you felt so good knowing it was your Sakura unnie using you like this. Knowing she was this horribly horny just ‘cause she watched you dancing.
You swallowed everything Kkura gave you, and when the grip on your head got loose, you finally took her cock off your mouth. When you sat next to her, she was still not there, clearly. Processing her orgasm, she just sighed and whispered “thank you..” and Omg she just looked so cute, with her hair all messy and her facial features clean of makeup and relaxed. You just giggled “anytime, unnie~” and kissed her cheek before resting on her shoulder, hoping practice becomes this interesting next time soon.
Ngl I went back to watch the dance performance and I got distracted🧍🏻♀️
#kpop gg#kpop scenarios#kpop imagines#le sserafim#le sserafim x reader#le sserafim imagines#le sserafim scenarios#le sserafim x y/n#miyawaki sakura#miyawaki sakura x reader#g!p loser Sakura x reader#le sserafim sakura#miyawaki sakura smut#le sserafim smut
613 notes
·
View notes
Text
Steve-o
Summary: Steve thinks you’re very pretty, and desperately needs your number.
A/N: i love Steve. a lot.
The world stops for approximately 5 second when Steve Harrington first sees you. It’s heavy crashing infatuation that has Steve questioning, is love at first sight real?
He’s never been a believer in this sort of thing, you get to know them, you fall for them. At least, that’s how it was with Nancy. You can’t fall In love with a person you’ve never met, you don’t even know them.
But that’s what Steve found so beautiful, the unknown.
“Dude, why aren’t you walking?” Robin turns from where she stands, realizing Steve is no longer beside her.
“It’s her, Robs.” He breathes.
“It’s who?”
“My soulmate, my pairing, my one true love.” He contradicts everything he believes in.
“Oh my god,” Robin groans annoyedly. “You cannot be serious right now, Steve.”
He nods. “As a heart attack.”
Papers scatter the Scoops Ahoy wheel table you sit at. They’re filled with words and colorful highlighter. Smart, he thinks, I know she’s smart.
“Get your ass over here and keep walking, we’re gonna be late.” He won’t budge. “God, please, Steve.”
“I need her number.” He shakes his head.
“You need one less late clock in.”
Steve whines, breaking his eye sight on you for the first time. “Let me have this, Robs.”
“I’ve let you have 3 late days, one more and Kieth said he’d fire your ass.”
“Kieth says a lot of things.” He turns his head to her. “How do I ask? Name first? Number? Age?”
“Well typically you introduce yours-“
“Fuck off, Robin, I know what I’m doing.”
He takes a moment. Maybe he should’ve let Robin finish her advice, he’s never been this nervous to ask out a girl.
“This level of melodramatic is a new low, Steve.”
“Fuck off.” This pushes him to walk into Scoops.
When he reaches the table, it’s an obvious realization that you’re studying. The papers are neat despite thrown around, and there’s a highlighter key next to your elbow. He feels guilty interrupting.
Be normal! Repeats in his head like a mantra. God!
“Hi,” he starts, he feels like he could throw up. “I’m Steve.”
You startle. “Hi, Steve.”
He laughs nervously. Robin rolls her eyes so hard her head tilts back and her hands come up to cover her face exasperatedly. You smile. Steve doesn’t.
He takes a look around the room awkwardly. How could he ever stand these blue and red lights? “I used to work here yanno.”
You nod. “You work in the video store now.”
“That I do.” He bounces in his new shoes, “Wait, have you been in?”
“Yeah, I come every Saturday.”
“No shit.” He breathes. You look taken aback, a little confused, a little offended.
“I mean! No shit, I would’ve remembered a face so pretty.”
“Good one, dingus.”
“Take a walk.” He replies quickly.
“Do you.. need something?” You ask carefully. His face crumples and something sick in your heart twists. “Not to be rude! I just- English 101 doesn’t finish itself.”
“English 101! You go to Hawkins Community? I was gonna go, I just wanted a taste of hardworking minimum wage life first” his eyes widen, “not that what you’re doing isn’t hard work!”
Can the world just cave in on him now? Shoot me.
“She asked a question, Steve-o” Robin puts in. Unhelpfully.
He glares at Robin. “I was wondering if I could get your number? It’s okay if not!” He adds quickly. “Just like- maybe we could go out sometime?”
Your head spins, pretty boy comes and asks for your number? You can’t mess this up.
“You like movies?”
“Uhh duh,” Steve laughs. Robin doesn’t know how much more she can take of this. “Totally.”
“You pick a movie,” You smile, “and come over Saturday. I’ve got a really big tv.”
Now Steve may be nervous, but he wasn’t born yesterday.
“Yeah!” He seems overeager. “Yeah,” he fixes. “I’ll pick out a movie.”
“Okay.” You smile up at him.
He juts out his wrist. “You can write it.. here.”
Your laugh cuts through his nerves like a sharp knife. “Yeah, okay.”
Pretty pink highlighter seeps into Steve’s unblemished wrist. He watches you write your number moonstricken. Your fingers press into his skin warmly and something turns in his tummy, you’re so pretty.
“Well I’ll be seeing you..” He looks at his wrist, “Y/N.”
“I’ll be seeing you, Steve-o” She takes from Robin.
He laughs, turning to walk with Robin again. “Steve-o” he mouths.
Robin is sure to have an aneurism. They were supposed to clock in 3 minutes ago.
“You happy with yourself?”
Steve grins, big and boyish. “Yeah, I am.”
#stranger things#stranger things 4#steve Harrington#steve harrington x fem! reader#steve harrington x reader#Steve x reader#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x reader fluff
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
can you please do some jennifer check x reader fluff, shes my comfort character and i fr have been needing it lately
Sorry if you've been going through a tough time! I hope things pick up <3
𝐃𝐚��𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐂𝐬
✦ Jennifer’s the type to “love ‘em and leave ‘em” but that's just how she's been conditioned to act. Deep down she's a romantic and if you actually put effort into wooing her she’ll be smitten.
✦ She's not always a good person to have in your life, dating her is quite the rollercoaster, but she is a loyal and devoted girlfriend. She's the ride-or-die type.
✦ She tries so hard to act cool and detached but the longer you date the clingier she gets. She's very starved for affection and that will become your problem to fix.
✦ She loves to be spoiled, if you're not spending at least half of your paycheck on her, what are you doing?
✦ But actually she buys you things all the time too, she notices something cute she'd like to see you wear, or a trinket that reminds her of you and it's yours.
✦ She really appreciates words of affirmation, even though she can't respond to them seriously, usually just rolling her eyes and saying “Duh.” or something similar.
✦ She has no filter, so get used to her casual insults, and many dirty things said at inappropriate times.
✦ She hypes you up just as much as she teases you. She's actually your biggest cheerleader.
✦ She's the jealous type. She's possessive, suspicious, and if she has even a hunch that someone else wants you they're probably gonna end up on a missing person poster.
✦ Speaking of possessive, she does everything she can to mark you as hers. Buying you the same perfume that she uses, matching jewelry, insisting you wear her jacket, covering you in hickeys and so on.
✦ Though she hates the feeling of being jealous herself, she tries to make you jealous almost every time she's upset with you. She's just ✨toxic✨ like that.
Masterlist | Gif source
#jennifer check x reader#jennifer check imagine#jennifer's body#jennifer check#slashers x reader#slashers imagine
199 notes
·
View notes
Note
hii! i love your casey x autistic!reader fics and i had a request. you know how in a lot of the episodes where the men get sa’d, they think it means they’re gay and they blow up in the interrogation room shouting slurs and everything? i’ve always wondered what it would be like for a queer detective to be in the room seeing someone say that in front of them. could you do something like that where a suspect gets defensive and starts spewing homophobic stuff in the interrogation room where detective!reader is interviewing them and casey is watching from behind the glass? pre-existing relationship if possible and maybe some fluff as well :)) these are just some ideas you can really do whatever you want - i give you full creative freedom 🙏
Hey, friend! Hope this is what you're looking for! Much love to you! 💕 –illdowhatiwantthanks
Interrogations
Casey Novak x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: homophobic comments, threats of sexual violence, autism times, police (duh), explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.2k
Summary: A threatening, homophobic outburst from a victim has you overstimulated and panicked. Casey is there to help calm you down. That is, if she can calm down herself.
“Sir, it’s in your best interest to be honest with us,” you said, rubbing your temples.
Round and round you’d gone with this man. This married man with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. He’d been assaulted at a gay club, and the implications were clear. You sat down across from him. Your partner, Resendez, leaned against the back wall, letting you take the lead on this one. As the only out, queer detective working special victims, you were often the one they chose to interview queer victims or even suspects. There was a level of relatability; you were better than most at getting them to open up.
This man–clean cut, button-up, eye swollen shut, split lip–you felt sorry for him. You felt sorry for anyone who wasn’t out, wasn’t free to be themselves for whatever reason. It had taken you a long time to come to terms with your own sexuality, even longer to be comfortable in a relationship. But you knew the cognitive dissonance it took to lead a “straight” life while trying desperately hard not to be gay. He’d given you some bullshit story about being drugged and dragged to the gay club, but there had been no drugs found in his system. He was clearly just trying to come up with an excuse for being there.
“Mr. Berg,” you started again, softening your voice. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex with men. We just need to know what really happened so we can catch the person who did this to you.”
Suddenly, he exploded, standing and throwing his chair against the wall. You nearly fell out of your seat as you backed toward the wall and Resendez surged forward to cuff him.
“I’m not a fucking faggot, you bitch!” he spat. “Maybe you like pussy, but that’s not my problem! You just need a dick in you! I could do it, too, I’m not a fucking fag!”
You kept your eyes fixed on a scratch on the wall, trying not to react. You were used to people saying ignorant things. You were used to perps saying all kinds of disgusting things to you, but this outburst had rattled you more than usual.
“Just go, Y/L/N,” Resendez said, nodding toward the door.
You didn’t need to be told twice. You let the door slam shut behind you, leaning against it and exhaling shakily.
“You okay?”
You jumped a bit, then calmed when you saw it was Casey. She’d been watching the interview.
