#<- that’s my tag for it until I think of a name

[aeyumicore]

shot, shot, shot, shot!

━ .ᐟ✧ SCENARIO: what happens when the four love and deepspace men get drunk and jealous? there's only one cure and it's in between your legs!

━ ✧.˖ PAIRING: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel (separate) x female reader (afab)

━ .ᐟ✧ GENRE: smut, porn with very little plot

━ ✧.˖ TOTAL WORD COUNT: 15.7k

━ .ᐟ✧ GENERAL CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, mentions of alcohol, recreational drinking (characters and mc), jealousy (guys + mc), drunk characters (guys + mc), use of Y/N, pet names, unprotected sex, never pulling out, fluff/crack/banter, individual content warnings below with their respective fics

━ ✧.˖ LINKS: original inspo | ao3

A/N: SURPRISE ITS HERE EARLY! oof another fic for all four guys? who is she? but actually after this i likely won’t be writing for all four guys like this again, or at least for a while. if i can somehow get better at writing fics that are 1-2k then ill start doing scenarios with all four again! i tried to keep this one short and they’re still all 3-4.3k per guy…this scenario was originally based off the one video of the drunk asian guy! see the clip above under ‘links.’

enjoy guys!! i’ll be taking a much needed break but may write slowly in my own time :) just depends how i feel, how much inspiration i have! i’ll still be on tumblr but will mostly be on my twitter <3 until next time bbs!

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 4.3k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, sylus refers to reader genitalia as ‘she,’ public sex, sex in an alley, standing/against the wall sex, finger sucking, choking, outdoor sex, voyeurism, needy sylus, drunk sylus, jealous sylus, use of pet names, mentions of guns, tiny bit of violence, cumming in coochie, panties over cummies

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video (how sylus kisses you in this)

Luke and Kieran watch the way Sylus’s eyes track you under the strobing lights of the nightclub. It wasn’t out of the norm for their dear boss to be obsessed with knowing a certain Hunter’s whereabouts. But this was excessive, even for him.

The way he’d already shattered two glasses with the force of his fingers, his eyes scarily unblinking as they trailed your every movement. The club manager didn’t dare kick Sylus out, apologizing to him as he’d cleaned up the glass from Sylus’s feet. But Sylus was too distracted to even notice. 

The pair of troublemakers supposed it had to do with the fact that some sleezy drunk had his hands all over your bare thighs. They knew if Sylus had his way, that very man would be unconscious on the floor in half a second flat. But of course, when it came to you, Sylus was helpless as he was whipped, giving into your every desire, even if it physically pained him to do so.

And you had ordered Sylus not to intervene, not when you were undercover, trying to get classified information from the powerful men that frequented this very nightclub in the N109 zone. So he was left at the bar, quite literally fending thirsty women off left and right, watching the way you pretended to laugh amongst the unsuspecting targets. He tried to distract himself from the men who so clearly were thinking of ten different ways to fuck you. 

A privilege reserved only for him.  

So the twins, who had so enthusiastically begged to tag along, devised a plan to help Sylus take his mind off planning literal murder. 

Really, they were trying to help!

But maybe they should’ve stopped after the fifth drink. When Sylus’s cheeks flushed the same shade of red as his eyes, ebbing all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

And they definitely should’ve stopped after the tenth drink. When Sylus’s body started to move on its own accord, his Evol practically parting the crowd of drunk and sweaty clubbers to get to you.

But at that point there was no stopping the formidable man from taking what he wanted. And what he wanted, what he needed, was you. 

Honestly, you nearly breathe a sigh of relief when you feel Sylus’s familiar Evol wrapping around your wrist, yanking you backward and away from the disgusting man trying to feel you up. You’re so happy to feel his strong arms around you that you don’t notice how atypically clumsy his Evol feels, like grasping for something when blindfolded.

“We’re leaving.”

Sylus’s words are dominating and commanding, ‘no’ not even a fathomable possibility. But there’s a slight waver in his gruff voice that makes you raise your eyebrow at him in question.

The idiotic man before you wraps his clammy hands around your waist, pulling you back, “Hey man. We’re in the middle of something.”

You look up to see Sylus’s crimson eyes, trained on the way the man’s fingers dig into your bare skin, burning with something dangerous, the air around him crackling with an erratic and sinister energy, and you know you have to defuse the situation as quickly as you can. 

You bring your elbow to the man’s groin, digging hard. He groans pathetically, wilting to his knees. Truthfully, you didn’t have to elbow him that hard, but you’d become nauseated with how disgustingly he’d been looking at you, touching you, for the past thirty minutes. 

“No, we’re really not.”

With that, you slip into Sylus’s side, his large arm wrapping possessively around your naked shoulders, your hand resting on his abdomen. Sylus’s lips quirk up, deeply satisfied with the way you can bring men twice your size to their knees before they can even blink. His girl.

As the two of you make your way out of the crowd, you start to notice the way Sylus’s movements are unusually sluggish, his feet trudging one after the other. Considering Sylus was always poised and elegant, you instantly knew something was amiss. When Luke and Kieran fall into step behind you, you turn to the two masked men.

“What happened?!” you hissed at them, “What happened to ‘Watch Sylus? Easy peasy lemon squeezy?!’” Your fingers are raised in air-quotes as you recall their confident words and uncontrollable giggles when you’d tasked them with keeping Sylus in line, knowing he’d have a hard time watching you faux flirt with other men, no matter how self assured he was. 

Kieran is the first to speak, clearing his throat as the four of you exit the nightclub, the night air ruffling through your hair, “Well, you see –”

But he’s cut off when Sylus roughly grabs your chin, pulling your eyes up to his. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

Your eyes flicker to his, surprised by his demanding, yet needy, words. Sylus smiles when you look up at him, his eyes, as unfocused as they were, beaming down at you.

His rough fingers caress your cheek, burying his face into your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent, “Beautiful.”

The scent of alcohol on his breath is so strong you nearly wince. Luke and Kieran seem to notice your realization at the same time, their eyes widening as you start to yell in disbelief.

“Is he drunk?!” you demand, your arms wrapping tighter around his waist, Sylus in a world of his own as he mutters incoherent mumblings into your hair, shifting his weight onto you.

The twins grin at you sheepishly, raising their hands in surrender. Luke speaks, “Well, in our defense, boss never gets drunk –”

“Yeah! Boss is such a heavyweight –”

“So we thought, a few drinks might loosen him up –”

“You should’ve seen him! He was thiiiiiis close to commiting a crime –”

“So really, you should be thanking us!”

The twins finish rattling off, looking at you with puppy eyes.

You sigh, unable to feign anger at them, “How many drinks did you give him?”

“Umm…what was it Kieran…like…eight?” Your eyes widen as they scratch their chins.

“No…no, it was definitely closer to…like twelve?”

“Well we also gave him those cute little drinks with the umbrellas, he seemed to really like those!”

“Yeah and they had little chunks of fruit in them! Maybe that cancels out the alcohol?”

“Yeah! And the one with the olives too! Plus, boss always drinks like a bottle of wine a night!

“So we thought…a few mixed drinks…couldn’t hurt anyone!”

Your head spins as you try to keep up with their conversation, digging through your purse to find the unopened half bottle of water you’d brought. You quickly unscrew it, bringing it up to Sylus’s lips. 

Sylus looks surprised when the cool plastic touches his lips, but once his hazy eyes focus on you again, he visibly relaxes. The sharp vermillion hues in his irises melt at the reflection of you, softening into the most beautiful carmine pools of red wine. 

His hands come over to cup yours, holding your fingers affectionately in his as you tilt the water back so he can drink. You have to tip toe upward so you can follow his grip, his gulps greedy and eyelids shut in relief, the sensation of your hand cupping his jaw feeling like his own personal heaven. 

With the plastic at his moistened lips, his eyes flutter open to look at you, his lids heavy with intoxication. Even though his eyes swim with a murky tiredness, they glow when they watch you, glimmering with a star-struck adoration. His intensity stares you down, a knowing heat piercing right through you. The very same heat that has seen both your naked body and soul.

The moment feels hot and strangely intimate. It definitely felt illegal to have Sylus looking at you like that while Luke and Kieran stood behind you. 

He’s so distracted by you, eyes never leaving yours, that nearly a third of the water splashes onto his chest and the pavement floor. He drinks so enthusiastically that you almost want to giggle at how submissive he looks, drinking so obediently from your hands, eyes following your every move. Fortunately the pair of whispers behind you remind you that, even if Sylus stares at you like he’s ready to mount you right then and there, you are not alone. 

When the bottle drains, he crumples it in one hand, tossing it to the nearest waste bin. 

As it hits the metal trash can, you tear your eyes away from the way Sylus heatedly watches you, turning back to Luke and Kieran, “Are you two insane?!”

The twins look positively offended.

“How did you even convince him to drink so much?” 

“Well, he was so distracted watching you that he just downed anything we put into his hands...” 

You bite your lip, realizing how difficult it must’ve been for Sylus to sit back and just watch. But he did it, for you. 

“Y/N.”

You try to ignore the way Sylus is stroking the bare skin of your shoulders, fingers coming dangerously close to your neck. His ruby eyes beg for your attention.

“Sylus might drink a lot, but he drinks wine –”

“Y/N.”

“Not hard alcohol! Look at how red he is! You guys, this was recklessly irresponsible!”

“Y/N.”

Sylus pulls you forcefully back into his arms, his head dipping into the crook of your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. Through the darkness of the night, you pray Luke and Kieran can’t see the way Sylus whispers into your ear.

“I need you.”

You fight the shiver that threatens to unleash through your unsuspecting body, his hot breath washing against your skin, the contrast of the brisk night air making you all the more sensitive. His fingers hold you in place, his hard body pressed into your own. 

You sigh, trying to brush the arousal away, “Let’s get you home, yeah? We can –”

He nips at your earlobe, eliciting a squeak from your lips as he gruffly demands, “Now.”

Before you can protest further, Sylus’s eyes direct to the twins in front of you, the pair of them snickering to themselves knowingly as he dismisses them, “We’ll meet you at home.”

–

You didn’t even make it to your car. 

Far from it, you found yourself pressed into the cold brickwall of a nearby alleyway, not fifteen feet from where Luke and Kieran had left the two of you. Sylus’s lips are latched onto yours in a furiously passionate embrace, his hands alternating between grabbing torridly at your waist and threading into the back of your neck, weaving into your sweat-dampened hair.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck for support against his torridly forceful kiss, his head tilted to the side to give him full access to your mouth, your lips, your tongue. 

He doesn’t even stop to breathe, opting to inhale your breath as his own. His tongue forcefully explores every inch of your open and willing mouth, and you struggle to keep up with his excitement. His fingers massage your neck, grabbing eagerly at every part of you he can reach. 

Sylus has always been passionate, but this was something else. It felt as if the alcohol in his blood amplified everything tenfold, leaving his cock thicker than ever against your shivering abdomen. His hands roam down your naked back, pulling at your waist again, pressing your body harder against his erection that leaks against his underwear. 

Sylus’s head tilts to the other side, your face moving opposite his to instinctively receive his unbridled passion. He cups the back of your head again, shielding you head from hitting the wall, the force of his kiss pushing you against it violently. 

He pulls away briefly, panting into you, his canines grazing into the soft skin of your ear, “You’re going to be the death of me, little dove.”

You want to question him, but his lips are back on yours in an instant, consuming you once more. His fingers grip your jaw so tightly, funneling all the emotions he’d held back, while watching you on the dancefloor with other men, into the way he holds you against the wall. Into the way he devours you.

He gives you a brief second of reprieve, pressing his lips into your neck, voice coming out husky and sulky, “I don’t enjoy seeing you with other men.” 

You gasp as he pushes you impossibly deeper into the wall, teeth simultaneously digging into the curve of your neck. Your fingers thread up into his hair, tugging to ground yourself as Sylus sucks your soft skin. 

“M-sooorry,” you slur, as if you’re the one who’s drunk, “B-But I got the information I – nnghn – needed.”

Sylus growls into your skin, “I knew you would. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

His thumb presses against your bottom lip, eyes glazed over with a drunken hunger, “And you always have me at your mercy.”

It isn’t long before he has your back arched into his abdomen, the front of your sweat slicked body pressed into the cold alley wall, his cock buried in your wet gummy walls. Your panties are pushed messily to the side, your skirt hiked up to your waist. 

Sylus’s fingers are shoved into your mouth, claiming to try and minimize your sounds so passerbys don't hear the filthy things he was doing to you. In reality, he was just addicted to your sweet mouth wrapped around him.

His other hand holds both of your wrists, locking them against the small of your back, leaving you absolutely at the mercy of his thick cock ramming in and out of you.

“S-so damn beautiful,” Sylus is almost slurring, having gotten more drunk the longer the alcohol sat in his stomach. The acoustics of the dark alley made his body pounding against yours all the louder and more sinful. 

His thrusts are sloppy, the alcohol making it harder for him to maintain control. But that only serves to arouse you more, the sight of Sylus’s hazy eyes when you crane your neck back to see him, the sweat sticking to his flushed skin. 

You can only moan, the pads of his fingers pressing down into your tongue. The loud drunken giggles of people passing by make your eyes widen, but Sylus doesn’t stop, only going faster. 

“Never gonna let another man touch you, ever again,” he moans into your ear, as he ruts angrily into your g spot, his fingers pressing tiny bruises into the fat of your hips. He’s ten times handsier when he’s drunk, almost as if the alcohol makes his muscles itch, your body his fixation.. 

He spins you around suddenly, nearly making you lose your balance, his cock entering you just as quickly as it had slipped out. Sylus is desperate to see your beautifully hooded eyes, the faces you make when you come undone for him.

You grip the thick muscles of his neck, admiring his damp and exposed chest. The buttons of his shirt had been yanked open in the drunken shuffle, leaving little to imagination.

“H-Hey,” Sylus mutters, the faintest hint of a whine beneath his words, “Look at me.” His thrusts, sloppier than ever, never stopping.

You grin, despite how blissed out your mind is becoming, at his adorably needy behavior. As you let your eyes lose themselves in his, you stroke his jaw lovingly.

“Tell me,” he pants, his cock twitching as it presses insistently into your walls.

“Nngh — T-Tell you what Sy?” you coo breathlessly, nails digging into his sweaty skin, trying to distract yourself from the no doubt filthy brick wall pressing into your exposed back. 

“Tell me how I make you feel,” Sylus’s jaw tightens dangerously.

He thrusts especially hard and deep when you don’t respond, capturing your wrist and pressing it into the wall above your head, effectively trapping you against the wall, “Tell me.” 

You squeal, biting your lips, “Sylus! F-Feels s’good. N-No one else can — hng — make me feel like this!” 

Sylus’s glossy ruby red eyes flicker, his fingers finding your clit pressed against his pelvis, “Yeah? You love my cock, don’t you sweetheart?”

You want to smile at how adorably needy his words are, the alcohol fueling him with the rare desire to be validated. Instead you just nod vehemently as he plays with your clit, “I dooo!” 

Sylus grunts, struggling to breathe as you tighten around him. He grabs your cheeks in between his fingers, squeezing them firmly until your moans are muffled, “Shhh, we wouldn’t want someone to find us, would we little bird?” 

You nod obediently, but your body responds instinctively to his words, your abdomen fluttering in excitement at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position, with the revered leader of Onychinus no less. 

Sylus chuckles darkly, his every nerve receptive to your tiniest micromovements, and especially the excited way your pussy clamps down on his erection. His lips come down to kiss your jaw sweetly, contrary to the mean way he bullies himself into your cunt.

When he reaches the space beneath your ear he presses a tender kiss there, whispering huskily, “I can feel the way you’re tightening around me. Do you like the idea of someone watching us?”

Your eyes widen at him, and that’s all the answer he needs. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I would love to give them a show. Especially that man who had his hands all over you, hm? What was his name?”

“I-I d-don’t – hah – remember,” you wheeze, holding on as he bounces you into the wall, the sound of drunk bar patrons growing louder.

Sylus smiles darkly, his red eyes glowing in satisfaction, “Good girl. This pussy belongs t’me, hm?” His words come out in a purr, slightly sluggish with intoxication.

You can’t speak, opting to nod as eagerly as you can, your brain muddling against the pleasure of your joined bodies. Sylus chuckles at your wordless agreement.

“My precious dove…can’t even speak?” he coos, fingers still splayed out against your poor quivering clit, the wet sounds of his furious ministrations echoing throughout the dark alley. He leans in close to your ear.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. She’s so loud she might as well be answering for you,” he grins, clearly talking about your soaked and squelching pussy against his demanding thrusts. 

You’re about to retort when you hear another group of people passing by the alley. Your hands fly up to your mouth, forcing your uncontrollable moans away. Your eyes squeeze shut as the patter of feet gets closer and closer, fear and excitement taking over.

“Ah-ah,” Sylus tuts, “You know better than to hide your beautiful sounds from me.” Your eyes widen when his words sink in. 

Your hands fly to Sylus’s broad shoulders, but it’s too late to push him back. His hands find the globes of your ass, lifting you off the floor, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. At this angle Sylus can fully bounce you on his cock, using you however he wants. At this angle, the swollen tip brushes right into your cervix. At this angle, it’s physically impossible for you to muffle your cries. 

Your nails dig into the ropes of his shoulder muscles as you squeal. Sylus only grins as the sound of feet falter, right in front of the alley.

You try your best to whisper, “Sy-Sylus, please. Th-they’ll hear.” But it was pointless. Even if you could hold back your whimpers, the echo of his arousal dampened pelvis slapping against the space where your thighs met your ass bounced off the walls of the alley like a resounding bell. 

“You say that…” he murmurs, fingers coming back down to your clit, balancing you in just one arm, “But why is she getting so tight?”

He’s right, and there’s no denying it. Sylus is well acquainted with your body, knowing exactly what excites you, what you don’t like, what you love. 

The heavy footsteps gradually fade, likely too drunk to hear anything than the pounding of distant EDM music. Sylus hears you sigh in relief, releasing a bated breath, but your cunt stays as tight as ever around him. It drives him insane.

Nearly getting caught has only pushed both of you to the cusp of your orgasms. 

“Close, dove?” Sylus whispers into your ear, one hand pressed into the wall, the other bouncing you on his quivering cock.

Your head is thrown back as you nod, gasping for your next breath, “Y-Yes! So cloooose Sy!” At this point you don’t even care who could possibly hear you, only able to focus on the angry way Sylus’s cock twitching inside you, stroking your g-spot, begging to paint you white.

“M-Me too, Y/N,” Sylus’s uncharacteristic stutter, driven to madness by the alcohol and you, makes you clench down, hard. 

He hisses, hips stuttering, teeth clamping down on your shoulder, tongue subsequently coming out to lap at the space where he bit down, soothing your skin. 

The push of pain, the pull of pleasure, it’s just enough to tip you over, careening down the cliff of your orgasm. Your head falls back, eyes rolling with them, body fully preparing to show Sylus just how much you loved him. 

But Sylus has other plans, squeezing your cheeks in between his fingers, directing you to look at him. 

“Hey. Look at me, please.” 

His commanding words remind you that he’s very much still intoxicated, making him adorably needy for your attention.

When your eyes level with his, his red eyes sparkle happily, like a puppy getting its ears scratched, “Hello, my love. Show me, hm?” The duality of his lovable desperation and his downright malevolent plunges into your cervix blurs the lines between pleasure and reality, sanity and madness.

You nod eagerly, holding his intense eye contact, while you burst at the seams, spraying all over his still clothed abdomen. Sparks of white hot electricity travel through every one of your nerve endings while you cum on him.

Sylus gulps, in awe of the way you sing for him, shame thrown to the wind. If anyone were to walk by, they’d hear the way you screamed for his cock. Hear the way your body made him gasp for his next breath. How he grunts with each rope of cum that he dumps into your waiting hole, each sloppy pump filling his vision with bleary stars.

As he cums, he whispers brokenly into your ear, “C-Can never get enough. I love you, sweetheart.”  One of his big hands comes up to clamp around your throat, his fingers pressing down forcefully as he erupts inside of you. 

“Ngh…I love you Sylus,” you murmur against the pleasure of your constricted air flow, clinging to him, truly like an injured bird.

Sylus kisses your lips tenderly as you both come down from your highs, his fingers carefully laying your panties back in place. When he sets you on the ground, you nearly collapse, your legs quivering from the way they’d been locked around his waist. His arms are back around you in an instant, holding you steady. His cum flows out of you like literal tears, but you can only clamp your thighs shut and pray your pathetic soiled panties can catch the streams of his milky seed. 

He guides you carefully out of the alley, pressing affectionate kisses into the crown of your head as he holds your waist protectively. You’re so dazed you hardly notice that your skirt is still ridden up, until Sylus gently pulls it back down, smoothing the rumpled fabric with his large hands. 

The sounds of two far too familiar voices greet you when you emerge from the backstreet. 

“Are you guys finally done?” 

“Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting?!” 

Sylus groans, running his hand down his face, “Didn’t I tell you two to go back to base?” 

And though you’re thoroughly mortified at the idea of the twins having walked into your…situation, you can’t help but smile at the way Sylus handles Luke and Kieran. Like a father reprimanding his children.

“Well we did —”

“But then you guys didn’t come back for a while —”

“So we thought maybe something happened!” 

You shake your head at their frenzied explanation, the smile stretching on your lips as you watch the twins move their hands animatedly in their defense, “You guys are impossible.”

Luke gasps in exaggerated earnest, “How can you say that after what you’ve put us through?”

Kieran nods in agreement, shuddering dramatically, “Yeah! I feel like I just walked in on my parents…” 

“You two better watch yourselves before I confiscate your guns again,” Sylus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But you can see the corner of his lips fighting an amused smile. 

Luke and Kieran simultaneously gasp, their reaction making it seem like Sylus was a father grounding his children, taking away their toys. You burst out into giggles, hugging Sylus’s side to keep warm as you watch the comical situation unfold. 

“There’s no need for you to do that, Sy,” you murmur, looking up at him, admiring the way the moonlight frames his face. Sylus peers down at you, his face softening, before nodding curtly.

The twins snicker. Luke uses his hand as a shield in front of his mouth to whisper to Kieran, pointing to Sylus behind it, “Whipped.”

You shoot them a smile, a deceptively innocent and sweet grin, “I’ll gladly confiscate them for you.”

There’s nearly a cartoon puff of smoke left behind when the twins scurry off, desperately clutching their holsters and begging for mercy. 

Sylus chuckles as he watches them run off, his arm slung over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side as he presses a kiss into your forehead. 

“Truly a force to be reckoned with.” 

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.8k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk mc and xavier, pre-established relationship (but not first time), public sex/voyeurism, sex on the dance floor, standing sex, fingering, dancing without leaving room for jesus, grinding, jealous!mc, not a content warning but xavier is wearing tight black shirt and jeans…….MMMMMM, unprotected sex, handjob through clothes

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics (how xavier and you make out in this)

The thumping beat of club music pounds in your ears, making it difficult to hear even your own thoughts. But you really didn’t care, too intoxicated and having too much fun dancing with Tara in a throng of sweaty club goers. 

The both of you had requested today off, wanting to see an up and coming DJ at the Linkon Lounge. You’d started the night off at your apartment, getting dolled up in your wispiest lashes and outfits that made you feel strong, confident, and beautiful. You’d shared a couple shots of tequila before slipping on your heels and scrambling out of your apartment, in a fit of tipsy and hushed giggles. 

Coincidentally enough, you ran into Xavier on your way out. Your blonde-haired partner was in the apartment lobby, grabbing his mail, when you and Tara bumped into him, literally. If it weren’t for Xavier’s quick reflexes, his forearm darting out to wrap around your waist, you definitely would’ve ended the night before it began, with an ice pack in your hand rather than a fruity drink. 

And that’s when Tara had invited Xavier out with you. Truthfully, you were sure Xavier would say no. The club definitely wasn’t his scene, and he undoubtedly had plans to have a cozy night in. But you were pleasantly surprised when he blurted out ‘yes’ before Tara could even get the words completely out. Tara knew Xavier wanted to come to keep an eye on you, and she was all too happy to play matchmaker. 

You hadn’t seen Xavier for what felt like at least fifteen minutes. You assumed he went off to the bathroom, or maybe to order some more drinks. Before long, you started to worry. 

“I’m gonna go look for Xavier! Will you be okay?” you practically scream over the music, pulling the side of Tara’s face to your mouth so she can hear you better. 

“I’ll be here!” she yells, pointing at her phone, “Text me if you can’t find me!” You nod, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

You push your way out of the crowd, apologizing profusely as you’re met with the displeased looks and groans of drunk patrons.

Eventually you make your way to the edge of the dancefloor, scouring the area for Xavier. You had a difficult time focussing your eyes, stumbling about, but did your best to look for the enigmatic Hunter. 

You quickly check the line at the bar before deciding to check the bathroom. It’s then you catch the glint of familiar platinum blonde hair, Xavier’s body leaned up against the wall near the public water fountains. 

You gulp at the sight of him, his head leaned back to rest against the wall, his hands folded across his chest. The musky sweat of the enclosed space made his black fitted t-shirt cling to his biceps, his skin glistening with sweat under the pulsing LED lights. 

Even from this far away, it’s clear Xavier is drunk. His eyes are hooded with intoxication, his throat bobbing with shallow breaths.

You’re about to approach him when the groups of people in front of you shift, and you see a girl latched onto Xavier’s bicep. The two look far too cozy, Xavier not doing anything to push her off as she speaks animatedly up at him, her eyelashes batting seductively. 

It’s not like you and Xavier were dating…but it was clear there was something deeply intertwined about the two of you. That, and the fact that you’d been intimate several times. But you had to admit, you’d never made things exclusive. 

You turn on your heel, thoroughly perturbed at the sight of Xavier with someone else, making your way back to where you’d left Tara.

You’d just broken into the crowd when a firm hand catches your wrist, stopping you from pushing further. You turn back sharply, ready to throw your fist back, only to be met with the sight of Xavier, in all his flushed and handsome glory. 

“Where are you going?” 

You fight the urge to smack him, jealousy a true green-eyed monster, instead just feigning ignorance, “What? I can’t hear you!” You gesture wildly with your hands to emphasize your point. You turn away from him, starting to tug your wrist away again when he pulls you back, hard. 

He twirls you effortlessly into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you, secure and unrelenting. You look up at him in question. He leans down, and your breath catches as his lips come an inch away from yours. But he doesn’t kiss you, instead whispering into your ear. 

“I asked where you were going. Didn’t you see me?” his breath is warm against your ear, the smell of alcohol invading your senses over the pounding music.

“You looked busy. I didn’t want to intrude,” you try to keep your voice level, but you can tell it comes out petty. You hope through the deafening music, Xavier can’t hear how sulky your voice is.

Xavier looks confused in his drunken state, but shouts into your ear, his tone genuine and endearing even amidst the music, “You’re never intruding.”

You sigh at his sweet words, tiptoeing up to speak to him and trying to be nice, “Who was your friend?”

Xavier looks even more bewildered for a second, before realizing the implications of your words, a lazy smile painting his features. He holds you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other coming up to touch your cheek. 

“Not my friend. She couldn’t find her friends and wanted to wait with me.”

You roll your eyes. Xavier was too sweet and unassuming for his own good.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Xavier chuckles, “You don’t have to be jealous, I only have eyes for you.”

Your cheeks flare amidst the flush of alcohol on your cheeks at his words, and before you can speak Xavier is leaning down to kiss you. You squeak in surprise, but respond to his lips, kissing him back. 

Xavier kisses you slowly, gently, and tenderly. You can barely even hear the music around you, the musky people bumping into the pair of you. All you can feel is Xavier, lips on yours, his hands stroking your bare skin, his hardening erection against your stomach. 

He pulls away for air, his lips swollen and wet from your passionate kiss. Your ears pound in excitement at the way Xavier looks down at you, hungry and wanting more. You hook your arms around Xavier’s neck, pulling him down until your foreheads brush against each other.

“Dance with me,” you whisper loudly against the music. Xavier’s eyes shine with excitement, and he nods, his hands gripping your waist as you start to sway to the music. 

You turn around so you can watch the flashing lights, the alcohol making them look like a light show. You feel much bolder with the liquid courage running through your veins, so you grind back into Xavier, your rear molding perfectly against his crotch. 

Xavier hardens so quickly against your movements, your body feeling so perfect against his. The alcohol makes everything feel much more fluid and raw, his body responding excitedly.

He too is fueled by the courage of intoxication, his hands roaming from your hips to your stomach, just above the fat of your cunt. He can feel the way you shiver at his touch, and he decides to dare further. 

His strong hands wander up, until they cup your breasts through your sheer dress. He rests his chin on your shoulder, whispering into your ear.

“Is this alright?” 

You crane your neck backwards to nod at him, eyes flickering to his lips. Xavier leans in to kiss you again, one hand still playing with your nipple, the other reaching up to hold your throat against him gently. The two of you kiss so passionately, so messily, that you hardly notice the crowd of equally drunk and horny people around you. 

As you kiss him, your hand comes backward to cup the back of Xavier’s head, grabbing at his soft blonde locks. Your body continues to rock sensually into him, relishing in the way his hard erection sits between the slit of your ass.

Looking up at him through your wet eyelashes, you whisper, “M-More. I want more.”

Xavier groans, looking around, trying to find the quickest way out of the crowd. But you can’t wait, too aroused by the way Xavier’s shirt clings to his muscles, the way his cock fights against his jeans, straining to be with you.

The alcohol dares you to be bolder than you normally would ever be. You grab his wrist, bringing it down to the hem of your minidress, guiding his fingers to slip under it. 

You can feel Xavier stiffen behind you, eyes darting around to make sure no one is watching. But he quickly realizes quite literally no one cares about the two of you, too focussed on the music, too focussed on their own partners, to even spare you a glance.

So he follows your lead, his hands roaming under your dress, digging into your soft thighs. You moan into his ear, your head laid back on his shoulder.

With his palm so close to your cunt, you grind right into his open hand, wanting more friction, more of him. Xavier groans at your enthusiasm, quickly forgetting about the people that are packed around you like sardines. He feels something damp against his fingers, making him all the more desperate to have you. 

“You’re wet,” Xavier whispers sluggishly into your ear, “Is this all for me?”

You groan at his words, your muscles twitching with anticipation. You try and look at him, the back of your head still resting on his thick shoulder. Your hand grasps at the back of his neck, forcing his eyes to drift down to you, the azure blues flickering to your lips before they come back to your gaze.

“Touch me, please.”

Even under the strobing lights of the club you can see Xavier’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening. His eyes flutter shut as he leans down to kiss you.

At the same time, his finger gingerly dips into your folds, moving your panties to the side. At first he just rubs up and down with his middle finger, enjoying the way you moan into his mouth. But it becomes far too unbearable, not being inside you.

He slowly dips his middle finger inside of you, hissing when your little hole sucks him in tightly. 

“Is this okay?” Xavier asks, wanting to make sure you’re alright. Your eyes dart around lazily, making sure no one can see Xavier’s hands underneath your dress. 

You nod, your eyelashes fluttering shut as Xavier starts to pump in and out of you. The energetic music makes everything feel more surreal, only the occasional jostling of people bumping into the pair of you reminding you of exactly where you are. 

Xavier’s index finger finds its way inside you, his thumb rubbing at your slippery clit. He alternates his free arm between shielding you from people pushing as they pass by, and cupping your breast through your dress. In all your writhing, your ass continues to grind against Xavier’s cock. Under his jeans, he’s leaking so profusely that your body rubs around the slick, creating a sticky mess. 

Xavier pumps inside you, enjoying the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him, the feeling of risk and wrong. 

“Please – Please don’t stop,” you pant, looking up at him with starry eyes.

The look of complete and utter bliss on your gorgeously flushed face makes Xavier bite his lip, “I’ll never stop, angel.”

You clench down hard on his fingers at the endearing pet name, one he so rarely called you. It makes you writhe against his hot and hard body, pressed firmly into you, like a puzzle piece.

With your back still turned to him, you reach your hand back to where his bulge presses into you. With careful hands, you cup the massive swell of his manhood, biting your lip when he moans into your ear, teeth grazing against your earlobe. 

You rub him enthusiastically through his jeans, enjoying the way he writhes under your touch, his cock straining through the tight restraint of his pants. 

“You’re evil,” Xavier groans, pressing kisses into your neck, trying to contain the moans he wants to make for you.