You nodded, but your hands gave you away, shaking at your sides. Casey frowned and pressed one of your hands between hers, flattening it and attempting to massage the stress away. You were trying hard to stay calm, but Berg’s outburst–the force of it, the volume–had taken you off guard. Normally on the job, you went into situations expecting belligerence or violence, and your body and brain were primed for it ahead of time. But this had come so out of the blue. Your heartbeat was fast and loud in your ears, and you closed your eyes, the lights overhead too bright, too much.
You could feel yourself growing panicked, not because of what Berg had said, but because you knew you were getting overstimulated, and you couldn’t control it. Of course, your squad knew you were autistic. Huang evaluated you every six months to ensure you weren’t burnt out and were able to perform your duties. There were parts of solving a case that being autistic made you very good at, but there were also things it made hard for you. You hated for your squad to see you like this, to see the worst parts of being autistic. You wanted them to trust you, to believe that you were capable of doing your job and doing it well. But nobody else fell apart like this. Just you.
“Sorry,” you whispered to Casey as your breathing grew more rapid.
She wrapped her arm around your shoulder protectively. “It’s okay. Come here, come with me.”
She led you to the bullpen and knocked lightly on Cragen’s open door. Cragen looked up and was about to ask Casey what she needed when he noticed her gesture subtly toward you–hunched, eyes on the ground, fingers tapping the sides of your head as your body rocked back and forth.
Cragen gathered his papers and stood, squeezing Casey’s arm as he passed. “Take as long as you need,” he said quietly, leaving his office.
Casey pulled you into the office and shut the door behind you, turning off the overhead lights and shutting the blinds.
“Okay,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around your rocking body and squeezing you tightly. The longer she held you, the more your heartbeat slowed, the more even your breaths grew, until you were left shaky from the spent adrenaline, limp in her arms.
“I’m sorry,” you said again, lowering yourself into a chair and rubbing your eyes.
Casey sat next to you, taking your hand in hers again. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, honey.”
You disagreed, but you didn’t want to argue the point. Casey would win anyway. She was a lawyer, after all.
“I want to go in with you next time when you question Berg,” she added.
“Casey…” you protested.
“I don’t want him talking to you like that.”
You smiled softly at her and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Casey. Honey. I’m a detective. People are gonna say shitty things to me.”
“Yeah, well,” she grumbled. “If he threatens you again, I’m slapping him with an assault charge.”
“He’s an assault victim, Case. It’s your job to protect him.”
“Maybe so,” she conceded, leaning forward to caress your cheek. “But my number one job is to protect you.”
You melted into her touch. Usually it was you protecting people. Your whole job was protecting people, and you were good at it. But Casey? Casey looked after you. Casey made you feel safe.
You leaned in to kiss her lips softly, making sure to meet her eyes when you pulled away, so she knew you were feeling better, less overstimulated.
“I’m okay, honey,” you whispered. “I promise.”
The rest of the squad made it a point to be extra normal when you and Casey emerged from Cragen’s office. Someone who didn’t know you might think you and Casey had been in there for less-than-professional reasons, but the squad knew the only reason you’d lock yourself in there was for you to regulate yourself. And they never wanted you to feel embarrassed about it.
You made your way back to the interrogation room where Berg now sat handcuffed. Resendez observed him through the two-way mirror.
“Want another crack, Y/N?” he asked. “I’m getting nothing.”
“Might try good cop, bad cop with Casey,” you told him. “Or, well, I guess it’d be bad cop, worse ADA who’s pissed you threatened her girlfriend.”
Resendez shrugged and grinned at you. “Worth a shot anyway.”
Casey squeezed your hand before following you into the interrogation room.
“Alright, Mr. Berg. Allow me introduce ADA Novak.”
#casey novak#casey novak fanfic#casey novak x reader#casey novak x fem!reader#casey novak x autistic!reader#svu#law and order svu#svu fanfic
113 notes
·
View notes
Text
Older; not Wiser (pt. 1)
Derek Danforth x fem reader
2.5k words
Tags: 18+, age gap, reader is 20, no use of y/n, smoking, shotgunning, brat tamer Derek, bratty reader, filthy shit, porn that's mostly plot, grinding, clit stimulation, Derek has dirty thoughts, (duh), idk just read it this is mostly buildup to smut
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Derek stumbles into his private study tired, high, and eager to take a break from the party raging in the rest of his mansion. He often retires to this room, as no one is allowed here but himself. Not even the maids.
So why is there a pretty young woman lounging in his recliner?
No, not lounging... you look far too tense for that. In fact, you don't even seem to notice his presence at all until he's towering over you.
"I believe this is my seat, sweetheart." He says, trying to keep his voice firm and suppress a smirk as he takes a hit of his blunt.
You scramble up from the chair immediately, squeaking out a quiet apology.
Ah, so you know who he is. AND you listen. That's good.
Derek chuckles to himself as he plops down in the plush lounge chair, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips.
You apparently don't know what to do yourself after the little evection, simply staring at your feet and tugging on the hem of your dangerously tiny dress.
Fuck, you look good.
"Oh, c'mon. Don't be like that. We can share." Derek pats the armrest of his chair, giving you what he hopes in an inviting smile.
After a few seconds of simply blinking at him in shock, you shyly make your way over and take a seat on the armrest. Your arm hooks around the top of the chair as you get comfortable, but you're careful not to touch him.
Derek can't help but smirk slightly at your timid nature. Is he really that scary? Whatever. He'll take it as a compliment.
"So, does she speak?" He asks after another slow hit of his joint. You look so pretty through the dim smoky haze.
"Not much." You admit, fixing your gaze on your lap in an attempt to avoid eye contact.
Derek looks at your lap too, but quickly has to turn his attention elsewhere. Fuck. That dress really is too short.
"Something tells me you're sober." He teases, waving his blunt in front of you.
That earns him a nod, so he pushes further.
"Want me to fix that, sweet girl? Looks like you need to relax a little."
You pause for a moment, then reach for his blunt. He pulls it away from you with a sharp tsk.
"Not like that. Open up for me, doll."
Your eyes widen with surprise as he brings a hand up to cup your face. He takes a long pull from his joint, enjoying the pretty little look you give him.
When he gently tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb, you obediently open your mouth, leaning down towards him.
His lips meet yours, and he exhales a lungful of hot smoke, depositing it directly into your own mouth. You eagerly take everything he gives you, melting into his touch. He can't help but want to give you more.
"Derek..." You whisper, eyes fluttering open as you stare down at him with a blissed-out look. Oh, that definitely relaxed you.
"Yes, doll?" He has to fight to suppress a smirk as he slowly tucks an arm around your lower back. In a failing attempt to be respectful, he lets his hand rest on your outer thigh, instead of shoving it right between your legs like he truly wants.
"Can you do that again?" You ask sweetly, leaning in a little closer now.
How could he ever say no to you?
"Only if you answer something for me, sweetheart." He practically purrs, gently caressing your cheek with the hand that's still holding the blunt. He's careful not to burn you, as the last thing he'd want to do is mark up that pretty face of yours.
Your neck, though...? No, he shouldn't go there. Not yet.
You hum a response, leaning into the touch and closing your eyes. One of your legs slips down from the armrest, falling on his lap instead.
Whether it's intentionally seductive or simply a sign you're growing more comfortable with him, Derek can't tell. He welcomes the touch either way, tugging you just a little closer with the arm he has around you.
"How'd a pretty girl like you end up all alone at a party, hm? Surely someone out there is missing you."
There. A not-so-subtle question. Is the little trespasser single? Not that it really matters. He'll have you either way.
"Oh, uh... I dunno... I was just feeling overwhelmed, and... well, I've been to parties before, just..."
After a minute of stumbling over your words, Derek waves a hand, cutting you off and putting you out of your misery.
"Just not a Danforth party?" He finishes for you, chuckling.
You flush a bit and nod, clearly embarrassed. Hm. You hadn't exactly answered his question, but, well... If you are in a relationship, it clearly isn't that serious. Not with how you're halfway to sitting on his lap.
"C'mere, sweetheart. You need to relax. It's overwhelming out there, huh?" He speaks softly, pulling you ever-so-slightly closer and giving your thigh a light pat.
Your arms slips around his shoulders in return, and he takes one final pull from his rapidly shrinking blunt in an attempt to hide his smugness. God, you're so damn eager. It's endearing.
After dropping the remnants of his joint in a nearby ashtray, he pulls you down to meet his lips again. You graciously accept his breath, and Derek swears he hears a moan spill from your pretty mouth.
"Feel better?" He asks, cradling your face in his hand.
You stare down at him with pure admiration, inching even closer as your eyes glaze over. The weed is clearly starting to take effect.
"What? You wanna take a seat, sweet girl?" Derek pats his lap, and apparently, that's all the invitation you need.
Before he knows it, you're situated sideways across his legs, with your arm still hooked around his neck.
He lets out a breathy laugh and tucks both his arms around you in return, one around your lower back and one just behind your knees.
Now that you're all up close and personal, he finally gets a good look at you. Fuck, you look young. His heart starts to race for a moment, irrationally fearing the worst. He knows there's a strict 18+ rule for all of his little parties, but still... couldn't hurt to check.
"Just how old are you, doll?"
"Twenty. Why?" You blink at him curiously, making yourself comfortable against his chest.
Shit. Okay. Twenty. That's not... too bad, right? His brow furrows, and he grips your thigh a little tighter as he pulls you close.
You must pick up on his hesitation, because you cup his cheek with your free hand and gently turn his head to look at you.
"Why? How old are you?"
"Take a guess, sweetheart."
Your faces scrunches adorably as you study him, and Derek has to hold in a laugh.
"Like... twenty-five?"
"Hm. You must be higher than I thought." He finally allows himself a small chuckle, taking your hand from his face and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it before lacing your fingers with his.
"That or you're just trying to flatter me."
You flush a bit at the kiss, but don't seem too phased otherwise, giggling softly and avoiding his gaze.
"How old are you, then?"
"I'm twenty-eight, sweetheart. You're practically a baby." Derek lets out an amused huff, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he slumps back in the recliner.
If you're surprised by that realization, you don't let it show. Instead, your free hand finds its way into his hair, lightly tugging at a handful of his curls.