You lean your head back, staring at him through hooded eyes, “Should I stop?”

Xavier holds you tight, almost crushing you, to keep you from stopping.

“No. Never.”

You giggle, turning back to the club stage, watching the DJ perform, hands finding their way back to Xavier’s crotch. His pants are heavy and breathy by your ear, fingers scissoring in and out of you furiously.

Soon enough, the feeling of just your plush body against his isn’t enough anymore. He needs more.

With his fingers never pausing, he asks, his voice smooth and sultry, “I need to be inside of you, is that okay?” 

“Please,” you whisper huskily, grinding against his fingers, “I want you.”

You can feel Xavier shifting behind you, pulling out his cock. He feverishly pulls your panties down just slightly, so that they rest under your cheeks. He lifts your dress, enough to give him access but making sure you’re still covered. He would rather die than let anyone see your precious body. 

As the music comes to a peak, the beat building alongside your release, Xavier slips his erection into you. You’re thankful for the heavy bass of the drop because you quite literally cannot hold back the scream that rips from your lips as he pushes himself into the hilt.

One of his hands travels from your waist to under the front of your dress. When he finds your clit, he pinches down hard.

“You’re so cute,” Xavier hisses into your ear, picking up his pace, “Were you jealous earlier?”

“N-No! Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the arm he has buried between your legs. 

“Mmm,” Xavier hums, clearly not convinced, “That’s alright, Y/N. You have nothing to be jealous of, ever.”

“I-I’m not – I wasn’t!” you gasp, forcing the words together as Xavier’s cock nearly finds its way into your throat. But at this point you knew he could see right through you.

“Would travel through time and space for you,” he murmurs, words full of a boundless affection, “I only see you.”

He puts all that same adoration and passion into the way he fucks up into you, holding you protectively in place, making sure no one so much as brushes against you. 

Your moans are strangled when his cockhead angles into your g-spot, cutting off the drunken confessions on the tip of your tongue. Xavier’s girth was always something you had a hard time getting used to, and taking him standing was infinitely harder. Your inner thighs burned with the strain of how fully he stretches you out.

Xavier’s hand comes over to cover your mouth, his smile pressed against your throat. The alcohol makes Xavier irregularly chatty, his inhibitions lowered completely, “You’re so loud. Does it feel that good?”

Your eyes are rolled back mesmerized by the flashing lights, unable to discern what comes from the nightclub’s light show and what comes from the pleasure of Xavier’s poignant thrusts. You do your best to nod, your teeth sinking into Xavier’s palm to keep yourself conscious. 

You’re nearly doubled over now, your jelly legs unable to hold you up, with only the support of Xavier’s strong hand against your cunt and his other arm wrapped around your chest. He holds you up as securely as he can, his own intoxication growing having not drank any water since you’d arrived at the club. 

“Are you okay?”

Xavier’s head snaps up to see a club patron in front of you, a concerned look on his face as he  kneels down to be eye-level with you. Xavier squick readjusts to make sure you’re covered.

Your eyes widen, trying to straighten up, “F-Fine!” You nearly scream as Xavier continues to thrust into you, his movement much more conspicuous but somehow more intense. 

“Are you sure? You don’t look so good.” 

You want to be kind, but you can really only focus on the way Xavier continues to fuck you, not even caring that the good Samaritan in front of you was this close to realizing what was happening. The fact that you were still very much drunk did not help.

“N-No, I’m fine,” you squeak, eyes rolling back when Xavier hits your g-spot. You can’t see him but you just know he’s enjoying the position he has you in. He smirks in satisfaction, grinding into your ass, his thick length nestling into your every nerve. 

The man looks skeptical, especially at your unfocused hooded eyes, “Do you want some water?”

He’s about to reach out to touch you, when Xavier yanks you back, both arms wrapped protectively around you, “She’s fine.”

At Xavier’s harsh tone, the man recoils, looking up, almost as if he’s just noticing Xavier. He nods awkwardly before disappearing into the crowd. 

Xavier resumes his vigor, kissing your neck and whispering, “Mine.”

“Now look who’s jealous,” you giggle languidly, gasping when Xavier drives into you harder.

“Not jealous. It’s just the truth,” he murmurs, tilting your head back to kiss you, fingers back on your clit.

His tongue explores your mouth excitedly, your pleasures quickly reaching a peak after coming close to being caught. Your body convulses around him, wanting him to push you into the oblivion of ecstasy. 

“Always so tight,” Xavier groans, “I-I won’t last long like this…”

You squeal, your sounds drowned out by the vibrating music, “Ngh – me too Xavier.”

“G-Gonna cum,” Xavier gasps as your cunt strangles him, ripping away from your lips and panting for air. 

You crane your neck back to look at him, your eyes wide with wonder and desperation. The blissed out look on your beautiful face makes Xavier groan, his hips stuttering into his climax.

“Cum for me, Xavier,” you beg, impossibly close as well, “Want to feel you.”

Xavier shuts his eyes, his body following your every command. His cock explodes inside you, filling you with a hot warmth that spreads all the way to your fingertips and toes. Xavier doesn’t speak as he cums, only suckling hungrily at your neck, moaning and whimpering into your bruised skin.

He keeps thrusting into you, even as his cum starts to leak out of your hole, wanting you to come undone too. Even when the overstimulation starts to border on pain, he refuses to stop.

His cum makes it so there’s zero resistance, only the pure pleasure of his cock against your throbbing gummy walls. Soon, you’re cumming too, screaming into the pulsating music, your climax crescendoing with the drop of the song. The symphony of it all, the alcohol, the threat of being caught by any one of the dozens of people around you, makes it one of your most intense orgasms yet. 

Your body instinctively clenches down as you release, making you cream all over Xavier, a mix of both your arousals. Xavier watches in awe at the beautiful way you cum, for him. It’s enough to make him pump a few more ropes into you, even as his dick throbs sharply in protest. 

Xavier hugs you to his chest tightly, holding onto you for support as his cock quivers inside you. You can feel his chest heaving against your back, shifting as he slips out of you and redoes his zipper. Xavier puts your panties back into place, pressing a faint trail of kisses along your shoulders. 

Suddenly, the crowd feels suffocating and icky and you desperately want to be somewhere quieter with Xavier. You pull him out of the crowd, nudging throngs of drunk and horny patrons out of the way as you make your way to the bar. Xavier follows you sluggishly, his fingers barely closing over yours as you guide him out..

When you reach the bar, you order a water and turn to Xavier worriedly, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“Xavier,” you urged, “Are you okay?”

Xavier’s eyes flutter open, his eyes slightly rolled back, “M’okay. Just sleepy.” You giggle, patting his face gently, realizing the haze in his eyes is a mix of intoxication and post-sex bliss. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re always so sleepy. Especially after…”

Despite Xavier’s eyes remaining closed, he smiles and mumbles as he leans against the wall next to the bar, “Can’t help it. You drain me.”

You blush furiously, despite it being loud enough where no one can hear you two. The bartender hands you a glass of water, and you bring it up to Xavier’s lips. Xavier’s eyelids flicker open, his long eyelashes fluttering as he takes in his surroundings again, like he’s so intoxicated off the alcohol and you that he can’t make sense of his bearings.

You take his chin into your palm, tilting him up gently so the water doesn’t spill. Xavier drinks obediently, not letting a single drop go to waste. His position against the wall makes it so that you tower a few inches over him, so he has to look up at you through his eyelashes. With each gulp of the icy water he never breaks eye contact with you, staring at you with all the awe and devotion in the world.

His hands gently grip your wrists, nuzzling into your hand. The way he watches you makes you want to squirm, his eyes glimmering under the flashing lights. His azure eyes feel like they hold the weight of an entire galaxy, but in reality it’s the reflection of you that makes his eyes sparkle with the brilliance of the stars.

“Hey! There you two are!” 

You whip your head around to see Tara excitedly hurrying over to you as Xavier finishes the last of the water. 

You turn to her, “Tara! I’m sorry, I found Xavier but then we got…caught up.”

She smiles and shakes her head. There’s a knowing  mischief in her eyes, as if she doesn’t believe you, “It’s alright! I made some friends.”

She looks at Xavier. Even though you no longer hold up the empty glass to his lips, he still stares at you with the same starstruck look, a post-orgasm mist over his entire face.

“Why does he look like that?”

Your cheeks burn and you scramble to find an excuse, “Oh, he’s fine! He’s just drunk. And sleepy. Very sleepy.”

Tara grabs your chin, tilting it up in a squint, inspecting you. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, if maybe your false eyelashes came off, but when you look down at your shoulder you see exactly what she’s looking at.

A bright red, purpling bruise. In the exact shape of Xavier’s lips.

“Oh, I bet he’s sleepy.”

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.7k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, drunk zayne, needy zayne, jealous zayne, couch sex, booby sucking, pretty vanilla tbh, slightly sub zayne, zayne begs a lot, prone bone, doggy, choking, making out, cumming in coochie, mentions of birth control usage, zayne is a lightweight

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | video | art (credit to @roschea-arts)

You stumble into your apartment, nearly tripping over the threshold as Zayne’s heavy arm slumps over your shoulder for support. You kick your heels off, briefly bending down to slip Zayne’s shoes off, before you lead him to sit on your couch.

“Sit here while I get some water for you, okay?” you whisper worriedly against Zayne’s nearly unconscious face, pressing a kiss to his heated and clammy temple. Zayne doesn’t respond, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a shallow breath, nodding gently.  

Well, this was definitely not how you’d expected tonight to go.

When you’d invited Zayne as your date to the annual UNICORN hosted Hunters’ Association Banquet, you expected it to be a relatively uneventful night. You never expected your raven-haired surgeon boyfriend to get drunk. In fact, you’d never seen him so much as tipsy since you’d known him. 

And that was something Zayne intentionally made sure of; alcohol was not something he indulged in, ever.

Except when you’re so busy socializing all night that he gets unbearably bored, curious, and desperate for your attention.

So that’s how he ended up absolutely plastered off two cocktails. In his defense they were deceptively fruity and sweet, the rims coated in thick crystals of sugar. Truly his kryptonite. 

So when Zayne grabs your wrist while you’re talking to a fellow Hunter, spinning you gently to his hard chest, you’re completely taken aback. 

“Apologies. Can I steal my girlfriend for a moment?”

Your colleague, standing before the both of you, looks flustered at Zayne’s commanding voice, nodding fervently before he turns to leave. His face is pale, not realizing you’d brought a guest to the banquet, much less a guest that looked as handsome and imposing as Zayne. You whip around, eyebrows raised, to face the surgeon in question.

His face is uncharacteristically red, the tips of his ears burning so adorably bright. The first few buttons of his shirt had been undone, the collar disheveled, like he’d pulled at it until the enclosures gave way. What’s more, the tension that colored his words, alarming and unusual. 

“Zayne? What’s wrong?” you reach up to touch his cheek worriedly, gasping at how warm his normally chilly skin was, “Are you not feeling well?” 

Zayne releases your wrist, instead capturing your hand on his jaw with his own palm, pressing you deeper into his cheek. He practically purrs into your touch, nuzzling into your hand warmly. 

“You feel nice.” His voice is low, almost a rough whisper against the cheerful laughter of the night. 

It was very unlike Zayne to be so blatant with his affections, especially in front of either of your colleagues. In this case, the packed banquet hall of UNICORN’s annual Hunter’s banquet, filled with curious and nosy onlookers, peering at the two of you embracing in the middle of the party.

Perhaps the bustling activity became too overwhelming for Zayne, especially given that you had been pulled every which way to discuss your recent mission successes. You’d hardly had a chance to make sure he was doing okay. 

“Did you want to leave? I can —” 

Zayne pulls you closer to him until your bodies are pressed together tightly, his slender fingers holding your waist in place. You squeak in surprise, blushing as you try to ignore the prying eyes of your colleagues as Zayne strokes your cheek, fingers playing with your loose strands of hair.

“Who was that?” Zayne’s voice is deceptively calm against the top of your head as he breathes in your familiar scent, masking the demand and restraint lurking just below the surface. Your pheromones calm him down slightly, making him feel much more at ease.

“Who was who?” 

Zayne bends down to reach your ear, his normally calm and stoic voice much more shaky than usual, “That man, who was making you laugh. He seemed friendly.” 

Zayne’s words tickle your ear, making you shiver. It’s then you can smell the alcohol on him, as he leans down to whisper in your ear, the bitter scent of vodka mixing with the faint smell of his cologne. Suddenly the questions of his irregular behavior clicked. 

You lean back to look at him in shock, “Zayne?! Are you drunk?” 

Zayne looks sheepish, his hazel eyes still intense, “No. I don’t – hic – don’t think so.” 

You want to laugh at his incriminating hiccup, the surgeon undoubtedly intoxicated. That fact is only confirmed to you when you tip-toe up to peck his lips and taste the bittersweet trace of alcohol on him. 

“You were so busy, I got curious and decided to...indulge. Just this once,” Zayne admits, his eyes never leaving yours as he holds you close. 

You don’t speak, in shock at the way his words are slightly whiny and sulky all at once, something you never heard from Zayne. Zayne was never one to be jealous, and much less to actually show that jealousy. 

Zayne’s eyes lower, glowing at you in a soft regret, “I’m sorry.” 

You giggle, resting your head on his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. For that brief moment, you forget all about the watchful eyes around you, only able to focus on the man you loved before you.

“How many drinks did you have?”

He pauses, looking genuinely deep in thought as he tries to recall the night, “Two, no…maybe three.”

You grin wordlessly. Zayne never drank, so he was undoubtedly a lightweight, that was no surprise. But you would’ve thought it would take more than three drinks to knock the formidable man off his ass. 

Zayne’s jaw clenched as he admires how beautiful you look tonight, his wandering alcohol-fueled desires pushing him to want to see much more, “Would it be alright if we called it a night?”

You nod, peering up at him, “Of course, are you not feeling well from the alcohol?”

Zayne averts his eyes, clearing his throat. His neck bobs against his undone collar, his tie hanging loosely around his chest. 

“I’m alright. I just…want to be alone with you.”

By the time you arrived at your apartment, Zayne had gotten considerably more drunk, the alcohol being further absorbed into his bloodstream. 

You hurriedly bring him a cool glass of water, standing in between his thighs, over his limp body. Zayne’s head is thrown back against the cushion of your couch, already having yanked off his suit jacket and tie, the articles of clothing strewn over the arm of the seat, his neck and collar exposed. His snowy pale skin is splotched red, practically radiating a wave of heat.

Your fingers cup his sharp jaw, tilting his chin up, shifting to hold his heavy head in the palm of your hand, stroking his cheek lovingly. Zayne’s eyes flicker up to yours as you tilt him up, his glasses slightly fogged up from the heated crimson flush on his cheeks. His eyes light up when they meet yours, his eyelashes fluttering as he fights to keep his eyes open. You bite your lip, trying to keep your wide smile at bay. He looked so utterly adorable like this, looking up so affectionately obedient like this. 

You bring the glass gently up to his lips, encouraging him to drink. Zayne obeys, lips latching onto the edge of the cup as you tilt it forward, gently nudging his chin upwards with your other hand. 

His eyes flutter open at the feeling of your touch, his golden emerald irises trained solely on you as he drinks, refusing to look away. He’s so focussed on you that dribbles of water stream down his chin as he gulps down the entire glass, falling onto his collar. 

His eyes never leave yours as he chugs the entire glass of refreshing water, the whites of his eyes shining in the dim lighting of your apartment. If anyone else saw the way Zayne looked at you, they’d swear they could see hearts reflected in them as he drank from your hands. He looked at you as if his entire world spun around you, the center of his universe. 

When you pull away, Zayne’s eyes still don’t leave yours. Instead, they appear to become more intense, more fiery. 

“Zayne? Do you want more water?”

He doesn’t answer. You’re too distracted by the incensed pools of peridot when Zayne yanks you onto his lap, lips capturing yours hungrily.

–

“Ngh – Zayne!” you moan, pulling away from his demanding and bruising lips. Zayne grants you a brief break to breathe, but his fingers firmly hold your hips in place atop his erection that strains against his buckled pants, the two of you nestled deep into the couch cushion. 

He gives you a second before he’s yanking your chin towards him again, soft mouth crushed against yours in an instant. Your lips are captured gently between his teeth, his hunger for you insatiable. The taste of alcohol is still faint on his tongue, and he wants nothing more than to overwhelm himself with the taste of you. 

You’re completely engulfed by him, the ferocity of his mouth against yours, the warmth of his breath against your tongue. Zayne’s jaw alternates, side to side, trying to give himself the best access to you he can possibly get. The cool touch of metal grazes against your cheeks, his glasses pressing against you in the vigor of his embrace. He groans in frustration into your mouth, forcing himself to briefly pull away.

Before you can even question him, he’s yanking his misted up glasses off by the temples, tossing them onto your coffee table without a second glance, without a single care. His eyes are hooded with desire, his glasses no longer obstructing you from him. They shut sensually when he leans back in, lips parting as his glasses clatter louding against the table. 

He says nothing, smashing his lips into yours once again. You can vaguely feel the distinct bump of his nose, pressing into your skin, when he grabs the back of your head, pulling you harder against his all consuming hunger. 

His tongue is unbelievably tender against yours, despite how urgently and desperately he devours you. His fingers press into the divots of your arched back, his arms are completely wrapped around you, bringing you into an affectionate embrace as he continues to consume you whole. His fingers stroke up and down the half exposed expanse of your back, enjoying how soft you feel against his big hands. 

You grind down onto his cock as you try and match his passion, your panties sticking to your soaked folds. Your thighs are spread so widely against his legs, that the dampness smears against his dress pants, your dress doing little to hold anything back. 

Zayne hisses at the delicious pressure, lips leaving yours to gasp into your ear, his hot breath caressing the sensitive skin. 

“D-Don’t,” he gulps deeply, alcohol and anticipation making him trip over his words, “Unless you're willing to take responsibility for the consequences.”

You shiver at his words, leaning in to kiss his reddened earlobe, “And if I am?”

And that’s how you find yourself naked, sweaty, and writhing on your back, under the pressure of Zayne’s half naked body on top of you, his cock ravaging every inch of your poor cunt.

Zayne is a mumbling and moaning mess above you, droplets of sweat beading on his bright red temples, his damp hair dangling below his forehead. His unbuttoned dress shirt flies wildly, his thick muscles twitching every time his lower half drives into you like a madman. If it weren’t for the sweat lining your back, you’d undoubtedly be pushed around the couch like a ragdoll under Zayne’s furious passion.

You can barely see Zayne’s eyes, his dangling bangs obscuring much of his frantic face. You do your best to sit up, your chin on your chest, watching the way Zayne’s glistening body jackhammers into you, his rhythm erratic and desperate. 

Trying not to drool, you watch his abdominal muscles twitch, his briefs and dress pants hanging off his hips. He’d been so eager to bury himself inside of you that he didn’t even take off his clothing, instead pulling his cock out from under the top of the waistband of his briefs. It’s so heavy and thick with excitement that the restraint of his brief’s waistband is no match for it.  

“M’sorry,” Zayne mumbles, so slurred you barely even hear it through the clinking of his undone belt, hanging off his waist.

“Wh-what?” you pant, tugging at the sweat-soaked shirt that clings to his back. 

“Didn’t mean to get so intoxicated,” he pants breathlessly, almost sounding guilty, “I’m sorry.”

Your heart clenches at the vulnerability shining in his eyes. You know he’s not used to letting himself feel his emotions like this, to really give into his needs and desires.  

“Zayne, don’t apologize,” you whimper through the pleasure, stroking his cheek, “You’re allowed to let go sometimes.”

Your words nearly make Zayne snarl, his pelvis slapping into your ass, his hands elevating hips, your thighs wrapped tightly into his sides. 

“You’re so good to me,” he rasps, eyes rolling back as his praises make your body instinctively clench down, “I–I love you.”

“A-ahh nghn – love you s’much Zayne,” you squeal as he thrusts even deeper into you, his confession only increasing the passion he feels for you in the drunken moment. 

You’re surprised when you feel his damp hair pressing against your forehead, his cool lips brushing a soft kiss onto it, deceptively gentle compared to the way he ravages your wet heat.

“M’always thinking about you,” Zayne moans, voice muffled as he kisses your forehead over and over, unable to keep his lips, his hands, off of you. 

“I think about y’too Za–ayne,” you pant, trying to focus on forming coherent words through the shape of his erection being molded into your core. You knew just how vulnerable the fog of alcohol had made Zayne and wanted more than anything to reassure him.

But his cock stretching you out, nearly the width of a clenched fist, made that so difficult. 

“You looked – you look ravishing tonight,” he slurs, kissing down your cheek and onto your neck, “Had a hard time tonight, watching you – hic – be the most beautiful girl in the room.” 

Your chest flutters and you blush, clenching onto him, “H-Hardly.” 

Zayne’s eyebrows furrow, giving you a pointed thrust, making your breasts jiggle at the force, “Look at what you do to me.” 

His fingers cup your breast forcefully, squeezing down on your poor nipple, “You know I’m not one for jealousy…”

“But even I am not immune when you look like that, giving everyone but me your attention.” 

“Sorry, my love,” you murmur, trying your best to speak through his frantic thrusts, “You know you’re the one I come home to at the end of the day.” 

Zayne’s eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers twirling your nipple in between them, “I suppose. But does that give you the right to let men flirt with you shamelessly all night?” 

“Zayne, they weren’t —” But apparently protesting was a mistake, because Zayne only starts to hammer into you harder.

“They were,” he growls drunkenly, letting his emotions take control for a split second, “But I can’t really blame them, not when you look like this. Not when you feel this perfect around me.”

You whine at his words, his simultaneous threats and praises making it impossible for you to think straight. 

“I-I’m soorry,” you find yourself apologizing, wanting to please Zayne, “Won’t do it again, I’ll b-be good!”

“No need to – hah – apologize, my love,” Zayne groans, “Not when I plan on reminding you exactly who you belong to tonight, all night.”

Your body convulses around him, knowing just how much stamina Zayne has, just how serious his slurred words are. Zayne’s hips falter, his body buckling into you.

“You’re s-oo tight,” he groans brokenly, letting his head fall down to your chest, “All for me, right? 

“Allll f’you! Only you!” you cry, your fingers gripping onto the back of his shirt when his teeth close over your nipple, nibbling gently. You claw at his back, desperately wanting to be able to touch his bare skin, but his white dress shirt is in the way. 

“That’s my girl,” he moans, words muffled by the way his tongue circles around your hardened peaks, suckling like he was trying to find the antidote to intoxication, “So good for me.” 

As his thrusts grow sloppier, you know he’s coming close to his end. But you’re surprised when he pulls out suddenly, leaving you feeling empty. 

“W-Why?” you demand, leaning up on your elbows in protest. Your eyes widen, almost salivating, when you see the way Zayne is gripping the base of his cock, the thick head red, angry, and ready to burst. He curses, forcing himself to take deep breaths, desperately trying to hold his orgasm back. He was learning that alcohol significantly decreased his normally endless supply of stamina. 

“Don’t want to – ngh – finish yet,” he pants, hooking his arm under your back and flipping you over so that your back faces him, your hips arched slightly off the couch. He quickly takes off his pants that are pooled by his knees, his briefs still clinging to his muscled thighs.

You squeak in surprise when you feel the wet smack of Zayne’s cock against your ass, the surgeon hissing at the painful yet arousing sensation. The sting helps to keep him from exploding right onto your beautiful body. 

“Ngh – Zaaayne!” you squeal when Zayne shoves himself back into you, parting your cheeks to give himself better access. You claw at your couch as he picks up his speed, rhythm still unsteady.

“I’m sorry,” Zayne apologizes, his words bordering on frenzied babbles as he pounds into you, his heavyset balls slapping against your clit, “M’sorry, love. Let me make it better.”

He leans down, pressing a trail of kisses down your spine, his pelvis rippling against your rear. His veiny forearms cage you into the couch, his foot lifting to step onto the cushion, right by your waist. With his leg raising as leverage, he can truly jackhammer into you.

Zayne goes absolutely feral in this position, his fingers coming up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging gently as he bounces up and down on your ass. The sounds of skin against skin, drunken moans, and moist squelches resounds like a symphony in the early morning lighting of your apartment. 

His grasp tightens in your hair, his other hand kneading the plush of your ass as it ripples against his thrusts. His voice lowers, throwing his head back with a moan, “Been waiting all night to have you like this.”

“Oh-oh God!” you cry when he thrusts into you, particularly hard and deep, making you see stars, “Zayne I-I can’t – I’m so close!”

Zayne hoists you onto all fours, gently lifting your upper body by your neck so that you’re pressed firmly against him with your knees holding you up. He kneels behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other secures your neck against his chest.  

“Me too, angel,” Zayne pants into your ear, his breath hot and moist. You can feel the truth in his words, his thighs shaky against yours, his thrusts erratic. 

“Please, let me cum in you,” Zayne rasps. 

“When have I ever denied you?” you respond. Zayne came inside you nearly every time you two were intimate, ever since you’d started birth control. 

“It’s a waste, if it’s not inside you,” Zayne slurs, “You’ll take it, right?”

When you don’t respond, too wrapped up in the bliss of it all, Zayne’s hand descends to pinch your nipple. The power of his thrusts, the tease of his hands, his aura. He commands authority,

“Tell me you’ll take it all, for me.”

“I will, I will! P-please Zayne, give it to me!”

Zayne groans, grip tightening against your body, hugging you for dear life, “That’s my girl, that’s it, just like that. 

Zayne has always been vocal, but his drunken ramblings have taken it to another level. You clench down, ready to come undone to the sound of his filthy praises. 

Zayne is close behind you, hands kneading your breasts, balls slapping against your clit, “It’s coming Y/N, take it. Take it for me, please.”

You scream in response, cunt spasming around the last of his messy ruts. Zayne’s own strangled groans mix with the sound of wet flesh slapping against each other. You can feel every beautiful ribbon of white hot cum painting your insides, coating every inch of your waiting womb.

Zayne’s skin often felt ice-cold, but his cum always came out so hot and heedy. And now, with the flush of alcohol still clouding his circulation, his milky ropes of seed nearly made you feverish.

Zayne slumps against you, his body spent, drained bone-dry. The weight of him against your quivering muscles is too much, and your thighs give out, sending you crashing into the couch. He catches you before you can slam face-first into the carpeted floor.

He sets your limp body gently into the couch, shrugging off his white button-up.

“Zayne,” you murmur groggily, savoring the image of his muscles peaking through his open shirt, “Come cuddle.”

The corner of his lip twitches, “I will, sweetheart. Let me clean you up first.”

Using the clean inside of his shirt, he carefully wipes off the slick that collects at your inner thighs, before it can pool onto the couch. Your legs are putty in his hands, Zayne cleaning you with the utmost care and tenderness. 

When he’s done, he settles beside you on the couch, shifting you so that your neck rests on his forearm. He holds you close with one arm, the other drawing lazy circles into your stomach.

Zayne turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss into your temple, “Thank you. For taking care of me tonight.” 

You can tell by Zayne’s calm and steady tone that he’s sobered up quite a bit from the orgasm, the control returning to his deep timbre. 

You giggle, nuzzling deeper into his arm, the hairs of his underarm tickling your shoulder, “I hardly did anything.” In the comfortable silence, your eyes start to flutter closed.

“You did more than you know,” Zayne whispers, the tender smile in his voice unmistakeable. You simply nod, muttering incoherently as you fall into a deep and sated slumber.

“You are everything.”

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.9k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, car sex, publix sex/slight voyeurism, sex while pulled over in da passenger seat, bottom raf, riding, face sitting, rafayel is a MUNCH, oral f!receiving, jealous raf, drunk rafayel, protective rafayel, somewhat mentions of violence, unprotected sex, no pull out ever

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: original inspo | pics 1 | pics 2 (both rafayel's car)

The night road ahead of you is peacefully calm, the drive back to Rafayel’s house a peaceful and scenic trip. There's very few cars beside yours, well Rafayel’s, on the main roads back, likely because it was close to 2am. 

You were honestly having way too much fun driving Rafayel’s car, thoroughly enjoying the purr of the beautiful Benz. You didn’t have the opportunity to drive many cars, let alone a Gran Turismo.

Your fingers tap gently along the rim of the steering wheel, admiring the elegant LED lights that kept you awake. Rafayel had the car’s interior lights set to a blushed lavender color, ever since you’d said it was your favorite setting. It reminded you of the pink in his cotton candy eyes. 

Your eyes flicker to your right, briefly checking on Rafayel as he groans beside you in the passenger seat. 

He sat with his arm propped up against the passenger side window, his head resting on his palm. His breathing was still shallow, his eyes closed in a restless and light sleep. The alcohol was no doubt making it difficult for him to rest. 

You sigh to yourself, trying to think back to how the night had ended disastrously with him so damn drunk. 

Rafayel had invited you as his date to one of his endless art exhibits, a few cities over from your home. Only this one was special.

When they’d unveiled his starring piece, a beautiful oil painting on a massive canvas that nearly reached the ceiling, you nearly fell to your knees.

Because Rafayel had painted the most exquisite portrait of you. 

You, surrounded in ribbons of coral and seaweed, the most colorful globs of intricate paint surrounding you, a mosaic of sea glass. You, dancing in the endless sea of pastel turquoise. You, in Lemuria. His home. 

Rafayel had painted you countless times before, you were his muse after all. Even if he never admitted that openly to you. But this was different, he’d never so openly shared you with this world before. Never wanted to open himself up like this, to anyone, to you.

It was beautiful as it was magnificent. It made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, more gorgeous than you’d ever felt in your entire life. The way he’d put paint to canvas and created literal magic.

It appeared others thought so too. All the patrons attending the gala that night clamored around the oil canvas, press snapping photos, writers grabbing at Rafayel, trying to get anything for their tabloids. 

It was nothing out of the norm. You’d become quite used to the glitz, glamor, and madness that came with being his girlfriend. 

What was unexpected, was the attention you got, as the subject of the painting. 

The people who wanted a piece of you, the stunning woman in Rafyel’s newest piece. Rafayel did his best to keep you comfortable, shooing away the throws of people trying to get even a morsel of anything from you. 

“Rafayel. It’s okay. I can handle it,” you give him your best reassuring smile, “Go mingle with your guests, I’ll be fine.” 

Rafayel looks reluctant, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, unwilling to let go. Eventually you convince him, with the promise of a reward later if he listened, to go speak to the serious sponsors and buyers that demanded his attention.

“Never should’ve painted that damn thing,” he muttered as he walked off, looking back at you as Thomas dragged him off. He should’ve known sharing you with the world would have driven him insane. 

So you spent the rest of the night trying to be as sociable as possible, not wanting to upset any of Rafayel’s guests. After a few hours you finally found a free moment, finding yourself in front of the portrait once again. Most of the people had cleared out, giving you a chance to really admire the masterpiece. 

Rafayel was undeniably talented, maybe the most gifted artist in the world, you’d always thought so. But the way he painted you here was more than just art. 

It was his heart on a canvas. And his heart, his entire world, was you. Every fiber of his soul, woven together into a tapestry of lustrous colors, each one depicting a different memory.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You turn your head to the stranger’s voice, coming face to face with a handsome man, clad head to toe in the most luxurious brands. He stands so uncomfortably close to you that you can smell the nauseating cologne wafting off of him. And yet it’s his aura that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably.

He fills in your awkward silence, eyes looking you up and down, “Definitely not as beautiful as the real thing.”

You really don’t know how to respond to the stranger’s boldness, in shock at how forward he’s being. Your relationship with Rafayel was no secret, the paparazzi having photographed the two of you publicly many times. And you’d walked into the gala on Rafayel’s arm. 

“Thank you,” you say curtly, offering a small smile, trying to return your attention to the display. 

“I’m going to buy it, you know. And then maybe after, I can buy you a drink?” when his hand lands on your bare shoulder you flinch back, ready to resort to your tactical training. The thought of this man buying a portrait of you makes you nauseous.

Before you can give him a piece of your mind, he’s falling backward with a surprised yelp.

“Hands off the art,” an all-too familiar voice snarls, as he stands between you and the man. You’re too shell shocked to realize Rafayel is clearly drunk, his charismatic voice drawling muddily. 

“Don’t touch me,” the man snaps, “I bought this piece, I legally own it.” The way he says ‘piece’ makes your blood boil, the misogyny dripping off his words.