"Yeah? And you practically have one foot in the grave, old man."
Derek should be mad at that. Both at the sudden intimate touch, and your disrespectful words. But looking into your eyes, seeing you smile at him like that? God, it just melts him.
Of course, he isn't quite ready to let you get away with that little quip either, so he gives your exposed thigh a playful smack.
"Play nice, little girl." He growls, returning your sass.
That just gets another giggle out of you. He marvels at how much you've changed from the shy girl he met just minutes ago. Hm. Must be the weed.
"You haven't smoked before, have you?" He muses, voicing his observation. He's sure of it. That light in your eyes. It has to be your first high.
"I mean... not really." You stare down at him with a smile, mindlessly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger.
Alright, that's enough. At this rate, you're gonna make him soft for you.
"Okay, sweetheart. I'm gonna call you a ride home." He huffs in amusement, shifting and reaching into his pocket for his phone.
"What? Why?" You frantically tense your grasp on his hair, giving him a look of genuine hurt.
Ow. Derek grunts, grabbing your hand and gently prying it from his curls.
"I'm not letting you go back out into that party like this, pretty girl. Look at you. Practically naked, and higher than a kite." He playfully tsks at you, running a hand over your exposed thighs for emphasis.
Fuck, you really are one wardrobe malfunction away from exposing yourself. Part of him is tempted to peel back the fabric of your tight little dress and try to catch a glimpse of your panties... if you're even wearing any. He wouldn't be surprised if you'd decided to forgo them.
"Who says I want to go back out into the party?" You start inching up his lap, getting dangerously close to his crotch.
He knows he should probably push you off, call you a ride, and send you home. Maybe give you his phone number, if he's feeling bold. But he doesn't want you to leave. Not when you're so damn fun.
"Woah, woah. Careful, little girl." He gently nudges you back down to his legs, desperately trying to keep you off his awakening dick. It stirs slightly in his pants from the movement, and he tries to discreetly adjust himself with a hand.
"I want to stay here with you." You whisper, giving him a pleading look as you reach to cup his cheek once more.
"No." He says firmly, though his cock is screaming at him to say yes.
"You're too far gone for this, sweetheart. I shouldn't have given you that second puff."
Derek reaches for his phone once more, determined to call you a ride and get you home safely.
Before he can even unlock the damn thing, you snatch it from him, dropping it onto the floor and out of reach. He tries to protest, but his angry growl quickly turns into a moan as you position yourself over his straining cock.
"I. Want. To. Stay."
Derek's nails dig into your thigh in retaliation, and he grits his teeth in a failing attempt to bite back a groan.
"You don't know what you're asking for." He growls, roughly grabbing your jaw and pulling you in closer.
"Then show me."
He does.
Derek kisses you with as much force as he can muster, biting your bottom lip and tugging it down to allow his tongue access to your mouth. He takes over the kiss, trying to swallow you whole.
After a few minutes of oral abuse, you pull away, dazed and panting.
"Too much for you, sweetheart?" He teases, unable to fight back a chuckle.
"No," you pant, "not nearly enough." With that, you reach a hand down and grope at his clothed cock, eyes trained on his own.
Fuck.
Your intentions are now explicitly clear, and Derek can feel his mind and body pulled in two different directions. Logically, he knows this is probably wrong. But his dick doesn't care about logic, and his brain is quick to agree.
He lets out a low growl as you start palming him through his clothes, and finally decides to do something about it. Two can play at that game.
"Oh, you're trouble. Aren't you, little girl?" One hand roughly squeezes your thigh, and the other slips between them, working his way up.
"Hm-hm." You just hum in agreement, melting against his chest and nosing into his hair.
"Yeah? This what you want?" He asks, finally reaching your panties. Fuck, even through the fabric, he can tell you're absolutely soaked.
His thumb traces circles around your clit through your underwear, and the needy little sounds you make only encourage him further.
Derek can't help but think this is a perfect way to spend the evening. He'll sit here and help your rub one out till you cum in those pretty panties, then hold you till you fall asleep on his lap. It'll be a damn good nap, too, considering he'd given you some of his own joint earlier. Good shit.
And then after, well, he'd either call you a cab or have someone fix up a room for you. He wasn't going to let anything happen to his new toy.
"Want more."
Derek is pulled out of his contemplation as you squeeze his cock again, more urgently this time. He hisses a response, trying to stay firm.
"You'll take what I offer, doll." He pulls his hand from between your legs, and lightly smacks your thigh as a warning.
This doesn't seem to go over well with you, as you begin to pout and backtalk him.
"What, scared? Does this old thing even work anymore?" You taunt him with another tantalizing grind of your palm against his dick.
Okay, that's enough of that.
"You wanna test it out, sweetheart?" He growls, harshly grabbing your wrist to put a stop to your little tease game.
"Maybe I do." You giggle, blinking down at him with an false innocence that he might have fell for, had he not just felt how soaked your pussy is.
Christ. You really are trouble. Derek soon finds his hands on your hips, guiding you to straddle his lap. Maybe he could let you ride one out on his thigh. That wouldn't be so bad, right?
Or maybe he'd have to make yet another change to his plans. You start to slide up his lap, and in the blink of an eye, you're pressed right up against his straining cock.
"Look, little girl." He growls at you through gritted teeth, tightening his grip on your hips in an attempt to ground himself.
"I'm not gonna go easy on you."
"Good. I'm not scared."
Derek can feel every gentlemanly urge leaving his body at your words. Well, he had tried the respectful route. His resolve in the face of your teasing should be applauded, truly.
You start to desperately grind against him, and finally, he snaps. You've made it clear what you want from him, and he can't hold back from giving it to you any longer.
He's going to to fuck you absolutely dumb.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Author's note: I'M SORRY TO LEAVE THIS OFF ON A CLIFFHANGER but I am currently too sleepy to write!! But I want y'all to have SOMETHING, so here's a little treat!!
Part two will 100% be out tomorrow, and it will (probably) be the only additional chapter. This was just supposed to be some quick smut, not a whole series.
(It'll also be from the reader's perspective, this whole scene just felt right in Derek's.)
LOVE YOU GUYS!! HOPE I DIDNT MISS ANYTHING TOO GLARINGLY BAD BECAUSE THIS IS BARELY EDITIED AND IM SLEEP DEPRIVED !!!
#jhutch#josh hutcherson#derek danforth#the beekeeper#derek danforth x reader#jhutch1992#derek danforth x you#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#josh hutcherson smut#josh hutcherson x reader#josh hutcherson x you#josh hutcherson x y/n
326 notes
·
View notes
Text
DON’T YOU WANT ME, BABY? – coriolanus snow
WARNING: mentions of non-consensual sex acts, stalking, creepy coriolanus. excuse any grammar errors, i’ll fix them… when i feel like it 🤎🤎
“Why is he staring at you?” Arachne said, glaring at the blonde boy who sat alone at the behind you.
“Who? Snow?” you asked, cocking your eyebrows up.
“Who else, duh?”
You released a deep sigh before turning your torso, immediately locking eyes with the boy, a smile instantly spreading across his face. You timidly waved at him, reluctantly returning a smile. Arachne chuckled lowly at the awkward exchange between the two of you. Why did he like you? You didn’t know, nor did you care. You didn’t mind, what you did mind was the jokes amongst the girls. They would playfully tease you about him every single day. You can’t remember when he started liking you, but he made it abundantly clear, counteracting his timid demeanour and reluctance towards conversation with almost all of his peers, including you. His only friend he truly spoke to seemed to be Sejanus Plinth, another boy in your grade. A part of you sympathised with Snow, you couldn’t deny it, you related to him. His shyness reminded you of yours, his silence and his coldness. You related to the moments you watched him scatter for words to say when one of the girls spoke to him, you found it comforting.
“Hey, when are you and Snow gonna fuck? Or are you still crushing on Sejanus?” Arachne teased, you groaned in response, burying your face in your palms.
“That’s not okay, never say that again!” you cried, your words muffled by your hands, Arachne laughed in satisfaction.
Lost in your conversation with your friend, you hadn’t noticed the blonde boy. His smile had faded. He glared at you aimlessly, he was not aware of your supposed crush on Sejanus. He sat there silently, his eyes glued to the back of your head, his lunch now cold. Anger brewed within him, he restrained himself, he fought every urge to violently slam Arachne’s head into the table for even suggesting something as foul as that, every urge to grab a chunk of her hair and yank her backwards, stabbing into her throat with the fork she was eating with, multiple times– every single urge. He was going to make sure you knew you were his, no matter how or when. How could you not know? He did everything for you, you were his girl. He bought you flowers, bought you chocolate, cut Festus’s breaks for slapping your ass at his party last year, Coriolanus made sure you would never have to deal with him again. All for you. Everything is for you. He didn’t wanna hurt anyone else for you but if it came to that, he would, yes, he would. Look at you, look at how clueless you were. So fragile, he wondered if he could take you then and there, on that table. What would you do? Nothing, there’s nothing you could do.
The cold engulfed you, your legs shivering as you laid under the blanket. You left a crack of the patio door to let in air in a desperate attempt to fix the temperature in your room. You laid there, head buried into the pillow, meanwhile he stood in front of your house peering up into your window, calculating how he would get it. He found a way. Climbing up the water pipe and onto your patio. His eyes fell upon your small frame, sprawled across your bed, completely unaware of his presence. He stalked towards you; the air shifted as he entered your room. The smell of burnt incense and fresh clothes lingered– smelt different from the last time, the boy mentally noted. He inched towards your body, you softly snored, he loomed over you in complete awe. His eyes hungrily scanned your body, he felt his pants getting tight at the sight of you. You were so beautiful to him; he could tear up. His hand glided over his clothed cock, palming at himself as he stared down at you.
His body jolted as you suddenly turned over, he stopped himself from backing away, remaining completely still as you drifted back off into deep slumber. He sighed in relief, even more thankful as your pyjama was slightly unbuttoned. He thought to himself, just a little more, reaching down slowly towards your chest. He lightly pulled the side of your shirt to the left, exposing your left breast. He let out a low growl, pushing against himself even harder. Slowly, he used his hands to release his cock, his head feeling light has he soaked in his reality. He stood over you, touching himself. He wondered if he should get ballsy and do something to you, he couldn’t- that would make him a creep, he wasn’t a creep.