Rafayel, drunk as he might be, catches on too. Fire burns in his eyes, matching the heat of his Evol. Thomas isn’t far behind, looking at you with desperation on his face, begging you to help him defuse the situation. Rafayel was spontaneous enough as it was, there was no telling the lengths he’d go to when he was intoxicated, especially when you were involved. 

You reach your hand out, grasping Rafayel’s fingers and gently pulling him back towards you.

“He’s not worth it,” you whisper when Rafayel’s head snaps to you, his eyes softening instantly when they land on you. Rafayel spares the man, rubbing his wrist with a grimace, a glance. You wrap your arm around Rafayel’s waist tugging him close to you and trying to lead him out of the nearly empty gala.

Rafayel takes a deep and shaky breath, before nodding slightly. As he turns to leave with you, he glances back to the man and Thomas, his chin raised.

“It’s not for sale.”

“B-But I already wrote the check,” the man blew up, face red with anger and disbelief. 

Rafayel smiles, a fake and genuinely terrifying smile, “I don’t care how many checks you write. You’re never looking at her again.”

It’s enough to even send chills down your spine. 

With those words, Rafayel exited the gallery with you on his arm, you rubbing soothing circles into his back. It was rare Rafayel got full blown drunk; you’d seen him tipsy numerous times, but he was always careful not to cross the line into completely losing control of his inhibitions. 

As he slumped in the passenger seat of his car, he briefly explained just how he found himself so shit-faced.

“Everyone was taking your time,” he slurred, breathing heavily. The alcohol made him bluntly honest, much more so than he’d normally be about something like this. 

“Oh, Rafayel…” you giggle, bending over to latch his seatbelt in, “I know, it’s usually you getting the attention, it must have been weird to share it. I’m sorry.”

Rafayel scoffs, his head resting on the window, “S’not why I was upset. I don’t like sharing you.”

You bite your lip to fight the smile that threatens to sneak its way onto your face, “Why didn’t you just come back?”

“Was trying to distract myself. Didn’t want to disappoint you,” he mutters, his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest as you start the car, “I know you wanted me to talk to the annoying old farts.”

And then he promptly dozed off, like a precious little baby.

You were about 15 minutes from his place when Rafayel stirred awake from the mere feeling of your hand on his thigh. It was far too dark to see the tent growing in his pants, all from your fingers stroking his sensitive thighs, even when he was unconscious.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, giving him a smile when you see the movement in the corner of your eye, “You feeling okay? I have water in my bag.”

“P-Pull over,” Rafayel slurs, still clearly drunk. His eyes are glued to your palm on his leg. Not even he knows why the innocent touch has him so worked up and feral.

“What?!” you exclaim in a mix of disbelief and shock, “We’re so close to home –”

“Pull over,” he urges you again, the strain between his legs growing painful, “Please.”

His urgency makes you nervous, and you quickly find a secluded area you can pull over, turning your hazards on when you do so.

“Do you need to throw up?” you turn to him worriedly, grasping his thigh tighter in your fingers and rubbing soothingly, unsure of what to do. 

Rafayel groans at your unknowingly innocent actions, rubbing his hand down his face, which only makes you worry more. 

You undo your seatbelt so you can sit on your knees and face him, your hands still rubbing up and down his thighs, hoping to make him feel better.

Rafayel takes that opportunity to undo his own seatbelt, hoisting you out of your seat and onto his lap. You try to muffle your scream as he effortlessly carries you onto his lap, cramped between his body and the front dash. It always surprised you just how powerful Rafayel’s body was despite his toned and slender build.

“Rafayel!” you squeal as he sits you on his lap, “What are you doing?!”

He doesn’t speak, only looking up at you with big wet eyes. He spreads your thighs so that they cage his own legs, his hands resting on your sumptuous hips. Despite his strong and possessive hold, you’re still able to twist around to grab your tote bag, pulling out a plastic water bottle.

“Don’t need to throw up,” he mumbles, looking up at you through his long and dark eyelashes, “Jus’ need you.” 

With his hand on your back he pushes you down until your chest is flush with his, capturing your lips in a feverish all-consuming kiss. The bitter and sharp taste of alcohol is still strong on his tongue, his lips impatiently messy and insistent. Rafayel rocks up into you as he loses himself into your embrace, his very clear and prominent erection begging for attention. 

“R-Raf!” you pull away, even at his whiny refusal, hands still tugging at the clothing at your hips, “Did you really make me pull over for this?” Your eyes dart around nervously, making sure there’s no cars around you. But it wasn’t necessary, Rafayel’s windows were so tinted that even if you had your nose pressed to the glass you wouldn’t be able to see much. 

“Come on, at least drink some water while we’re pulled over,” you untwist the cap of your reusable water bottle. 

“No,” Rafayel pouts at you, the rose flecks in his eyes glow as he looks up pleadingly at you, “I don’ want water, wanna kiss you.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the risky and precarious situation you find yourself in. That situation being Rafayel’s very excited crotch. 

“Don’t laugh,” Rafayel broods, his bottom lip jutted out, shiny with a sheen of saliva, “I wanted to be with you all night, ‘specially when everyone was getting your attention.” He presses his chin onto your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your body wash and pressing wet kisses into your neck.

“Wan’ my reward now,” Rafayel slurs, his wandering fingers hooking under the thin strap of your evening dress, slipping it off your shoulders.

“You’re drunk Rafayel,” you reason firmly, even though your body is already betraying you. Your thighs squirm, widening instinctively for him, excitement pooling at the apex of your legs. 

“Sooo?” Rafayel’s head fall backs onto the headrest, “Just give me a taste, please?”

You want to keep a level head, deny his insane request, but his hard body against your pliable one makes you desperate for more. Besides…the windows are almost completely blacked out and you were in a very secluded upper-end neighborhood, where all the homes had nearly miles of yard between them. 

“Fine…” you concede, “But only if you drink some water.”

Rafayel’s eyes practically radiate, nodding eagerly and raising his lips to the cool bottle. His sudden willingness is comical, and you smile fondly at him as you help him to drink. Rafayel’s fingers squeeze against your waist, your soft skin making him grow thicker and hotter by the second.

His body unconsciously grinds against you as he drinks the water, eyes open wide with a faux innocence, staring right at your heated and flushed cheeks. He’s so focussed on admiring the irresistible look of desire on your face as he relentlessly rocks into you, that he doesn’t even feel the cold streams of water trickling down his shaky chin. 

His fingers trace delicate and intricate shapes into your waist, eyes hooded at the feeling of your heat against his throbbing member. His eyes never leave yours as he finishes the last of the water, looking up at you through his thick purple eyelashes. His eyes shine brightly, the pinks in them accentuated by the LEDs of the car, watching you with a vast sea of desire. 

Just as you remove the bottle from his lips, Rafayel lowers the angle of the passenger seat, as far down as it can possibly go.

You shriek in panic, clutching onto Rafayel as the chair dips suddenly, limbs flailing wildly. Rafayel takes that opportunity to lift your thighs, hoisting you nearly to the top of the passenger seat until you’re kneeling with his face in between your thighs.

“R-Rafayel!” you yelp, gripping onto the leather backseat for balance, thighs squirming at the feeling of his warm breath fanning against your exposed lips. The slick that had pooled in your panties makes you much more sensitive to his heated pants. Practically dripping onto his face. 

“You promised a taste,” he mumbles, all consumed by the way you glisten against the dim indoor lights of his car. He doesn’t let you get another word in before he’s pulling your panties to the side and licking a fat strip up your slit, all the way to your clit.

“Ngh – Raf!” If it weren’t for his strong hands on your thighs you would’ve crushed him with the way your knees buckled and you nearly fell on top of him.

Rafayel doesn’t speak, only a filthy string of wet slurps and strung out moans audible, this tongue writhing against you, positively starved. The way he makes out with your cunt makes your muscles melt, your body nearly melding into the seats.

Rafayel can feel your shaky legs struggling to keep you up and he pulls your hips down, guiding you to sit on his face. In your surprise, you fall completely, a choked sob of bliss ripping from your mouth when Rafayel completely engulfs your weeping cunt into his mouth.

You're a babbling mess of the most lewd cries, your thighs clenching unbearably at the pleasure Rafayel’s tongue forces into you. You try not to put too much weight on Rafayel, but he only pushes you down, wanting you to crush his skull. 

“Tastes so sweet,” Rafayel moans into you, the vibrations of his praises reverberating through every single one of your nerve endings. As he eats you with a relentless excitement, his eager nose strokes along your folds, gathering your arousal with every stroke.

“And it’s all for me,” he whines in the most pussy drunken voice you’ve ever heard from him, likely from the heavy intoxication, “No one else's, just mine.”

You can tell he’s still reeling from the encounter at the gala, with the man who’d wanted to buy the piece he’d painted for you. Just reassuring himself of things he already knew to be fact.

“And you’re mine,” you gasp through the sparks in your vision, wrought with pleasure. You do your best to keep your nails out of the expensive leather upholstery, tearing at Rafayel’s skin instead.

He grunts with the sting of your scratches, the pain fueling his excitement, which he funnels into the way he devours you, slurping up every single drop that pools down your lips. 

With one hand on your thigh, he palms himself through his dress pants, jerking furiously.

It isn’t long before he yanks you away with a desperate gasp, carrying you back down onto his lap, “Need to be inside you now, ‘kay?”

The ears ring with the whiplash, the pleasure being yanked away suddenly, staring at Rafayel with dumbfounded wide eyes. You barely register when he takes his bare cock out, rubbing it up and down your absolutely drenched folds, your dress bunched to your waist.

He holds himself firm in his fingers by the base, squeezing down as he rubs up and down your glistening slit, peering up at your rosy cheeks. 

“Baby?” he huffs, sounding faraway, “Can I?”

You barely even register your nod, your body moving on its own volition. Rafayel grins, lining himself up and not wasting another second before sinking himself into you, his favorite place in the entire world.

Your face is stuck in a perpetual oh as Rafayel sinks all the way into you, his veins especially prominent in his intoxication. You can almost feel them throbbing as they squeeze against your tight walls, his hips flattering when he feels himself hit the soft walls of your g-spot.

“Ngh – I love you, Y/N,” Rafayel moans, his arms coming up to wrap around your back, pulling you tightly against his torso.

You nuzzle your head into Rafayel’s chest, needing the support as he starts to rock into you, bouncing your body off his lap with the strength of his thighs. 

“O-Oh God,” you whimper into his chest, letting him man handle you against himself, too overwhelmed by the way he’d made you feel with his tongue, and now his cock. 

‘J-Jus’ like that, baby,” Rafayel mewls into the crown of your head, taking in deep lungfuls of your scent. His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that you almost can’t breathe, but you only want him to hold you harder, tighter. 

You can’t even be bothered to care that you’re fucking in such a public area, the risk of getting caught just a faraway thought. The only thing you can find yourself caring about is the way Rafayel drives deeper into your guts, forcing you to look at him as he buries himself into you.

“Hah – pretty girl,” he breathes out, his body slowing. You realize the alcohol must be making him tired, and you force your weight onto your knees. 

“L-Let me, Raf,” you whisper, sitting up as much as you can until your head brushes against the car roof. Rafayel watches you with wondrous eyes as you begin to ride him.

“Oo-oh shiit,” he groans, mesmerized by the way you roll your body into him, “You're so perfect, Y/N. Just like that, please don’t s-stop.”

You whimper, biting your lip and trying to control the way his cock has your body screaming for release. You lean back onto his knees, one hand grappling at the window for leverage, the other cupping his balls. 

Your hand is met with the wet condensation of the frosted window, the mixture of yours and Rafayel’s torrid breaths fogging up the interior completely. It’s such a sensual sight that you clench down on Rafayel, thinking about the passion of this moment, in the confined space of his favorite car. 

Rafayel lets out the most delicious string of moans and expletives as you gently massage his balls in your fingers, fondling them delicately, “Oh God, that feels so good, you feel – angh – amazing.”

You throw all your energy into rolling your hips against Rafayel’s pelvis, wanting to use him until you were utterly spent.

“So big Raf,” you wail, struggling to keep up a rhythm as his size splits you in half, “I-I’m soo clo-ose.”

“Fuuck, me too,” Rafayel grunts, his neck craning back, back arching slightly at the way you ride him so filthily, “Don’t stop, I’m almost – ngh – there.”

His lewd words are your last straw, your hips stuttering as your cunt coils tightly around his length, your body orgasming so intensely through your tightly shut eyes. You desperately hope no one is nearby, because the muffled screams coming from the inside of the car were sure to be audible. 

“You love me, right?” Rafayel slurs, his eyes wet and on the verge of coming undone, needing your words to be the final push.

“I love you Raf,” you gasp brokenly, still bouncing on his lap, “Soo-oo much!”

Your vice grip on him has Rafayel seeing stars of his own, the blinding pleasure signaling his own release. As he cums, he brings you back to his chest in a heated embrace, babbling into your mussed hair.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” comes his strangled mantra, the words overflowing from his wet puffy lips, “My Queen.”

You whimper as Rafayel fills you with rope after rope of his hot seed, it already beginning to seep out of your hole and down his still hard length. He gives you everything he has, the soul nearly being sucked out his body through his cockhead.

Rafayel digs his nails into your back as you overstimulate him with your languid thrusts, urging you to stop. 

“N-No more,” he whines, holding you in place, “You’re trying to kill me.”

You still your hips with a chuckle, listening to his rapidly pounding heart, “I would never.”

Rafayel strokes your hair, holding you against his body, his cock softening and slipping out of you. You wince at the feeling of how much dampness leaks out of you, sitting up and trying to cup yourself so it doesn’t leak all over Rafayel’s seats.

But Rafayel holds you back down, “No. Stay.”

“Rafayel, it's going to ruin the seats!”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles, his voice still sluggish from the alcohol, nuzzling his face into your chest as he hugs you to keep you from moving.

“You care, you love this car. I love this car,” you whine, trying to pull away and keep the slick from spilling everywhere, but he doesn’t relent. 

“Just say you love the car more than me,” he sulks, his bottom lip protruding. 

You glare at him, before deciding to tease him and play along, “I love the car more than y–”

Rafayel covers your mouth with his hand, squinting at you, “If you finish that sentence I’ll scream.”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[jasntodds]

can i request a jason fic 🥺 i was reading through the prompt list and saw two ("here's a spare key, so you don't have to keep coming through the window" and "i didn't know you could cook this good") and i thought they'd make a cute setup for a friends to lovers moment 🥺 sorry for not being around! i've been struggling with reading on my phone for long periods of time the last few months 😭 -guiltywaves

@guiltywaves omg hey!! I love friends to lovers so much dkjf but no no it's totally okay!! No worries!! I totally understand!! It happens to me all the time lmao I'm so sorry this took so long!! I wanted it to be perfect and make sure it wasn't super long!! I hope you like it!!

Maybe I'll do a part 2

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,045

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of injuries

masterlist | tag list | requests: open

Jason climbs through your window. A routine of sorts, really. After patrol, he comes by and always through your window. Sometimes he’s injured and lets you help him before you offer your couch to him. Sometimes he just stops by with a snack. But, he always comes in through the window.

Tonight is no different.

It’s after three when your window creaks open, Jason noting to himself to fix it for you. He crawls through your window, your apartment dark as it usually is when he comes by this late. He flips on the floor lamp to your living room before taking his helmet off and making his way to your kitchen to rest it on the table. He finds a note, your handwriting scribbled across the page containing Nightwing symbols at the corner.

Jason rolls his eyes but reads the note.

Leftovers in the fridge please eat

A smile tugs itself onto his lips before he pockets the note, folding it neatly beforehand. He’s quiet, reaching for the fridge where he finds the leftovers already in a bowl for him with a note that has his name on it, something that almost always makes him laugh. He's the only one you ever save food for.

This note has the Robin symbol.

He doesn’t think you even own anything with a Red Hood symbol and a very large part of him knows it’s because you do it to fuck with him.

It works every time.

He grabs the bowl, pulling the plastic wrap from it before he pops it in the microwave. He grabs a fork from the drawer and leans himself against the counter with hooded eyes, sleep tugging at his chest and bones. Patrol wasn't too bad tonight, that's not really it. He's standing in your kitchen and it's comfortable here. He's allowed to breathe with ease in your apartment and sometimes, that alone can make him crave sleep. The white noise of the microwave is only contributing to the heaviness of his eyes until it’s suddenly interrupted.

“Knew you’d be hungry.” Your voice tugs Jason from his almost sleep.

You look tired.

You sound tired.

“Thank you.” Jason’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of red as he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Just gonna eat and head out.”

“You can stay.” You roll your shoulders.

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “‘M fine.” He gives you this toothy grin as some sort of proof he isn’t injured tonight though you’ve already pieced that together with him heating up his food.

“It’s late. You’re just gonna be more tired after you eat, Jay. It’s not like you don’t stay half the time anyway.” You roll your eyes at him before you disappear down the hall.

The microwave dings and it sends Jason quickly reaching for the handle to get it to stop. The noise is so jarring in your quiet apartment it sounds like his ears might bleed. The bowl is hot on his fingertips as he grabs it, quickly stirring before he puts it back in for a bit more time.

“I got you something.” You state as you reemerge from the hallway.

Jason’s brow quirks up. “What?” He let out a half-scoff half-chuckle.

The microwave barely gets a ding off before Jason grabs it and removes his bowl. He places it on the counter before you approach him. Jason faces you, eyeing you carefully before he sticks his fork into the pile of pasta.

“Here’s a spare key.” You stick out your hand and open your palm, revealing a painted red key. It matches his helmet. “So you don’t have to keep coming through the window.”

Jason thinks he might have a panic attack.

He’s comfortable around you. You’re his best friend. You’ve been friends for years, long before Red Hood. You know everything there is to know about him. It’s why he’s so comfortable walking into your apartment and grabbing his food. It’s why he can get some sleep when he’s here. But, having a key feels serious. It feels like a large responsibility. It feels like a commitment to something he’s not sure he knows what to do with.

He's staring at your palm like the key might try to bite and you have to hold your breath. There's always a chance he says no and it really shouldn't be a big deal because he's your best friend but you hold your breath anyway. You tell yourself it's just a key because Jason Todd deserves to feel welcomed somewhere at all times and that somewhere is here.

“Jay, you’re here all the time.” You tell him before you grab his hand and put the key in it. “Just use the damn key. And whenever you want.” You shrug. “I know sometimes you just don’t want to be alone so you can just come over whenever. I don’t know. You’re just always welcome.” You glance to the key in his hand and then up to him, hoping he takes it.

“I can’t do that.” Jason shakes his head, still holding out the palm of his hand.

“And why not?” You challenge.

Jaosn’s different than he was when you were kids. He’s guarded, cautious, you think he’s scared. When he was a kid, he was a little fearless and a little reckless. It wasn’t anything too crazy but a little reckless. He was open and welcoming. He was still cautious but it was more that caution just came from needing to survive from one day to the next. Jason’s caution today makes him look over his shoulder, look at every single person near him to see if they have a weapon. It makes him hide a gun under your couch and in one of your cabinets. He has a stash of food in his apartment he thinks you don’t know about. He’s different now than he was. So, you offer patience while still testing him. He doesn’t need to be different with you.

“Not trying to impose.” Jason tries to play off his own fears. “The window’s fine.” He tries to deflect. “It’s not even a bother anyway and—“

You let out a sigh cutting him off. “You’re not imposing if I’m inviting you which I am. The window’s fine until someone spots you and wants to know what the fuck is going on. The door is right here.” You point over your shoulder to the door. “Just take the key and use it.” You offer him a soft smile. "I want you here." You clarify.

Maybe it’s not the key itself that makes Jason want to run through a window. It’s the implication of what a key could lead to. And what if you ask for it back?

What if you change your mind?

“I painted it to match your helmet.” Your eyes soften, a hint of innocence behind them.

Jason's eyes go to the table, spotting his helmet and his chest feels like it’s on fire. Most of the stationary you own has to do with the bats. You have random collectibles of theirs, too which may have actually been gifted to you but you have them regardless. But the key to your apartment is Red Hood red.

You think you see a smile forming.

“Fine.” He caves, curling his fingers around the key before stuffing it deep into his pocket. “‘M gonna thank you for it then.”

“Okay, Jay.” You shine, relieved he took it.

“Can I eat now?” He points to his bowl of food that's no longer steaming.

“Yes, yes you can.” You chime.

Jason picks up his bowl, leaning his lower back against your counter before he twirls the pasta around the fork. You sit in front of him on your table just watching him. He’s your best friend but it’s hard not to notice how the armor compliments his muscle. It’s hard not to notice how pretty he is even in the low light of your apartment. You think he’s always been pretty but since reconnecting, you can’t help but think he’s stunning and tall and big. Your mind wanders to his hands, the way he holds the fork with large but delicate fingers as if he could break the metal with ease. You think how it would feel to hold his hand in yours, knowing Jason’s always radiated heat. You think how his palms are probably calloused and how they’d feel against your skin and—

Nope.

You shake your head of your own thoughts. He’s your friend and you’re just extra tired and touch-starved lately.

“How was patrol?” You ask with ease, kicking your feet in front of you, just missing his legs.

He shrugs. “Not too bad.” He answers. “Stopped a few robberies.” He states as he twirls his fork around his pasta.

“You look tired.”

He hums softly before taking his first bite, not even realizing how hungry he was until now.

“You look tired.” Jason quips back with the nod of his head towards you.

“That’s because it’s four in the morning.” You laugh softly. “Most people are tired at this time.” You widen your eyes at him to tease him.

"You can go back to bed, don't have to watch me eat." Jason widens his eyes back at you in response.

"No, that's okay." You smile back at him, not wanting to go back to bed when you could be out here with him.

“You know,” Jason starts as he points his fork at you. “Gotta get you different stationary. Tired of your Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin bullshit.” He changes subject, a little relieved you want to stay up a little bit with him. He feels guilty you're up with him but he does really enjoy your company.

“Aww,” You give him a pout. “But don’t you just love Dick and Damian and Tim?”

Jason blinks at you a few times as he keeps a straight face before taking another bite.

You let out a laugh and Jason thinks your laugh could cure him of all of his sadness.

“They’re your brothers.” You giggle.

“Exactly.” Jason answers.

“I could have painted your key Nightwing blue or the Robin colors.” You tease him with a cheeky grin.

“Can’t pick Spoiler or Orphan?” Jason says it more sarcastically than anything else.

“No, you like Steph and Cass.” You laugh.

“Swear, if I show up to Batman shit, I’m out.” Jason laughs back.

You make a mental note to pick up a Batman mug tomorrow just to fuck with him.

“Of course not.” You scoff but Jason knows he's given you the bad idea.

Jason laughs softly before taking another bite. “Go to bed.”

You let out a sigh before you hop down, noticing Jason is almost done eating anyway. "Pillow and blanket are already on the couch for you."

Jason glances to the couch, seeing a pale blue blanket peaking out from the arm of the couch.

"Thank you." Jason offers you a sincere but small smile. "Goodnight."

“Goodnight, Jay.” You smile softly before heading back to your room.

The next morning, you’re awakened by the smell of something cooking in your kitchen. For a few seconds, you think you’re either dreaming or hallucinating. But the longer you lay in bed, the more you become positive there’s definitely food being made.

It smells a little sweet and warm. It actually smells warm. And yet, it’s almost completely silent in your apartment. You figure it’s Jason because Jason can cook but you have no clue how he manages to be so quiet about everything he does. Sure, it’s his training and his life depends on it, but every time you try to cook anything, you drop at least one pan onto the floor and utensils usually go flying somewhere. You feel bad for you downstairs neighbors.

You grab your phone from the charger, pocketing it before you head out to the kitchen, still wiping sleep from your eyes. The smell grows stronger and you finally figure out it’s your favorite breakfast food. A smile pokes at your lips because, in all your years of friendship, you and Jason have only done breakfast a handful of times but he remembers anyway.

He’s attentive. That’s also something that comes with his training because his life depends on it. But, you knew him before Rd Hood. Before Robin and Batman. Jason Todd has always been attentive and you don’t think it’s something about living on the streets. It’s something that’s embedded into his DNA, pay attention to small things. Maybe that’s because of his mom, his overall childhood of having to take care of her but maybe it’s also just him.

“Morning.” You greet as you stretch your arms over your head, bending your back back a bit.

“G’morning.” Jason greets as he turns around from the stove.

He sounds well-rested.

He looks well-rested for once.

“You’re making breakfast?” You question as you walk over to your coffee maker, an empty cup already ready sitting there for you.

“Told ya I’d pay you back.” Jason states as he continues cooking.

“You really know the way to my heart.” You joke as you get your coffee going. “Always food.”

You watch Jason continue to cook and you think you could probably be mesmerized by everything he does. He's not really doing anything special but it seems that way because it's him. He could trip over a rock and fall into a lake and you'd still be mesmerized.

"Hello?" Jason calls, waving a hand in front of your face. Your eyes snap up to his as you feel your cheeks starting to burn. "I asked how you slept." Jason chuckles as he starts to plate the food for the both of you. "You alright?"

You shake your head, almost fumbling for words. "Yeah, sorry. Zoned out." You clear your throat before you start to pour your cup of coffee. "Good, to answer your question." You let out a breath with the roll of your shoulders. "You?" You ask with a soft smile before you make your way to your spot at the table.

Jason always tends to sleep better here. Your couch isn’t exactly the most comfortable or the biggest but he still feels like he gets real sleep whenever he’s here. He could sleep a few hours and still be more rested than had he just slept at his place.

Jason doesn’t mind being alone, it’s always a bit safer if not for him then for the people around him but being alone gets pretty lonely. He doesn’t have to feel alone here. You’re here and he thinks he’d never be lonely again if you were always around.

“Good.” Jason answers, not willing to elaborate on his thoughts. “Your breakfast is served, princess.” Jason smirks at you with his quip as he sets the plate down in front of you.

“Ass.” You retort with the roll of your eyes just as Jason goes to take the plate back. Your hand grips his wrist. Your hand is no match for him, it’s tiny compared to him and his strength alone is enough but he stops anyway. “No, no, I’ll take this thank you.” You push his hand away and guard your food.

He laughs with the shake of his head and you hope the walls are absorbing the sound. Jason stays at your apartment a few days a week but he’s never here when you wake up. The blanket is always folded on the arm of the couch with the pillow placed perfectly on top. There’s always some sort of note thanking you for letting him crash. Sometimes, if you sleep in because work sucked or you're sick, he picks up some of your favorite snacks and takeout, leaving it in the fridge for you for when you wake up. But, he’s never here.

You find yourself thinking you could get used to this though. His laugh in the early morning and him looking so comfortable.

His hair is all tousled from sleeping. He looks a little disheveled. You see him disheveled all the time because he always has helmet hair and he’s always getting himself into trouble. It kind of comes tih with territory, you think. But, today, it’s just because he slept here. He looks disheveled because his hair is messy and he’s comfortable. He looks comfortable and warm and you’d go as far as to say he looks beautiful.

You hope he chooses to stay more.

“Okay, I didn't know you could cook this good.” You states after taking a few bites, genuinely surprised. Is there anything Jason Todd is bad at?

A rosey shade of pink dusts over his cheeks as he shrugs. “What? Thought I only eat pasta and whatever else you managed to save me?” He quips, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through his ribcage.

“Well…yes.” You let out a laugh while Jason offers you his fake glare.

“Like to cook sometimes, got good at it.” Jason shrugs a shoulder with his minimal explanation.

“Well, now you have to cook more.” You shrug easily as you offer him a grin.

“I have to?” Jason raises a brow at you, taunting you to rethink your words.

You don’t.

“Yes. I said so.” You laugh back at him.

“Not sure I want to now.” Jason shrugs his shoulders dramatically.

“Awww, pretty please, Jay.” You give him a pout and not even a single ounce of him actually believes he’d ever be able to say no to you about anything.

“What’d ya want for dinner?” Jason asks before he goes back to his food.

“Wait, really?” You beam and Jason glances back to you.

There’s always this sort of pull in his chest when things feel good, like he’s undeserving and he needs to wait for the other foot to drop. It feels like this now. He feels comfortable here. He’s happy here with you. You’re his favorite person and you're always the person he wants to talk to you about a new book he read or something insane one of the bats did. You’re the first person, the only person, he goes to when he’s been hurt on patrol. Jason swears you’re his best friend despite the beating and rumbling through his ribcage.

“Unless you’re bored of--”

“I’m never bored of you.” You cut him off immediately. “Okay, I’ll think of something and I can help.” You beam back at him with excitement before going back to your food.

A smile tugs at the corner of Jason’s lips and despite the worrying and fear of this whole thing blowing up in his face, he finds himself thinking he could get used to mornings with you, just like this.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Seventeen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 4K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. PTSD, references and descriptions of domestic violence , grooming, manipulation, pregnancy. Simon's back story. Trauma. Bun opens up a bit more. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt. Simon is a nervous dad. Emotional confessions.

“It’s Beth.” Simon wipes the countertop, chasing little dirty fingerprints with a wet cloth, before fixing a hesitant set of eyes on yours.

“That’s pretty… I like it.” There’s something odd about his expression, something haunted almost, a deep, dark well filled to the brim with rancid, stagnant water. You sense it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

He motions to the chair and slides your mug into your waiting hands. “Sit.”

“Simon?”

“It was my sister in law’s name. My brother’s wife.” Was. Your throat goes dry, muscles tensing.

“Was?” He pulls your fingers into his, cradled in the palm of his hand, thumb rubbing circles into your skin, over and over on a loop. A mechanism of comfort, connection. A thread stitch into the fabric between your heart and his.

“They died, sweetheart. My family… I lost them.” Grief, a shared experience you know now, froths in the pit of your heart. You tremble, he holds you steady, though it should be the other way around.

“What… what happened?” He sighs, dragging your palm to his lips.

“Let’s sit down on the couch.”

He holds you as he talks, diaphragm rumbling against your ear. You’re laid on his chest, unable to see his face, watch his expressions, but for this, you don’t feel the urge to dissect each one.

You’re content against him. Listening. Mourning.

There’s a swath of silence afterwards, and then he clears his throat. “So, I was dead. Dead until I met Johnny, I think. And then everything changed.” Johnny’s words from weeks and weeks ago make more sense, Simon’s actions and reactions rapidly gaining clarity. “When we found you, I saw it, the look in your eyes. It was the same one that used to haunt my mother’s.”

“You saved her.” He burrows his face in your neck and shakes his head.

“I did what I could to piece them back together. Helped get Tommy clean and on his feet, got rid of the old man for good, but the damage… the way she suffered, it was irreversible. The best I could do was be there as much as often as possible.” You comb through his hair, short strands of silk like Penny’s, and hold him close. “I promised myself, when I met Johnny, when we fell in love, I’d do better by my own family. For him, and then by Penny. And now you. Promised I wouldn’t become him.” Your heart clenches, squeezing in on itself. “Violence may have been a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part of me.” His fingers dance along your spine until they reach your chin, tilting you back to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t need to ask for your trust, he already has it.

“Johnny thinks I’ve got a bit of a savior complex now, but I want you to know… that’s not what this is, bunny.”

“I know,” you clear your throat, fighting through the thick of emotion building there, accumulating in heaps, “I know that.”  

“But we do need to talk about him, you know that?” Darkness creeps along the wispy, dream-like cocoon the two of you built on the couch, and you push it away, try to banish it, basking in the comfort of his arms instead.

“I can’t, I… right now it feels like I’m in a dream where nothing hurts and nothing can scare me or hurt me, and I don’t-“

“You’re not in a dream, bunny. That’s your reality. This is real. Nothing can, or will, hurt you, scare you. No one will ever touch you again.”

“I need more time. Please.” Simon sighs, but doesn’t push, and the two of you lay there, together, suspended in comforting silence. For another moment, your world is a dream. A safe, beautiful dream, where happy endings are real, where love stretches on for eternity, unconditional, limitless, unbreakable.

You’re so different now, stark changes shocking to the girl you once knew, the one who doubled back on her routes to and from work, the one that walked everywhere with her hackles up. Little pieces of black rot now turned a blinding white, a brilliant beam seeking to shine on the whole of your life.

It’s a dream.

One you won’t easily surrender.