He felt himself get closer; his eyes shut. He choked back his moan, and he picked his pace up, his eyes flickered for a second and he froze. He could’ve sworn, put it on his heart and everything he loved and cared about that he saw you looking right back at him. He didn’t want to believe it, he relaxed his face and let his eyes open.
Laying there, wide eyed you stared at him. Bewildered at the sight in front of you, he stared at you in horror, you glanced down at his dick and back at his eyes again.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
#the hunger games#coriolanus snow#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x oc#coriolanus x you#Coriolanus smut#Coriolanus snow smut#ballads of songbirds and snakes
336 notes
·
View notes
Text
all that money's tempting... gosh. re4 og leon tries to distract you from the one thing you think could solve all your problems. nsfw mentions (duh) below <3
idk if this is like noncon or wtv it doesnt feel like it to me but theres a part where theres a misunderstanding or shit idfk i dont care im just tired and want this OUT of my head please.
<><><><>
it's asking you to grab it, you swear. if money had a voice it would be high-pitched and whiney, whispering foolish promises into your ear. beside you, leon nods at the watch commander as he exits the room, reasons as to why being unknown to you.
your focus is on the money, the wads of cash stacked neatly on the simple brown table. you imagine it wavering under the weight, unworthy of carrying what could quite easily, you argue, fix all life's problems.
"what would you do with a million dollars...?" you ask, at first absentmindedly but then straightening up as the other two in the room toss their stoic gazes to you immediately.
"we never go there, rookie," leon hisses. "too many officers lost that battle."
"but theoretically-"
"no 'theoretically'," the other officer, one of leon's colleagues, spits. "you know better than that."
"she was just-" your training officer attempts to defend.
"you siding with her, kennedy?" the guy raises an eyebrow. "didn't think you were up for that life."
"the life of crime you came from?" leon seethes in reply. "i seem to recall your multiple violations and all the favors you called in." he frowns. "from me."
that shuts the asshole up pretty quickly, and you have to smother a smile as you gaze up, admiration twinkling in your eyes as you stare at his side profile. handsome and sharp. lucky you.
you suppose the only downside to the whole arrangement is the way he switches up, two different people forced to occupy the same body; and you'd rather have the calm one over the shouty one.
the officers' radios go off, the watch commander's voice coming through. he calls in an attempted break in somewhere near our units, and tells someone to respond.
you look between both of them, waiting for someone to make a move. leon crosses his arms and huffs, leaning back against the supporting column. the other officer rolls his eyes and grumbles something under his breath as he approaches the door.
"what was that?" leon calls out, sarcastically, if anything.
the only response he gets is the loud slam of the door, frightening some poor bird perched on the birdhouse stuck to the window. it doesn't flutter back, no matter how hard you stare.
"well?" you divert your gaze back to the money, at first, then to the man standing next to you.
"hm?" you ask, slightly in a daze.
"you asked what i would do with that money, but what would you?" leon scoffs. "after all, it's not like you to ask without a motive."
"does everything require a motive, officer kennedy?" you ask, teasingly, tantalizing his mind. he narrows his eyes.
"i asked a question, rookie."
a dreamy sigh falls past your lips. not the reply he was expecting. "i would pay off all that student debt, and buy myself a nice house. ooh, and a fancy sports car!"
leon snorts to this, and you turn to him with accusing eyes. "what?"
"i'm just saying, you've got a lot to live through if that's all you're hoping for."
"what part of paying off debt is useless?" you demand.
"i never said anything was useless." he shrugs.
you grit your teeth and turn away from him, but your eyes are once again drawn back to the money. you take a step closer, fingers itching to just pocket a few rolls, wondering if anyone will notice.
leon's arm acts as a bar across your waist, covered in black tactical gear, and his rifle slips from his other hand. the sound snaps you out of your trance, and you turn to glare at him.
"i wasn't going to take anything," you protest.
the corner of leon's mouth turns up. "oh, really? try fooling me twice, sweetheart. i know the look of a hungry woman when i see one."
"i'm not... hungry?" you tilt your head, confused by the metaphor.
"never mind. i think i'd retire early, if i had all that just saved in the bank. why spend my years wasting away, like i did in my youth?" he chuckles fondly, as if those years were millennia ago.
"you're barely forty," you deadpan. "you're not that old."
"compared to you?" leon's arm hasn't left its position, if anything pressing harder down onto your waist, forcing you back. there's a conflicted storm swirling in his eyes, unchecked by you. "i think i am."
"right... what are you doing?" you whisper.
"i see those eyes," he mumbles. "you can't stop thinking about it, can you?"
"the money? no, leon, gosh, i swear i wouldn't-"
"wouldn't you?" his voice is his own harsh whisper in your ear, backed against the table, the empty one that has no expectations except dreading what comes next, because what happens?
in the carefully planned sequence of your life, all the events that you'd prepared for, this is NOT one of them. never was supposed to be. and so because you've never studied anything like this, you freeze up.
leon feels you tense underneath him. "what's... wrong?"
"can you... uhm... get off me?" you say, voice squeaky. "please?"
"oh." leon blinks down at you, and the second time something seems to register because he clambers off, dusting his pants as a filler motion, trying to make the atmosphere casual. "s-sorry."
"n-no, you're fine," you say, reassuringly, but your voice is wavering. not out of fear, out of adrenaline. your body was preparing, it seems. it wants this. you want this, and you might've just ruined it.
you also never imagined anything happening here, in this drug dealer's home, where anyone could burst through the door at any given moment, but he's gotten enough blood rushing to your head that you can't stop the force of events that come tumbling next.
there's a whole list of words you have to describe him now, and they all fall past your lips as his fingers creep further down, duty long forgotten. you suppose that's the whole reason he's doing this.
for you, all for you, to distract you from ruining your life thinking you're going to fix it, when you'll only make things worse. besides, the desire for him is stronger than the desire for a nice life.
a life with him would be nice, you think, absently.
"oh, would it now?" he muses against your neck, damn fingers never moving any lower than they are, pressed taut from the force of your pants, against the lower skin of your stomach. "you wanna be mine forever?"
god, yes, you think, and this time you make sure it's just a thought. the last thing you need is for his inflated ego to get ahead of him.
"he was being so mean to you, baby," he whispers, and it takes you a moment to clear the cloudy thoughts and realize he's talking about the other officer. "never liked him anyway."
you nod your head for lack of a better response, immediately leaning back as soon as leon's other palm flattens against your inner thigh, sparking up your spine.
"you like that?" he says, low and breathy, just for you to hear. "what if someone was to come in, hm? what then? they see you all spread out like this, almost about to cum on my fingers?"
"yeah," you whine, and for the first time in a long time, you're really not ashamed of the sounds he elicits from you. usually sounds of dissent, now pleas for more. "need it, please."
you wait for his acceptance, for him to push you over the edge, just like he does every day out on patrol, except this time you know you'll like it. but it never comes, and you crack open an eye, panting.
leon blinks, and you swear that if he was a dog his ears would be twitching, because within a second he yanks his hand away, covering your arousal with his other hand, and you're confused for a moment.
you sit on the table as he stands to attention, facing the door. you don't realize why until the entire squad storms through, rifles aimed at the ready.
the watch commander raises a fist and everyone lowers their guns. "the neighbors reported loud noises and disturbing sounds. did you happen to hear anything?"
"... no sir." leon says, shaking his head in such an affirmative way that you can't help but copy his actions, bobbing your head up and down with a bright smile.
"we didn't hear anything," you add. "must've been a raccoon or something."
sergeant's eyes flick between you two, narrowing in suspicion. "of course. a raccoon."
"what else could it be?" leon says with a shrug.
"i have my suspicions." with that, he turns on his heel. and you think you're in the clear, about to let out a sigh of relief, when he jerks back.
"is something the matter, sergeant?" you ask sweetly. but his eyes aren't on you, thankfully. your heart plummets when you track his gaze to his true target.
"officer kennedy." there's an undeniable hint of irritation that is quickly overshadowed by the authority in his stance as he slowly turns around, eyes flitting to his waist.
"yes, sir?" leon's damn good at acting, but you're sure no musical will get him out of this one.
"what's in your hands?"
series masterlist
#leon kennedy#resident evil#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#resident evil 4#leon scott kennedy#leon kennedy fanfic#leon kennedy smut#re4r leon#leon resident evil#resident evil leon#resident evil vendetta#vendetta leon#leon kennedy x reader smut#resident evil x reader
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Ex Girlfriend Is Still Hot
Being recommended this place was good, apparently they can fix any vehicle at a cheap price, but it's not the cheapness that first attracted Leon into this place. It was seeing his ex-girlfriend covered in oil. It had been years since he had seen her, she looked older, but that that didn't reduce his love.
content: angst, fluff and smut
notes: afab fem!reader x leon, reader is divorced mom, mentions of leon's situation-ship with ada, reader is mean to leon (he kinda deserves it), fixing old relationships, baby!, leon is in love with the past, mentions of leon's unhealthy coping mechanisms. the smut is kinda fluffy. this took forever. rewriting and writing again. blah, anyways, minors, um, be care what you read. don't interact, the standard stuff, sorry. also, um, i don't know how this was. it felt rough, sorry. not prove read and... it's long
part one (here)
taglist: @argreion
He was tired. Leon couldn't deny that his 'exciting' life had bored him and broken him up. It was always issue one or issue two causing problems, but he won't think about it.
All he wanted to do now was fix his poor bike that got destroyed after his fight with Maria. His body was still sore from his body being infected, from his body being hit once again. He stepped out of Chris's truck and entered the garage to fix his favorite vehicle. A teenager was flicking through his phone; the kid was kind of covered by oil stains. Eh, he is willing to trust Claire's recommendations of fixing cars. The kid looked old enough, probably fourteen or fifteen to handle himself here.
"Um, hey." He put his hands on his jean pockets, Leon cleared his throat a bit, "I'm guessing you aren't the owner, huh?" The kid slowly looked up at Leon, he looked annoyed as hell to see him, "Duh." He put his phone back in front of his face. Leon cleared his throat again, "Well, is the owner here, kiddo?"
"Mom!" The kid yelped loudly.
Leon pursed his lips together. This kid had lungs. He heard boots approaching them, a woman appeared, "Sorry about the wait." Her hands grabbed a rag and cleaned her hands up. In that exact moment, Leon immediately recognized her- it felt like a one of those smacks he was used to. Her eyes went on the ground for a bit before looking at his eyes.
"So, how can I help you?" She put her hands on her waist. Leon swallowed his spit that was forming on the back of his throat, "Oh, I was..." What the hell? Was he returning back to his stupid roots when he was always awkward with women. He pressed his lips into a line, his mouth now felt dry as hell, "My bike... it needs to be fixed." Finally. Those poor words seemed to struggle to even pop out of his throat.
She nodded her head, "Yeah, can I see the... damage, jeez." Her eyes widen at the extent of the damage, pieces of the bike were dangling and sections of it was scrapped up and turned into a small balls of metal.
Did she recognize Leon?
Stupidly, that was he first question when she tilted her head to see the damage from bellow. She turned to see her... son. Gosh, Leon just connected the points that this kid was actually her son.
"Hey, bring me the gloves," She cleaned her already dirty hands with her black tank top, "There are on top of engine I just bought." With every word she spoke, Leon recalled how much he adored her.
The kid nodded his head and hurried to another room leaving Leon alone with you Her eyes met his, "Are you sure you wanna fix it up?" She put her hands on her waist, "Everything will have to be replaced, and..." Her eyes trailed off to the room where her kid went, "I can promise cheap, but this baby needs all whole bath on oils."
Leon nodded his head. "Yeah, it's one of my favorites."
She looked back at him, a certain similar twinkle was in her eyes, "Oh, curious, you have more?" Leon felt his heart freeze for a second, "Yeah," Leon muttered softly, "My friend, Claire made me like motorcycles." Leon knew it. He knows she recognizes him, but she making herself like she doesn't remember. Before he could comment her child came back with the gloves, she put them on and got on top of truck, she sat on the edges of the truck and moved the bike around.
"So, how much will it cost me?" Leon asked her.
"By the way you treated her, I want to say 100k, but," She jumped off, "You are lucky I have spare pieces everywhere in this shop. The engine, the clutch, the starting gear- everything got broken one way or another." She took off her gloves for a second, "So, it'll be 20 something. The bike looks from this year so it's pieces might be a little expensive or further on."
Leon nodded his head, "Y-yeah, okay."
Her kid and she got on top of the truck and carefully unloaded it to the ground. Leon swallowed, seeing her get dirty was something he never expected from her. Leon helped her down this time, her hands grabbed his arms to assure a safe fall. "It'll take a while to patch her up." She said. Leon smiled, "You do remember me." He whispered.
She rolled her eyes, "You..." She fell into his trap. Trusting his hands on her body would be a red flag to anyone, but for her... it was normal. Seventeen years without seeing each yet, his touch was normal... still normal. "I hate you, Leon Scott Kennedy." She pushed his hands off her waist. Leon tsked his tongue, "I know you do." He can't even deny it. Yet there was a nice feeling. That sense of comfort he never apparently lost.
She gave him her back, "I'll finish the motorcycle as soon as I can." She muttered softly. Leon felt his body hurt, this feeling was always so familiar. The bittersweet feeling of appreciation. Leon stepped forward without thinking, "I'm sorry." He muttered softly. She gave him the finger.
Leon clenched his jaw. "Are you married?" Leon muttered again in his low voice. "I'm sorry for touching you-"
"I'm not married, and my status shouldn't matter to you." She snapped back. Leon nodded his head. He used to not super care if married women threw themselves at him, but hearing those words made a huge pillow to the fall. Hearing her angry was something Leon barely heard from her. But that's what happens when you just leave.
Her son kept an eye on Leon now.
"Is the kid mine?" He whispered softly.
All he was met with was a witch's laugh, you couldn't stop laughing at his utter audacity. "Y, you think I would just have your child and not tell you?" You turned around, you couldn't even see him in this exact second, but it was your job now tying you to him. You could reject fixing his motorcycle. Though, that will make you weak. He left and you are still crying over the past.
"When I heard about what happened in Raccoon City, I thought you died," You licked your lips, the nerves were shaking every detail of your mind, "Not even a letter, a phone call, a fax." Your hands went towards your face and gently rubbed the veins that were slowly popping. "I waited for two years. You know, like a fucking idiot."
The shop was silent. Everyone couldn't look at each other and... once again your dumb feelings got in the way.
"Then, I find out you saved the president's daughter. That was the only damn news I got from you and it was thanks for the government." You turned around angrily. Finally, those tears began to form under your eyes, it was frustrating seeing that idiot with a smile. You only knew Raccoon City got infected, you knew they bombed it and after nothing. Maybe you were selfish. But... didn't you have that right?
Those feelings. Those damn feelings.
"What was the reason's name?" You asked softly.
Leon blinked.
"Name?"
"What was the person who stole your heart? Made you forget about the people you knew in college? The people in our town?"
Leon swallowed. Would you even understand what he went through? Seeing those mountains of dead bodies forming because he accidentally helped Ada? He wanted to help people so badly that he had forgotten the life he once lived. He was a hockey player who lived with his grandmother until she died when he was nineteen. Yet... was he even that guy anymore?
Apparently, the only person who knew him from the past was you. Only you.
"If I tell you, you won't believe me." Leon sighed, his blue eyes met yours, and a sad smile appeared in his lips. "A little girl named Sherry." He crossed his arms against his chest.
"Yeah, was that an excuse to never call for the last couple of years?" You retorted back. "Leon, you didn't leave for a couple of days or weeks. You were gone for six years until I knew you were alive and another couple of more years happened. You left for seventeen years."
All those years passed, yet Leon couldn't stop looking at you. He nearly forgot your details. Even if you are angry with him, he is happy to remember your face and your voice.
"Sorry." Apparently, that made you angry. You didn't mean to, but sometimes you didn't know how much you dealt with him.
-
You refused many times to see him as you fixed his bike, and Leon was trying to fix what he broke. He wanted to ask about your child, who just played with his phone and sometimes helps.
He wanted to ask about your old marriage.
Leon just sat down beside your son, "So, your mom-"
"Not talking to you." The kid immediately said. Leon nodded his head, "About your mom or about everything?" Leon asked politely.
"Everything."
Great. This kid is stubborn. Leon began to tap his thighs, he can try to ease up the kid and get what he wanted. What do kids think is cool? Gun? Zombies? That was Leon's life in a nutshell. "Alright, I'll tell you about me." He sighed softly. "I'm Leon Scott Kennedy. I was born in 1977, my parents died in a car crash, and I was raised by my grandma." Wow, he truly barely spoke about his past until now.
"I met your mom in high school, but I properly knew her when I went to her work." He could easily now remember how you asked for orders, and Leon mumbled a shy, "Milkshake."
"She... she wasn't my first love, but she slowly turned into my first." Leon sighed softly. He smiled. He couldn't get rid of those feelings, but that sad feeling came into his mind. She was his first love, and he nearly forgot about her.
"When I went to Raccoon City, I thought about your mom. She thinks I didn't, but I did." He muttered softly. He leaned back to the chair, "But once you see your first death, it's not even a normal death," Leon chuckled bitterly, "A zombie eating a person up. Zombies are trying to desperately kill you." He clenched his jaw as he thought about his shitty life.
"I know I should've called. I should've called her and told her I was fine, but I wanted to be a hero so badly. I volunteered to be one of their guys to be trained..." He closed his eyes. He could've just gone home. Gone back to your arms and forget, but it was too late to defend himself.
"I had a girlfriend - Ada, when I was in that life." Leon muttered softly, "I was desperately trying to search your mom in her." Poor Ada. Having to deal with his dumb issues, he caused himself.
"I got angry at her for not being her. I remember when she betrayed me, I was shocked because I knew your mother would never." He rubbed gently his wrist.
The kid turned to see Leon. It's as if Leon could feel the judgment of the kid, "I don't know what to say." The boy turned off his phone.
Leon nodded his head, "Your mom is allowed to hate me." He whispered softly, "I fell in love with another woman that wasn't her yet I begged her to be... her." Leon rubbed his mouth firmly. He wanted to shut the hell up. He didn't want this kid to actually have a valid reason to hate him.
"Don't be like me, kid." Leon muttered softly.
"Wasn't planning on it."
He heard footsteps and saw a guy with silver hair, "Um, hi." Leon crossed his legs. The kid groaned. Before Leon could wonder why your kid would groan at him, the kid muttered the word, "Dad, what are you doing here?"
What? This is the guy you married?
"Don't give me that look, it's the weekend, it's time for you to be with your dad."
Your son stood up. "I'll tell mom-" Before your son could mutter another word, you were already near the door. "Yeah," You forced a smile, "Don't worry about me, kiddo. Just go with dad. You have fun with him." You kissed your son's cheek. The son stood up straight and went outside with his father. Leon and you were only in your shop.
He sighed and you groaned.
"I didn't say anything." Leon defended himself. You turned to see him, "I know, I know your little mind is trying to figure out my life." You turned away from Leon and looked as your child left with his father. Your hands fumbled nervously to your pants' pockets, "The bike is almost done." You whispered softly.
Leon swallowed weakly, "T-that's good."
A small pregnant pause made the two think your life's. Thinking it through in all those picky details that you once not thought about. You are happy with your life, yet you wondered what would've happened if Leon stayed. Leon wasn't happy, but he accepted those details. He thought about him probably being the divorced husband. It was a bitter thought. You deserved a person who would stay with you. Not an unstable guy who was a functional alcoholic until now.
Leon stood up silently and looked at you.
You saw him.
"I'm sorry for leaving." He whispered softly.
"For fuck's sake," You laughed bitterly feeling all those same emotions, "I doubt you missed me, but I missed you." Leon's hands cupped your face, he didn't mind the oils or anything anymore. Sure, his ex girlfriend is still hot, but she looked so beautiful right now.