“I was really young.” It comes during a lapse in conversation, practically a blurt, an interruption pushing heat to your cheeks. Expelled from your mind, your body without choice, cracks appearing in the preservation that you’ve so defiantly clung to. You have to tell them, eventually. You have to break it all apart, let them see. Johnny’s mouth opens, and Simon’s hand darts to his wrist faster than a snake could strike, a clear signal. Don’t speak. “Obviously now, looking back on it, I realize I was groomed, or I guess, easily influenced. He was older, and I graduated early, started college early. I was in my second year when I turned eighteen. My mom,” the lump in your throat nearly chokes you until you swallow it down, “my mom busted her ass for me. I went to college on scholarships and her hard work.” Metal clanks against ceramic, forks settling on the edges of plates. “Anyway, everyone always thought I was a know-it-all and pretty awkward. We weren’t officially like, together right away but it was pretty serious from the day I met him. Eventually… he started to change me. Change my goals. He even manipulated my career path.”

“What did you go to school for?” Simon asks casually, head tilted.

“Bioscience. I wanted to be a doctor, so I thought it would transition well for med school. Thought I could become a surgeon.” You were a girl then; you know that now. Naïve, misguided by a hand that sought to control you, not love you as you hoped. It’s embarrassing, baring this, showing these broken bits and pieces to them, shattered shards of a mirror never glued back together.

“What happened?”

“He did.” Johnny squeezes your hand. “Made it to pre-med but ended up leaving and starting a nursing program instead. It’s what he wanted, and by then, I couldn’t say no.”

“But ye didnae want it, to be a nurse.”

“No. I didn’t. I love my job now, of course, and I’m happy in it, but originally, I wanted something else. He tricked me, in all honesty. Showed me something that wasn’t real, reeled me in, and then revealed his true colors.” You shudder. “The first time… the first time it happened, I shook it off, forgave him. I-“ the memory is still so strong, it stuns you. The blood from your busted lip is fresh on your tongue, sting on the side of your face turning to a blooming ache.

“Bunny?” Johnny’s grip moves to your elbow, strong, but not too tight. An anchor. You shake your head.

“Sorry.”

“Ye’re alright, ye can stop if-“

“No, I… I want to share these things with you. It feels like I’m supposed to, like you should know me… like this.”

“We already know you, sweetheart. Don’t push yourself.” Simon’s tone is serious, and you nod.

“It’s embarrassing, looking back on it and realizing how bad it was, how bad I let it get. How I let him cut me off from everyone, change my career, squash me like a bug.” You laugh, but it’s empty.

“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Johnny’s lips press together, muscles in his jaw straining, “was never yer fault.” You don’t answer, just trace the woodgrain of the table, texture moving beneath your fingers. The conversation is draining you, leeching light away like a horizon swallowing the last of the sun.

“He’s rich. Like, fuck you money rich. Rich like make problems go away rich, and his job…” your head shakes again. It’s the most you’ve ever said, heavy buried secrets finally dug up, resurrected, the truth trembles through your bones. “He has resources. Has chased me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I know you’ve said you’re not really sure, but did he ever tell you what his job entails?”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.” Johnny shifts in his seat, antsy, and you shrug. “He kept that part of his life very, very private. There was even a room in the house that was always locked.” Your head is heavy, lead upon your shoulders, and Johnny tucks his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“I know this is hard bun, but ye’re so brave for us. Lettin’ us know ye this way. I’m proud of ye.” He murmurs, lips to your forehead, and you fully relax, wrapping around his middle.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, eyes closing, and he rubs your back.

“Let’s get ye to bed then.”

“Your child is too big for me to carry!” You announce, hand on your hip, little backpack straps looped around your arm. Simon closes the door behind you, chuckling, and Penny plops onto the floor. She goes to a nursery day program now a few days a week, something that was a contentious subject in the house for far too long, opinions and arguments ping ponging over your head until the decision was finally made.

“It’s not safe.”

“Ye cannae keep ‘er locked up here forever, love.”

“Why not?” Simon bounced Penny against his chest, unimpressed look on both their faces, so alike you almost busted out laughing.

“Because she’s a child. She needs to be w’other children, not just us.” Johnny brings his free hand to his lips, squeezing Simon’s wrist. “I know ye’re scared.” Simon’s not the only one who’s scared, you thought. Phillip lurked at the edge of your mind, worry that he might find Penny plagued you, even though they both assured that wasn’t their main concern.

“She’s too little.”

“Simon. We agreed on this,” Johnny gives him a sharp look, “do yer research, find the best one. Ye know this needs to happen, for her. She needs to make friends, learn how to interact with kids her own age. Ye know this.”

“Fine.”

“She cannae be, not m’wee lamb.”

“She is.” You rub your shoulder. “Sheesh.” Penny’s stomach gurgles at your feet, and Simon grimaces.

“There’s a bug goin’ around the kids, teacher told me today.”

“Not surprising. Nurseries are little petri dishes.” You straighten your back, rolling your shoulder, and wince.

“Hurts?” Simon’s thumb digs into the soft spot there, and your lashes flutter.

“Maybe ye need a hot bath,” Johnny suggests, and Simon ushers the two of you up the stairs.

“I’ve got Pen. Go relax.”

“This is nice.” Johnny soaps your back, lavender and vanilla steam swirling around in the bathroom as you lean against him, his chest to your back.

“Aye.” The cloth drags across your chest, teasing your nipples, and you revel in his touch, soaking in every second he gives you, the brush of his cheek against yours, his lips on your neck. “Like havin’ ye all to myself sometimes.” You blink.

“Does it bother you? When we’re not all together?”

“No. Ye have a relationship wit’ me, and wit’ Simon, and we have a relationship all together. No one is the same. I like it.”

“Me too.” You settle again, loose and tender in the bath, soaped hands running up and down your back, kneading your shoulders, releasing the tension coiled in your bones. You groan.

“Feel good then?”

“Yeah.” He presses a hand over your heart with a deep breath, before he takes another.

And then one more.

“What’s wro-“

“I love ye bun. Wholly. Think ‘ve loved ye since the day I opened my eyes to ye leaning over the bed in hospital.” You turn, twisting to face him, and he dabs your nose with his thumb. “I dinnae have any expectations of ye, or yer feelings, but I had to be honest. I had to tell ye.” The confession fights its way forward, begging to be let out, to be freed.

Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him you love them, that they’re your light, that they’ve chased the darkness away and replaced it with the sun.

You can’t.

Instead, you rest your forehead against his, syncing your breathing, sharing the moment, holding onto him so tight in case he slips away.

“I can’t say it.” You whisper, and he nods. “But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“An’ that’s okay. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for ye as long as ye need.” There’s no pressure, no demands, just Johnny and his arms, his understanding and patience, his love.

You blink back tears and crash your lips to his. “Thank you.”

Your stomach is what wakes you.  

Something it in is burning, tossing bile around, the sensation strong enough your lips curl, and you try to draw a deep breath through your nose.

You wriggle, trying to pull free from where you’re tangled up in Simon and Johnny, carefully and slow, hoping to avoid waking them though you know even in their dreams, they sleep with one eye open.

 Still, you manage to make it to the bathroom before feet are padding across the carpet on your heels.

You sink to your knees in front of the toilet, stomach bubbling, sending the scorching remnants of dinner up your throat.

The door clicks open. “No, get out. I don’t want you to see-“ you gag again, tap turning on at the sink, a cold washcloth folding over your neck.

“Shhh,” Simon murmurs, rubbing your back, “get it all out.”

“Oh god,” another wave swells, and your muscles tense, body expelling bits of bile and not much else.

“That’s the way, good girl.”

“This is gross.” You gasp. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’ve seen way worse than you puking, sweetheart.”

“She alright?” Johnny half yells from the bedroom and you groan. The guilt of him having to maneuver himself out of bed, still not one hundred percent healthy, still not back to full strength, draws a shiver from your spine.

“I’m fine, don’t come in here!” Your stomach pitches, fingers tightening against your thighs, but nothing comes up, again and again, until everything settles and you’re breathing deeply, steady, back straight.

“Let’s get you some water.” There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s going to do what he wants to do when it comes to taking care of you, you know that now. It’s painfully clear as he tries to help you drink from the glass, and then puts toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“I’m fine.” You assure weakly, but he only watches you, concerned.

“Think it’s the nursery bug?”

“Probably.” You sag, energy drained completely, and he steadies you, cupping your cheek. His touch is cool, and you lean into it, savoring the reprieve it brings against your throbbing temples.

“Want to go back to bed?”

“What if I throw up again?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll jus’ clean it up.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You glance up at the timid mouse of a nurse, brand new, fingers clutched around a tablet like she’s drowning and it’s her life vest.

“What’s up?”

“Can you… can you look at these orders for me?” She looks terrified, and it tells you everything you need to know. She’s probably caught a mistake.

Baby nurses begin their careers in a delicate position. They’re overwhelmed, fresh off a whirlwind of orientation, overloaded with policy and procedure, and depending on their preceptor, either somewhat prepared or completely lost. Pitting a baby nurse against a provider, even a first-year resident, is like sending a lamb in to confront a lion. The result is usually tears.

She hands you the tablet and you spot it immediately. Incorrect dosage.

“Good catch.” You reassure, coaxing a small smile, and she nods.

“What do I do?”

“We go find the provider and clarify the dosage.” You’re not going to leave it up to her, alone, hang her out to dry and probably get run over by whatever moron ordered it in the first place, who happens to be-

Marshall.

Your eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “The pharmacy is also very on top of seeing errors like this, but it’s good you’ve noticed too, for the patient and yourself. Liability for things like this can be very tricky.” She nods again, trailing behind you, brand new squeaky sneakers echoing your own steps.

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes you when you find him, leaned up against a wall, arms crossed, smirking, cocking his head at your companion. “What’s up?”

“Can you take a look at this for me?” You purposefully zoom in on the meds tab, practically painting a bullseye around his error. He scoffs, defensive immediately, dismissive, before he takes a closer look, jaw clenched.

“That’s my mistake.” You blink. Marshall rarely ever takes responsibility so gracefully. Your eyebrow lifts.

“Care to fix it?”

“Of course.” His agreement is punctuated with a smile, though it’s off kilter.

“You can go,” you nod to the nurse, “good job.” Her eyes dart between you and Marshall, and without another word, scampers off.

“She’s new?” His usual interest in new nurses is less enthusiastic than ever.

You hate Marshall. He’s a scumbag. But he’s also been your coworker since day one, and you can’t help yourself. “What’s up with you?”  

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never owned up to a mistake that quickly, and you didn’t even make some smart-ass remark. Or berate her. Or give me an attitude.” He winces.

“It’s nothing.” But it doesn’t seem like nothing. It seems like something is wrong, like he’s sad, or depressed, and try as you might, your bleeding heart can’t walk away.

“What’s wrong.” You phrase a statement, a demand, instead of a question, and he blows a frustrated breath.

“It’s… I’m seeing someone.” Your eyes go wide.

“Who?” Please don’t say a nurse, please don’t say a nurse, please-

“Anna. From radiology.”

“Oh my god. The cupcake girl?” Anna was a fan favorite. Not only was she kind, but she was also quick with her reads, and baked cupcakes for the entire floor almost once a month. As far as radiologists go, she was better than most.

“Yeah.”

“Okay…”

“I really like her but… she’s always been aware of my reputation and is trying to take it slow. Too slow.” You could lecture him with a million reasons why she’s in the right, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got the resolve to handle it.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s dragging her feet. Doesn’t want to hang out more than once a week, rarely stays the night. I’ve been to her place a handful of times, but that’s it.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two months.” You laugh.

“That’s it?”

“It’s a long time for me!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Two months is no time at all. Have you discussed the… reluctance with her?” He seems uneasy, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you enjoy watching him squirm.

“Yeah. She says she’s happy, but isn’t trying to jump into anything,” his air quotes carry a whiff of the condescending asshole you know too well. This conversation couldn’t be timelier, and you think back to what you told Johnny the other night.

“Just because she’s taking it slow doesn’t mean her feelings for you aren’t there. You have to respect that. If she’s still putting up with you after two months, I’d bet she’s just being cautious. Getting hurt sucks.” He nods thoughtfully. “Give her the time she’s asking for, and don’t give up.”

Don’t give up.

The sentiment twists a knife lodged deep in your heart. Is that what will happen to you? Will they give up? Get tired of waiting for you to spill all your secrets, get tired of waiting for you to take the final step? To tell them you love them?

Get tired of waiting for you to let them use your real name?

“I didn’t expect her, didn’t expect to feel this way.” The mask comes down, revealing a hopelessly lovesick heart, the depth of it shining in his eyes.

“I don’t think anyone ever does expect it. That’s the surprising thing about love, I guess.” You sway, a palm pressed to the wall as your hand flattens over your stomach.

“You alright?” Marshall’s voice is far away as you breathe through your nose, trying to fend off the nausea tightening your throat.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit under the weather. Think I’ve got a bug or something.” Your stomach roils in warning, and you barely grit out an apology before dashing away.

Just in time to toss your breakfast up in the toilet.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you in the toilet. You didn’t sound fine, and you shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.” Your manager shakes her head like she’s disappointed, and you glare. You both know if you had called this morning talking about a stomach bug, she would have told you to suck it up unless you were actively vomiting.

“Look around. Do you see an excess of nurses on the floor?”

“We’ll manage. Or call someone in.” You shake your head.

“We’re already way past policy ratios.” You bite your tongue when safe nearly slips out, not wanting to piss her off. That’s the union’s job.

“At least go sit down or something. Take a break. Come back in twenty minutes and let me know how you feel.”

Your closet is cozy, and for once during the day, unoccupied. The nausea has subsided, for now, and you shoot a text to the guys, asking about Penny. If you feel like this, you can’t imagine how she feels.

You curl up and imagine you’re home instead, maybe in bed with a sleeve of crackers and some soda, warm chest at your back, a hand stroking over your hip. Maybe you’d have some soup, maybe the three of you would watch a movie after Pen went down for bed. You start to drift in the domestic fantasy, sleeping curling itself like a blanket over your shoulders, until you’re startled by the vibration of your phone, foot kicking forward in a jolt against a shelf.

A box falls to the floor.

HCG strips.

You stare at it for a long time, numbers and dates and weeks mashing together, calculations getting lost in the fray.

You’re not…

No.

Ridiculous. Not even possible. You’re on the pill. Religiously.

You have the nursery bug that Pen brought home. Get a grip.

Still…

You use the fifth-floor bathroom, one of the only single occupant toilets in the whole damn hospital, nausea now coming from a completely different source.

The timer on your phone is incredibly slow, or maybe it’s just time itself, the world turning in slow motion, every second elongated into turbulent silence, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much of everything to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Sadness.

Grief.

It’s grief that is the strongest. Grief for something that Phillip stole, mourning for something that was once so close, so real, and then gone in an instant.

If you close your eyes, you can still feel his boot in your stomach. The press of a steel toe, jammed beneath your ribs, wild, deranged eyes staring down at you in a rage.

But-

Buried so, so far beneath the crushing weight of it all, there is a bright little pocket of sunshine. A small little sliver of light, beams of hope stretching for the sky, warmth spilling over until your hands tremble with the conflict warring inside you.

Nothing has changed, but everything could.

The timer goes off with a shrill chime, and you lean over the sink to where the small strip sits on top of a cup.

A bold pink line.

And then another, more faint, but certainly there. A simple equation, one plus one equals two. Simple math.

Tangible. Present.

Pregnant.

[purplesuitcowboy]

cw: dubious consent, fauxcest, double penetration, free use

"I don't have any cash on me," her step-father, Thomas, told the frazzled young man at the cash register.

"But, I have this,” he said. He jostled the young women who stood beside him for emphasis. Quinn offered up weak protest from behind the ball gang in her mouth. She hated when he did shit like this. Ever since he’d figured out that she’s dabbled in selling nudes online, how he was able to tell if was her when she hadn’t even shown her face was beyond her, he’d been strong arming her into all sorts of shit under the threat of disclosing her little business endeavor to her mother.

Her mother had always been a bit of a prude and if she found out, Quinn would be kicked out of the house for sure and her sizable inheritance would be reduced to 0. She was sure that she could find a place to stay if she got kicked out but losing out on her inheritance was simply not an option. She gone along with his demands which had started as head in the parking lot of his job and had quickly ballooned out of proportion from there.

As it turned out, Thomas was a bit of a kinky bastard but he couldn’t live out his fantasies with her mother so he used her instead. Quinn was almost positive that Thomas preferred it that way. Even before their little agreement, he’d always told her that she had a body built of sex and that she’d make a man very happy one day. This had been very, very weird then but she had ignored it. He made her mother so happy that Quinn had just written off his comments as personality quirks. They hadn’t been. They were the truest expressions of his wishes and desires.