"I wished I did miss you, but I know I would've been worse." Leon muttered softly. He couldn't even imagine him living his life. He already hated his shitty life and remembering he failed you. But... he still did fail you.
Leon's eyes soften, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He leaned to finish the gap and kissed you. The kiss felt desperate from the two of you. You held him tightly as his lips moved against yours, very politely put his tongue between you two. You slowly pulled away from the kiss; the small feeling of feeling pathetic grew. So many years away from each other, yet his hands belong in your hips.
"I'm dirty." You whispered softly.
His heart clenched. He felt so stupid loving you even more with that simple mutter. "A date." Leon held your hands with his. "I need a date with you. Just you and me."
You couldn't help but laugh a bit.
Was it bad that nothing really changed between you two?
-
The date was in your house. You doubt this date will grow into a relationship, and it would be foolish if it did. Leon was still wearing a normal jacket and shirt underneath it. You prepared food and you two ate. He asked about your child, you answered, but you couldn't ask him about his life outside of you. He didn't want to make you know.
You washed the dirty dishes as Leon looked at you.
What if...
A married couple just enjoying time with each other, holding and appreciating each other. Leon sighed softly, "I love you." He whispered softly. "Thanks." You laughed softly. Your hands felt nervous, trembling a bit as they grabbed the rag to dry up the dishes. You had a question and you hoped he'll answer it.
"Who is Ada?"
Leon's breathing stopped, "Ada?" You heard his conversation with your kid. Your eyes fell down, "Was she important?"
He didn't like the next words coming to his mouth, "Yes, she was." Leon won't lie about that. Ada was the most normal thing in his life. Ada was more in his life than you ever were. You temporarily closed your eyes and felt the small buzzing feeling in your heart.
"I was truly stupid one, huh? Waiting for you." You turned to see Leon.
Leon looked down at his lap. He didn't know how to comfort you, and it felt like a horrible task.
The last time he saw you came into his mind.
You were kissing him repeatedly, and less than twenty-four hours, Ada Wong kissed him, and he couldn't say anything. It wasn't his fault for failing you there. But what came after... it was his fault.
"I fucked up." Leon forced himself to look at you, "I know I did, but you having your child. Having a life without me," Leon stood up, "Don't regret that." In the end, he got what he deserved. Then, for a moment, the idea of you being in Raccoon City, you dying... He would've hated himself even more.
Leon caressed your face again, "Please, I don't want you to regret your life."
"I just hate you." You mumbled pathetically.
"Then, hate me."
Leon and you looked at each other for a while. Before you can say anything else, Leon dropped to his knees and unbuttoned your jeans. "Hate me." His hands rubbed gently your thighs, the softness of your body remained, and he loved it. Being between your thighs was his heaven. He always thought of that. His tongue licked them a bit, and he gently opened your legs open and looked up at you.
Your breath was shakey for a bit before he licked your pussy. His breath and a bit of his teeth was felt, you shivered weakly, but he made the feelings grow a bit more. His hands traced your butt and went underneath your underwear to hold you tightly. His tongue slowly began to lick your folds, gently flicking his tongue in your opening.
"Leon-" Your voice was a different tone of pathetic.
Leon felt himself growing. Your taste... God, your taste... Leon looked up at you again and grasped your butt harsher.
He sucked a bit on your clit. He needed you so badly. You were his first love. You were his first everything.
His hands slowly pulled down your panties. He wanted to avoid crude language in a way. He wanted this to be romantic. He licked a line in your opening. His tongue flirted with your opening until the tip of his tongue was inside of you. You gasped weakly, "Leon..."
Your arousal made Leon grab you harsher. Holding you tightly as his tongue flicked in and out of you. Sucking your pussy and feeling safe again. Your legs almost failed you, and he grabbed you. His tongue moved a bit, sucking and licking your pussy. A small growl escaped his lip, licking your cunt was his only goal right now. You gasped weakly. You couldn't speak properly, but all Leon did was shoved himself deeper.
Your hands grabbed his hair, "Le- Leon." You gasped.
He looked at you, "I love you." Leon muttered softly before kissing you gently. He stood up and held you. "I love you." He kissed your cheek gently. Your eyes closed tightly, feeling exposed, "Can we go to my room?" You asked. Leon nodded his head, he lifted you up in ease. You kicked down your jeans and panties, you needed to remember to pick those up later. Leon walked upstairs, his eyes were focused on you and on his destination.
Slowly and gently placed you on the bed, Leon smiled at the view, "Always beautiful." He muttered softly.
Your head turned away, your cheeks were feeling that flushing sensation. All your blood was on your face with those simple words.
Leon grinned. His fingers quickly unbuttoned his jeans. His hands rubbed his cock, "Do, do you have a condom?" Leon asked softly. You shook your head, you haven't had a one night stand for so long that you didn't have the things ready.
He pouted, "Guess we are doing the college route." The quick fuck and the slip it out.
Leon slid down his boxers, his hands grabbed his cock, "I got better with the pull out." He promised you.
"Sure." You couldn't help but chuckle.
He pressed the tip of his cock on your folds. Leon bit on his lower lip and rubbed his pre cum around your clit. You whined, "L-Leon..." Leon growled softly, "Missed my pretty girl." His cock moved around your folds until he pressed it against your clit. The pre cum was spilling pathetically, Leon's free hand grabbed your hip that kept twitching.
Begging.
Slowly, the tip of his cock opened you up. Your hole was ready for him, he pushed himself deep and deep. Slow and gentle for you.
It had been a while since you slept with someone. Your hands patted your bed and grabbed your covers, "Fuck." Even your voice was pathetic. A pathetic whine that made Leon growl, he pushed his hips until all of him was in you. Your warmth made him want to cum. "I love you." Leon whispered softly.
He began to move, his hips moved away and in; Leon leaned close to you and gasped his air into your lips. His hands caressed your thighs and forced them a bit more open, Leon wanted you.
Leon was never meant to be a rough lover. His stupid life made his mind think everything was cruel, but your whines made him want him to nicer. Leon's eyes met yours. His hips moved faster. Those small facial reactions, your eyes wanting to close and the way your nose twitched a bit.
His hands gently folded your legs against your stomach.
Those small sexual noises were small plops. His hand grabbed your face and caressed your cheeks and neck. He was gone for so long and...
"Why- why are you crying?" You asked.
Leon didn't even notice it. He smiled, "I, I d-don't know." His hand traveled down your hips and caressed your stomach. The new and old details of your skin just made him miss you despite having you close.
Your hands caressed his cheeks and pulled him close. Those gentle kisses were he can melt and turn into nothing. His thrusts turned faster now, he sucked your bottom lip and pulled away. "I need you." Leon muttered weakly. His hands grabbed your hips and thrusted faster. You grabbed the back of his head, "I need you too." You agreed with his words.
Was it lust? Was it the painful feeling of being separated away?
This felt odd. Even the sex you once shared with each other never felt this desperate.
He wasn't going to pull out. His empty promise showed more as he growled weakly, "I have to..." Leon looked at you again and kissed you. His tongue entered your mouth, he licked evert detail... begging. Needing.
Leon groaned and finally came. You hissed softly as you finished as well. He didn't know what else to do but hug you. He didn't want to leave anymore.
292 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝔟𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔥
summary: It's hard for Don Hume to talk about awkward subjects.
cw: 5k words, established relationship fluffiness, SMUT (18+ ONLY), protected penetrative sex, fingering, light choking (monkey covering eyes emoji), barely edited, definitely not researched, fem reader/OC, this is a work of fiction about the character from tbitb and not the actual historical figure (like duh). based off an anon request.
a/n: but daddy i love him!!!! xx laney
Don handed the vendor a few coins and accepted the rose the man passed him. He turned and handed it to her, and she blushed.
“Stop spending all your money on me,” she scolded gently, running her fingertips over the delicate scarlett petals.
Don simply said, “No,” and offered her his elbow, which she took with a shake of her head and a laugh. Don Hume must have been born under the sign of the bull, warm and stubborn as he was.
“You’re going to have to sell that gold medal soon enough,” she teased. Don shrugged and the two continued walking down the street. It was twilight, and fireflies were blinking lazily around their heads as street lights turned on and the city lane bustled with nightlife. Dim green flickers illuminated his hazel eyes, usually downcast but twinkling tonight. She nestled herself against the strong arm holding hers and enjoyed the scent of rain that seemed to waft off him permanently.
When she’d first told him, in their biology lecture, how lovely he smelled, the pure bemusement on his face had been more than enough to send her flying head over heels for the presumed-mute rower.
“I don’t…own any cologne,” he’d replied after several minutes, choking out the words under his breath with great difficulty while the lecturer droned on, heedless to the many slumbering students that were snoring along to his lesson.
“Well, I guess you just smell good, then,” she’d said. They had turned back to their notebooks and pens. It took Don three and a half more months and qualifying for the Olympics to ask her to dinner, but she patiently sat through every “Would you…um…ah, never mind…” until the blessed day when he finally got all the words out in the correct order.
He’d been a combination of too embarrassed and too violently anxious to let her kiss him goodbye when he boarded the train for the team’s trip to Berlin. They had stood on the platform in front of the passenger car, a miserable Don muttering under his breath. She was fussing with his tie and blazer, struggling not to be battered around by the throng of well-wishers seeing the boys off, when his eyes suddenly widened and he said, “I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are. Stop moving, the knot still looks wrong.”
“No,” He shook his head, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance where his inevitable demise awaited him. “No, what if I screw this up for everyone?”
She finished wrestling his tie into a passable windsor knot and stepped back from him, smoothing off his blazer. “And what if you win?”
“I–”
“Donald, do not pick now to be the first time you argue with me.” She smiled and his knees, already jelly from nerves and anticipation, seemed just about ready to give way. “But, you should know: I don’t much care for silver jewelry,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. His face burned a bashful red where she’d touched it that spread down over his neck.
One thing she could never accuse Don of was not listening to her. He made note of her distaste for silver and brought her gold, instead.
As they walked down the street arm in arm, her chatting about everything he’d missed in his time away and him listening placidly, she couldn’t stop herself from just staring at him. Spending time with Don made her feel like she was getting a glimpse into a private world that no one else was privy to, and she felt privileged by it. He kept everything about himself, including his countless victories, so wrapped up and tucked away that sometimes, it was hard for her to remember that he wasn’t just your average undergraduate. No one they passed by on the street would have been able to guess that the man next to her was a world-renowned athlete. No one, absolutely no–
“Hey, look who it is!” Joe Rantz and Joyce Simdars were strolling towards them, a mirror image of the puppy love their friends were wrapped up in. Joyce squealed and ran to her sorority sister, who threw her arms around Joyce’s neck and told her how pretty she looked. The two boyfriends exchanged knowing looks and shook hands with each other, immediately falling into a discussion of the crew practice they’d had that afternoon.
Joyce stopped complimenting her friend’s dress to scowl at Joe and scold, “No strategizing on our date night, dear.”
“Yes, dearest,” Joe responded with understated exaggeration and the utmost devotion. The two ladies turned back to each other and began chattering about school and social events, but when she caught a snatch of the conversation the boys were having, she strained to tune into it.
“Hey, no, come on,” Don was mumbling and he looked down at the ground and kicked at some invisible nuisance.
Joe was clearly ribbing him. He poked at his solemn teammate’s shoulder and said something that she couldn’t make out over Joyce’s explanation of the party she was planning for the team now that they were stateside once more. Don shook his head adamantly in response, and Joe chuckled.
She craned her neck as subtly as she could while still appearing engaged with Joyce, a vapid smile in place as she tried in desperation to catch what the two men were talking about that was making Don more uncomfortable than he’d been that night Bobby forced him to play piano for half their class. Only bits and pieces from Joe reached her ears: “Well, maybe…why not?...Sure, she would…” Her espionage was abruptly shut down as Joe reached over to pinch Joyce’s cheek. “Hate to break this up, but the film starts at 8:00, honey.”
Joyce gasped and looked down at her watch. “We’ve got to go! I’ll see you,” she promised, and the two girls exchanged hugs and kisses. The couple wiggled their fingers as they passed them and bid them goodnight.
Don was staring at Joe’s back when his girl tucked her hand back in the crook of his arm and asked, “What all were you two talking about?” He squirmed and didn’t answer. They resumed walking, so she allowed a few more paces before she asked again.
“Nothin’, nothin’,” he said, shaking his head again to indicate the finality of his refusal to answer. She bopped him gently on his nose with the rose.
“Tell me!” “It wasn’t proper, you know,” Don coughed and cleared his throat. “For a lady to hear.” He glanced at her nervously, like perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned that she was a lady.
She sighed. “And what about for me to hear?” Her boyfriend’s mouth moved like a fish’s, opening and closing without sound, searching for any word at all that would end this line of questioning. “Tell meee!”
He threw his hands up, a tiny movement but so unbearably dramatic for him. “No! Ask him yourself if you wanna know!” “Fine!” She turned around and inhaled as if she was fixing to scream down the block, knowing it would scare the living daylights out of him. “Hey, J–!”
Don gave a small cry of despair and wrenched her along by her shoulders so she would continue walking with him. “Okay, okay! I’ll tell you.” She didn’t hide her giggle of triumph from him, and he looked like he wanted to remain frustrated, but just couldn’t. He looked around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, then took a deep breath and spat out in one mortified mumble, “He just asked if we h-had, if we were going to, if we’d slept together, alright?” It seemed he was one more embarrassment away from being sick all over the sidewalk.
Her eyebrows were raised when he finally worked up the nerve to look at her. “Oh, is that all?”
Don was horrified. “All?” he repeated in an incredulous whisper. She had to smile.
“Come now, everyone does it, Donny!” She paused a beat while considering her next words. Her deliberation led her to the conclusion that they would make her boyfriend blush oh-so-prettily. “Joyce tells me about her and Joe all the ti–” The closest thing to a whimper she’d ever heard come out of Don Hume’s mouth came out of his mouth. “It’s nothing bad!” she reassured him quickly. “All nice things and nothing too intimate! Girlfriends just share with each other. Don’t you and the boys ever chat about things like that?” She remembered who she was talking to and sighed. “Never mind.”
His face was contorting painfully, like it couldn’t decide what emotion to land on. He shoved both his hand into his pockets, inadvertently pinning her arm to his side, and mumbled, “Well, anyway. I didn’t share anything.”
There’s not much to share yet, she thought, but to Don she said, “Such a gentleman,” and laid her head on his shoulder. It had been one month since he’d asked her to dinner and five days since he’d been back from Berlin, and she thought she very well might die if they didn’t, well, give Joe something to tease Don about further.
Their first piece of affection that wasn’t a timid peck on the cheek had come as Don had pushed his way wordlessly through the gargantuan crowd at Washington State welcoming the team home from their gold medal win, locked in on the tiny sliver of forehead he could make out bouncing up and down slightly in excitement. When he had finally reached her, he stooped to cradle the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss that almost knocked her unconscious. As he’d pulled away, he’d whispered bluntly, “I missed you.”
Since then, she’d been able to do little else than think about the way he’d held her, the way his mouth felt on hers. But the aggressively respectful stroke had hardly touched her since. He walked her to her doorstep after every date, spent whatever sparse pocket change he had on her without thought, and carried a tiny picture of her face (that he had cut out of the school newspaper article on her sorority’s spring benefit) in his wallet.
And she was sleeping with a photograph of him in his first Olympic race, face a knot of concentration and exertion, sweat-slicked hair hanging in his eyes, lean muscle evident in every line of his body. And it wasn’t so she had sweet dreams about him.
She was mortified by her actions, that she couldn’t control herself the way Don could. Every time he dropped her off, she imagined him saying, “Actually, I don’t give a damn about your reputation or protecting your heart. I’d so much rather just see you without clothes on,” but, unsurprisingly, he never did. It was part of the reason she’d fallen for him, and part of the reason she now wanted to throttle a little passion into him.
She closed her eyes and hummed a silent meditation on patience while Don stopped to look in the window of a hardware store. He was peering into the closed shop, scanning their aisles with an interest that only the son of a hardware store owner could exhibit, when they both spoke at the same time.
“We are going to sleep together, though, aren’t we?”
“This place never keeps enough varnish in stock.”
They both blinked at each other, then spoke in unison once more.
“What?”
She colored, but held her resolve. “I mean, you do want to, right? With me?” Don’s shoulders were creeping up towards his ears, a defense mechanism learned from years of trying to remain as invisible as possible. He glanced wildly around the street, which was steadily emptying as the evening sky darkened further, as if enemy spies were going to leap out from behind a corner and arrest them for leaking government secrets. Cornered.
He stammered for a few, solid minutes. Patience, you are falling in love with this man and you will afford him the patience he deserves, she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. “You are not taking advantage of me by wanting to, darling,” she assured him, and reached up to smooth down Don’s jacket like she always did. The contact eased his breathing back to a healthy pace. “You know that, right?”
“Alright,” he said. But he still looked miserable while he searched for his next words. Her heart broke a little bit for her sweet and anxious lover.
“Do you want to just put this off ‘til later?”
The answer came back with more urgency than she’d ever seen Don use before. “No! No, I mean, no. We can…we should…” He trailed off and met her eyes for the first time since this awkwardness had begun, and decided that was enough. “Yeah, we should.” His shoulders dropped back down to their normal position.
She couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at her lips. “Oh, should we?” she asked through the grin. Don shot her a look that said please do not make me regret leaving the house today, an expression that was omni-present whenever Bobby Moch was around. God, he was adorable like this.
“So…” She swung her handbag back and forth and spoke as if they were discussing the weather. “Should we…tonight?” His eyes widened, betraying the fact that he clearly hadn’t even considered that as a possibility.
Don Hume, forever true to form, nodded.
They had to be careful. There were strict rules about boys in the girls’ student housing, but there were also generations’ worth of knowledge, passed down from resourceful and clever women, on how to evade those rules. Sneak in before the final lights out call, always use the front door instead of the side one where a disgruntled matron often sat up keeping watch, never let a guy accidentally leave his jacket behind. The network of girls that worked like a perfect underground railroad of boy smuggling came out in full force for the couple as they padded, silently and with shoes in hand, up the stairs to her dormitory bedroom. Sorority sister Betty was distracting the matron posted near the side door, bemoaning her period cramps and bursting into over-exaggerated meltdowns about how she’d never pass her history seminar or be asked out by Clark Gable. Don actually had to stifle a laugh as they both slipped into her empty bedroom and she shut the door behind them with the utmost care.
“She’s good.”
“She owes me.” Don’s eyebrows rose, but he asked no further questions. He was standing across from her as she turned to him and pressed her back against the door, his hands once again in his pockets. The two stared at each other for a good long while.
Finally, she figured it would be safe to remove her coat and hang it on the coat rack beside the door. The movement did not spook Don into running, so she threw her shoes to the ground, too.
He was surveying the four beds in the room. “Which one’s yours?” he finally asked, breaking the tension that only she seemed to be feeling. She pointed towards the far bed on the left side of the room, the one made neatly with rose-printed sheets. “It’s nice.”
“Thank you,” she squeaked. They lapsed into silence again, and she wondered if Don was waiting until he was caught by a matron and cast out, avoiding this whole uncomfortable situation. Perhaps they shouldn’t have decided this so flippantly, maybe Don was the kind of man who needed–In two strides, he crossed the room to her and grabbed her neck the same way he had upon his return from the Olympics. She could only mumble “Oh,” before Don had his mouth pressed against hers. His kiss was hungry, hands suddenly eager to explore everywhere they’d never been. Her back was still pressed against the door when she pushed him away and ordered breathlessly, “Bed, go, now.”
Don hadn’t become the most famous stroke in the world by not taking orders well. He scooped her up in the bridal style, scaring a little yelp out of her that he quickly smothered by kissing her again. Her back hit the bed and she felt him awkwardly hover over her, their lips still locked together. She reached up for the length of his tie and pulled him down on top of her by it.
He let out a short “Oof!” as he stumbled on top of her, but corrected himself in no time, swinging his legs on either side of hers. If I let Don be in charge here, she thought, while their tongues tangled together, we would be here all night. Actually, I could make peace with that.
But she would have to make her peace another time, because they did not have all night tonight. They had maybe a comfortable twenty-minute cushion between Betty’s diversionary theatrics and the remaining time before the lights out rounds were made. And the way Don was making her feel, the inadvertent and desperate grinding against her…they certainly did not have all night.
She pushed him up again, and this time, he actually made a noise of protest that some may have classified as a whine. His eyes searched her face frantically as she pulled herself out from under him, yanked his suit jacket off and tossed it to the ground, and told him to lay down on his back. His unquestioning obedience and the look he gave her as he settled on his back, ankles crossed, and began undoing his tie and shirt buttons made her core flood. She clutched a throw pillow for support as she watched him.
Trying not to notice the way his cock was straining against his pants, she climbed her way up his frame, settling around his waist the way he had just done. Don’s freckles stood out on his rapidly pinking skin. She was leaning down to kiss him again when he blurted, “I love you!”
She snapped her neck back up like she’d been electrocuted and cried, “What?!”
Don flattened himself against the bed, like maybe she wouldn’t be able to see him if he was absorbed by the mattress. His chest and stomach were bare, and he looked mortified. The contrast of his sweet, abashed expression while he chewed the inside of his mouth and tried to babble an apology for declaring his love against his sinfully hot body beneath her made her head spin, and it was with no further hesitation that she blurted back, “I love you, too!”
He grinned in his own way, and his eyes pooled with affection. Of course she loved him; she was surprised it hadn’t occurred to her sooner. The second he’d stuttered his first failed attempt at flirting with her, she’d been a goner. Don sat up, gently shifting her so she was straddling him, and ran his hand through her hair. She waited for him to say something else, then remembered whose lap she was sitting in.
“Weren’t we just in the middle of something?” she whispered into his lips, their noses now pressed together, and she felt his quirky, down-turned smile against hers.
“Were we?”
“Donald Hume, you can be a tease sometimes.” She kissed him and he responded by snapping into action like the athlete he was, kissing her back and wrapping his arms around her. He pulled away to gaze up at her as she rose to her knees and began undoing the line of buttons that ran down the entire front of her dress.
“Just tell me what to do, baby,” he said. A moan leaked out of her at the pure devotion and awe in his eyes. She let her dress fall down to the floor and stepped out of it, then indicated that he should sit back against the headboard. Don obliged, his breathing shallow and eyes huge as he took in the sight of her crawling back onto his lap. His rough fingers ghosted up her thighs when she sat down.
I’ve been an idiot, she mused, as she slowly worked the zipper on his pants down and pulled his already-dripping cock free. I should have pulled this mug into bed months ago. When she pulled her own undergarments off and Don’s eyes, on respectful instinct, flew shut, she laughed.
“You can look at me, Don,” she giggled. Her permission given, his eyes snapped back open and he drank in the sight of her, his hand skating up from her thighs to grasp every inch of skin that he could. Her cunt pressing against him was already dangerously wet, and she ground down hard, coaxing a strangled little “ah!” from him.
Then reality bit into her ankle, and she groaned. “Do you have a rubber?” she asked through her hands after they had covered her face. If it was awkward for her to ask it, she couldn’t imagine what Don’s face must look like hearing it. He stammered for long enough for her to suss out the fact that he did not have one, and she was about to give up and fuck him anyway when she remembered that she lived with three other red-blooded women. “Oh!” she cried. “Wait, I know Betty has some.”
Don, once more, asked no questions about what Betty got up to in her free time. He just looked terribly grateful for her as his lover emerged, victorious, from rummaging around the co-ed’s top dresser drawer with a box of Sheiks pinched in her fingers and a breathless glee on her face. She let him tug it on then decided they’d spent enough time dancing around their discomfort.
“Come on,” she ordered, and climbed on top of him one last time. “I want you, Donny. Bad.”
“Oh, but aren’t you–” He held her in place while she tried desperately to line his cock up with her entrance. When his fingers pushed against her instead, swirling them inside her with his tongue trapped between his lips in concentration, she wondered if someone had broken in and switched places with her meek boyfriend. His doe eyes staring up at her, he begged in hardly above a whisper, “Please let me get you good and ready, please. I’m…” He trailed off and turned the brightest shade of red that she’d seen yet, and his gaze traveled down to the impressively large member between his legs.
“You are big,” she agreed, and Don groaned and buried his face in her shoulder. “Baby, that’s not something to be embarrassed about,” she cried as she tried to yank him up by his hair and make him look her in the face. His fingers were still buried inside her, and even through his extreme shame at having a cock so big that it would hurt, he never stopped pumping them and drawing gasps and moans that she tried to stifle against his neck. He ground the heel of his calloused palm gently against her clit and caused her legs to tremble until she could no longer support herself on them and fell flush against his lap.
She was a panting, crumpled mess folded up against his strong body, and she almost didn’t have it in her to roll her eyes when Don asked, “Was that alright?”
When she finally sank down onto him, he moaned, every inch of composure flying out of him. His posture, perfected from the long hours in the shell, sagged. “Oh, G–fuck,” he mumbled. It was the first time she’d ever heard him swear, and despite the pleasure that was making her eyes water, she almost laughed. Then his hands wrapped around her hips and lifted her up slightly and she felt the heavy drag of his cock inside her and a string of nonsense fell from her instead. She didn’t have to contribute in the slightest, in spite of her position straddling him. Don just bounced her up and down like she was nothing more than a vision he was having, and from the way his eyes were drifting heavenward, maybe she was.
But he was still too much of a gentleman. “Faster,” she gasped, the fingers of her right hand wrapping unconsciously around the front of his neck to steady herself.
“Are you coxxing me?” he huffed with a grin. The grin vanished when she squeezed a little and he felt the choke build up in his throat, his eyes rolling back for a second. The sight floored her.
“Oh, d-d’ya like…?” She tried to tease him but Don had started thrusting harder, grinding them both together like they’d never get the chance to do this again, and the words died on her tongue. Graciously, he tried to revive them by kissing her. He had to push hard against the hand on his throat, but he did it, never one to give up on anything. Pleasure was gagging the both of them, her as unable to form words as Don usually was. He pressed his forehead against hers and their breath mingled into one.
“I l-love you, baby,” he said. She could tell his shyness and stoic composure were very nearly worn off now. She could tell it especially was when he started rambling, his nose bumping against her shoulder as he kept fucking her with relentless speed: “M’beautiful girl, beautiful, sweet girl. Ever since–first talked t’you, won every race for you, every stroke for you…wanted to make you proud…” He pulled his neck up with great effort and looked deep in her eyes. “Did I make you proud, baby?”
A cry tore its way out of her as his cock shredded against her just perfectly. She pushed Don back down on the bed and started riding him in earnest, wanting him to know exactly how he made her feel. Proud of him? It didn’t begin to cover how she’d felt when she’d heard the giddy announcer scream over the radio waves, “And it’s just come through, folks: AMERICA has taken the gold medal for rowing crew! What a spectacular display from our boys!” Don’s lips were pressed tightly together as he watched her chase down the knot of desire and pleasure that was building inside her.
“Don, I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life, and I never will be,” she panted, scraping her nails down his defined pectorals and ignoring the cry of indignation he gave. A deep red blush blossomed under her fingers, dragging down to his stomach. She hadn’t broken skin, but the light pain had still made Don’s back arch in a very telling way. He looked a complete mess, quite unlike the man who had picked her up in front of her building four hours previously with hair neatly gelled and shabby suit jacket pressed. Now, thick strands of black hair fell all over his face as he sucked air into his deprived lungs. Her poor little bed frame creaked and groaned, protesting the activities taking place on top of it. Rusted springs provided an unwelcome soundtrack to their lovemaking, but she found that she didn’t even notice it.
When she began rolling her hips in perfect rhythm with the thrusts he was giving from beneath her, his cock brushed against something inside of her that she’d never been acquainted with before, but the bliss that erupted from her toes to her fingertips made her throw her head back and cry his name hoarsely. The orgasm was unreal, blinding and satisfying and all due to the man between her legs who was currently trying very hard not to lose his mind at the sensation of her walls tightening around him.
He kept his lips pressed together and his thrusts small and even until she’d recovered. Her legs had turned to jelly. Something mischievous whispered in her ear as she looked down at Don’s desperate, adorable face, and she took a leaf out of his book and obeyed it.
She leaned forward, still sensitive as he thrust shallowly inside her, and wrapped both of her hands around his throat again. His eyes shut and his head lolled against the pillow, and within seconds he was giving a hoarse whimper and cumming. He sighed through the feeling, pumping his hips upward into her. “Fuck,” she whispered. All of him was hers, she realized with a jolt, as she looked down at Don’s sweat-slicked face and kiss-swollen lips. The realization was heavy and heady and made her want even more of him.
They laid next to each other for just a few seconds. She would have asked for hours more if she hadn’t known that they could be interrupted at any moment. Don’s chest rose and fell slowly now, his eyes unblinking.
As usual, she spoke first. “That was wonderful.” Don rolled to his side so he could look at her and nodded, a dreamy little smirk on his lips that she very much wanted to kiss. “I think I’ll write Joe a nice note thanking him.” He rolled back away from her and covered his face, groaning while she giggled.
“I’m still not telling him anything,” he muttered when she got out of bed and began re-dressing and tossing his clothes back at him. He sat up and pulled the condom off, and she was grateful to see he had the good sense to wrap it in a tissue from her desk before disposing of it in the communal waste basket.
“Baby, you won’t have to.” Don followed her finger with his eyes to where it was pointing: the vivid red scratch marks carved down his torso from collarbone to abdomen, and he lept up, cursing.
“We have to take photographs in our uniforms tomorrow! They’ll show over my kit!” he cried, the most frantic and upset she’d ever seen him. She covered her grin with her hand.
“Well, save a print for me, won’t you?”
masterlist
#i am sorry i have no defense for this one#TY SAL FOR PROOFING U A REAL ONE 🤍#tbitb fic#don hume x reader#don hume x oc#tbitb x reader#laneywrites
130 notes
·
View notes