In a sick way, she was perfect for him. She was just as much as a freak as she was, got just as turned on by their slinking around as he did. She just had the good sense to be ashamed and embarrassed by it. Quinn tried not to think about the fact that she was helping her step-father cheat on her mother. Surely, finding out that this had been happening behind her back was worse then Quinn selling her nudes online. Either way, she was a coward because she said nothing and continued fucking her mother’s husband.

Quinn was trapped between her step-father’s bulk and the edge of the counter. Already, she could feel the beginnings of his hard on against her ass. Thomas held her tightly, securing her arms behind her back. He pushed her towards the counter, forcing her to lean awkwardly over it. The precarious position highlighted her generous bust which was barely being contained by her the low neckline of her short dress. Her hardened nipples could be easily seen through the thin material. She briefly made eye contact with the cashier but quickly averted her gaze, deeply embarrassed by the situation. Despite her embarrassment and shame, she feel heat begin too bloom between her legs as she felt the cashiers eyes on her tits. She didn’t have to see his face to know that he liked what he saw. In her minds eye, she could already imagine these men sharing her body, fucking her holes and filling her with their cum. She shifted, rubbing her thighs together.

"Oh, I'm not sure I can..I don't, uh,..."

"Come on," he paused, squinting at the young man's name tag. "Gordon? Damn, what did your parents give you an old man name like that for? Anyway, you're gonna pass up a fuck with a pretty young thing like my stepdaughter here. You like girls don't you, son?"

The young man nodded, rendered completely speechless by the situation. He saw a lot of weird shit during his shifts at the convenience store -especially during the late shift- but this was really taking the cake. He thought that the pair were odd when they walked in but he hadn’t thought much of it until they’d gotten to the counter.

"Well then give 'em a feel,” the old man jeered. “You're gonna make her feel bad if you don't. You're gonna make her think somethings wrong with her tits. You don't want that do you."

Thomas pulled down the top of Quinn’s dress, freeing her tits from their confines. Roughly, he grabbed one of her breasts, massaging it with his hand. Quinn whimpered in response. With Thomas’s grip on her loosened, she freed one of her arms and used it to prop herself up on the counter. Hesitantly, the cashier reached forward to gently fondle one of Quinn’s tits.

“Come on, kid!” Thomas exclaimed. “Grab it like you mean it. None of that pussy shit now.”

The cashier nodded and with renewed vigor, grabbed Quinn’s breasts, kneading them with his hands. Her eyes fluttered shut and she seemed to push her tits out as if offering herself up to him. The edge of the counter dug into her hip but she barely noticed. Gordon could feel his dick harden against his thigh as he fondled her. Her skin was soft beneath his finger tips, and her nipples were red and rosy like the cherry on top of an ice cream sunday. Looking at them, at her, made his mouth water. Emboldened, he leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking it and rolling it with his tongue. Quinn moaned, drool gathering on the ball gag and dripping down her chin to her chest. Thomas watched as the cashier lavished Quinn’s tits with attention. He slipped a hand between her thighs, fingers gently rubbing against her slick folds. He loved have easy access to her pussy so she rarely wore panties around him. Another whine escaped Quinn’s lips as she tried to rock her cunt against his fingers.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you baby. Your little pussy is so wet,” he told her, voice almost loving.

He plunged two fingers into her cunt, slowly pumping them in and out. His hand was quickly covered in her juices as he continued to fuck her with his fingers, first one and then two and three. Gordon paused his ministrations and cocked his head to the side, watching enrapt as the older man fingered Quinn’s cunt. His fingers were shiny with her juices as he pumped them in and out of her hole. With every attempt to pull out, Gordon could see the walls of her cunt tightly clenched around his fingers, seemingly unwilling to let them leave the hot, wet channel. If Gordon had any blood left in his body, it had all rushed to his cock. It throbbed painfully in his shorts begging for attention. He’d been hard for a while but it was becoming almost unbearable. He let go of Quinn’s tits and pushed her out of the way so he could hop the counter to join them on the other side. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Thomas stopped finger fucking Quinn’s pussy to watch the cashier volt over the counter to join them. He took a step back and, tugging at her hip with a wet hand, pulled her back to give the young man room to stand.

Eagerly, Quinn leaned towards the cashier. She braced herself on him, holding onto his hip with one hand. With her other hand, she pulled down the zip of his shorts and pulled out his harden cock. Her eyes widened as she admired its size and thickness. The cashier reached for the ball gag, pulling it out of her mouth. Her eyes locked onto his, she took his thumb into her mouth, running her hot tongue along the tip and sucking on it lightly.

“Fuck” the cashier said, breathless.

Dutifully, Quinn took his cock into her mouth. The cashier groaned, as his cock was enveloped by the wet, heat of Quinn’s mouth. She took him deep until the head of his cock tapped the back of her throat. Her eyes watered but she didn’t gag, instead, she breathed heavily out of her nose trying to steady her breathing.

“Atta girl,” Thomas told her. “Show him how well I’ve trained you. Fuck her throat, son. Don’t worry. She can take it.”

She seemed to gurgle something in the affirmative. He placed his hands on the top of her head and steadily began to fuck her throat. Thomas was right. Quinn forced herself to relax and use her. After a couple of thrust, she pulled her head away, gasping for breath, before she took his cock back in her mouth. As she serviced the cashiers cock, Thomas helped himself to her pussy. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. Giving himself a few strokes, he lined himself up with her cunt. He rubbed his shaft against the lips of her pussy, coating himself in her juices, before he slowly began to push his thick cock into her waiting hole. It didn’t seem to matter how much he fucked her, her cunt felt as tight as it had the first time that he’d had her. He groaned as pushed inch after inch into her cunt until he was seated to the hilt. The two men quickly found a good rhythm using her body, one pulling out while the other pushed in and vise versa.

Adjusting her hold on Gordon, Quinn steadied herself on one hand so she could slip the other between her legs to rub at her tender clit. It didn’t take long before she was writhing and cumming on Thomas’s cock. As she came, her cunt tightened around his shaft and Thomas quickly found himself emptying his load into her cunt. Gordon came soon after. He tried to pull out of Quinn’s mouth to cum on her chest but she held him tight forcing him to cum into her mouth. He pulled out of her lips and she opened her mouth, showing him his load on her tongue before she swallowed.

“You’re not done are you?” she asked, looking up at the cashier with big doe eyes.

The cashier looked down at her, a look of awe on his face. Surely, she was a succubus or some other worldly being. He’d never met a woman with the sexual appetite this one seemed to. He worried that she would suck his soul out of his cock and that he would happily let her do it. Sharing her with her stepfather was a bit strange, but he’d cum so hard it hardly seemed to matter at that point as long as he got to fuck her again. Thomas laughed behind her and slapped her ass, earning him a squeak of surprised from Quinn.

“Horny slut.”

“Please?” she said to the cashier, ignoring her stepfather. “I want to have your cock in my pussy.”

“He can fuck your pussy but I want to fuck your ass while he does it.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay,” Gordon responded, eyes never leaving Quinn.

Thomas pulled out of Quinn’s cunt and unceremoniously picked her up off of her feet. The head of his cock teased her asshole. She reached down and helped to push his cock into her hole, toes curling as his cock filled her ass. Thomas held her with her back again his chest and his hands on her ass. Her legs were open showing off her cunt, still leaking Thomas’s cum, to Gordon’s gaze. Thinking with his lower head, Gordon stepped between her legs and pushed his cock into her waiting hole. Between her juices and Thomas’s left over cum, Gordon’s cock slid in easily.

“Oh my god,” Quinn said with a groan, closing her eyes and learning her head back on Thomas’s shoulder.

“So… fucking…tight,” Thomas said, reeling from the sensation of her ass clenched around him with the additional tightness added from Gordon’s cock in her cunt.

Thomas and Gordon scrambled to adjust their shared grip on her body. Thomas adjusted his grip on her ass and Gordon grabbed hold of her thighs. Working together, they worked to bounce Quinn on their cocks while also attempting to thrust into her holes. It was an awkward process but it felt so good that it didn’t even matter. Quinn had never felt so full in her life. She felt as if any moment she might just combust. It was painful and uncomfortable but so pleasurable.

She opened her eyes and lifting her head off of Thomas’s shoulder, leaned forward to capture Gordon’s mouth in a kiss. He swiped at her bottom lip with his tongue and she opened up her mouth, allowing him to intertwine his tongue with her’s. He was so wrapped up in kissing her that he stopped thrusting which made it much easier for Thomas to hammer his cock into her ass. With a free hand, Quinn reached down to rub her sensitive clit. She moaned against Gordon’s lips as she came. Her body went ridged in his arms as she rode out her orgasm. Greedy, she continued to furiously rub her clit, pushing herself to another orgasm.

“Fuck,” Thomas exclaimed as he felt her clench around him. “Fuck!”

Her asshole was so snug around him that he could hardly move but it was fine, the rhythmic clenching of her hole as she orgasmed guided him to his release. He stood there for a moment, reeling from the sensation. Finally, he braced himself and slowly pulled out of her ass. His cum leaked out of her hole in the absence of his cock but he used his thick fingers to fuck it back in.

Frank no longer right behind her. Gordon lowered her to her feet and turned her, bending her over the counter so he could finish himself off. Frank’s softening cock seemed to wake back up at the sight and he stroked it idly while he watched Gordon roughly pound her from behind until he came deep in her cunt. Gordon took a step back and the two men admired the sight of Quinn’s sloppy, cum covered holes.

“So, I’m good to take the cigarettes, right?”

[kckt88]

A Heartbeat Between Us IV

Summary:

Y.N joins game night and Alicent discovers that she's going to have a grandchild, but not everyone is happy.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Swearing, Mild Violence, Fluff, Jealousy, Miscommunication, Smut, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V, Allusions to other Sexual Encounters, Childhood Memories.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 5835

A.N - I used Zac Gabriel as the face claim for Daeron.

A.N - Most of the story is already written, as I start a new job on Saturday :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood @miaajaade

Aemond glanced between Aegon and Daeron, his brow furrowing slightly. “Could we do this another night?” he asked, trying to avoid any disruption to his plans with Y.N.

Plans which consisted of them snuggling up on the sofa and watching a film whilst enjoying a takeout and then him taking her to bed and devouring her sweet cunt until she screamed his name, only then would he fuck her nice and slow, making her come around his cock.

Before his brothers could respond, Y.N. spoke up. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to change your plans because of me. I can go-” she said with a small smile.

Aemond cut her off quickly. “-No, you’re staying.”

Aegon, ever the cheerful instigator, immediately chimed in. “Hey, why doesn’t she join us? Could be fun.”

Y.N. hesitated. “If that’s okay with you guys-”

Daeron grinned. “The more, the merrier! Obviously, no drinking for you, though,” he teased, pointing to her belly with a wink.

Y.N. laughed and followed them to the table, where Aegon immediately started dealing the cards.

“Come on, Aemond, crack open the beers. I’m dying of thirst over here,” Aegon grumbled dramatically.

Rolling his eye, Aemond grabbed three beers, popping them open before passing them to his brothers.

He then handed Y.N. a carton of Capri Sun, and she cheered, “You remembered!”

Aemond blushed slightly. “I got a couple stashed in the fridge just in case after you said you were craving them. Oh, and a jar of pickles too.”

Aegon and Daeron immediately started laughing.

“Awww, aren’t you sweet,” Daeron teased.

“Shut up,” Aemond muttered, his cheeks still tinged with pink.

Aegon smirked, turning to Y.N. “You know how to play poker, right?”

“Of course,” she said confidently. “My grandfather taught me.”

They each settled in with their cards, the atmosphere light and playful.

After a few moments, Aegon glanced at Aemond with a mischievous grin. “So, when are you going to tell mother she’s going to have a grandchild?”

Aemond leaned back slightly in his chair, glancing at Y.N. “I was planning to tell her this weekend-if Y.N.’s okay with that.”

Y.N. nodded. “Yeah, it’s about time she knew she’s going to be a grandmother.”

Aemond looked relieved. “I’d like you to come with me when I tell her,” he added. “I know she’s met you before, but I think it would be better if you were with me.”

Before Y.N. could respond, Daeron muttered under his breath, “Just make sure Grandsire isn’t there.”

Aemond shot him a sharp look. “What did you say that for, you bloody moron?”

Y.N. raised a curious eyebrow. “Why?” she asked, sensing there was more to the story.

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My grandsire isn’t exactly thrilled that my relationship with Alys is over. He’s worried it’ll mess up some business deals we have with Larys.”

“I thought Otto didn’t work for Targaryen Inc. anymore?” Y.N. asked, confused.

“He doesn’t. He was fired after Rhaenyra took over from our father,” Aemond explained. “But he thinks he can still run the company through me since I’m a partner.”

Y.N. snorted. “Sounds like someone has issues letting go.”

Aegon snickered. “Never a truer word spoken.”

“It’s a pain in the arse” muttered Aemond.

“Alright, alright, enough boring talk,” Aegon interrupted, clapping his hands. “What’s really important is what we’re having for dinner. I’m starving.”

Y.N. chuckled. “We were just about to order before you guys showed up.” She stood up with her cards still in hand, making sure no one peeked. “Aegon, what are you in the mood for?”

With a cheeky grin, Aegon replied, “Whatever you’re offering, darling.”

Aemond scowled, but Aegon ignored him and sauntered over to Y.N., leaning over to look at the menus with her.

As they scanned their options, Aemond’s eye never left them, watching his brother like a hawk.

Daeron noticed and nudged Aemond. “Chill out, bro. He’s just standing there.”

Aemond huffed. “Too close for my liking.”

“She’s pregnant with your baby. She’s not interested in Aegon,” Daeron reassured him, rolling his eyes.

Aemond hummed in agreement but still took a sip of his beer, his eye fixed on them until Y.N. and Aegon returned with a decision.

“Chinese,” Y.N. announced with a smile.

Daeron groaned. “We had Chinese last time we were here!”

Aegon shot back, “Yeah, but we didn’t get to finish it because Aemond kicked us out when Alys came over.”

Daeron sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, let’s just order. I’m starving too.”

Y.N. decided to write down everyone’s orders to keep it simple, and after about fifteen minutes, the Chinese food was successfully ordered.

Whilst they waited for the food they resumed their game and soon, Y.N. was laying her cards down on the table. “Royal flush.”

Aegon slammed his cards down in disbelief. “How the hell—?!”

Daeron burst out laughing, applauding her. “Impressive.”

Aemond grinned, proud and impressed. Aegon, not willing to admit defeat, demanded a rematch. “Another game! I’m not losing like that.”

Y.N. accepted the challenge, and as Daeron began dealing the cards, she stood up to get another drink.

On her way back, she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Aemond’s lips. He blushed, his brothers noticing and immediately nudging each other with smirks.

Aegon chuckled under his breath. “You two are sickeningly cute.”

Daeron snickered. “Yeah, keep it up, and we might just need to get a bucket.”

The night was filled with laughter and light-hearted teasing, though it seemed Aegon was having the hardest time accepting defeat.

After losing yet another round of poker to Y.N., he threw his cards down dramatically, declaring, “You’re cheating! There’s no way you’re this good.”

Aemond rolled his eye, smirking. “Just because you’re terrible at poker doesn’t mean Y.N.’s cheating. If it wasn’t her, you’d be losing to me, and you know it.”

Aegon stuck his tongue out. “You lost to her too, you tool.”

“So what? At least I’m not throwing a tantrum over it.” Aemond’s tone was calm, but the grin on his face was clear provocation.

The Chinese food they had ordered arrived just in time to distract from the bickering, and it was quickly devoured. Aegon, true to form, kept trying to steal food off Y.N.’s plate.

“Try it again, and I’ll stab you with my fork,” Y.N. warned, her voice playful but with a hint of seriousness. “I don’t share food.”

Aegon pouted. “But I want one of your prawn toasts.”

“If you wanted prawn toast, you should’ve ordered your own,” Y.N. retorted, grinning at him as she guarded her plate.

Aegon huffed. “But you shared your onion bhajis with Aemond, and he didn’t order any!”

Y.N. raised an eyebrow, her hand resting protectively over her food. “He’s the father of my child. Special privileges.”

Aegon rolled his eyes dramatically but relented, going back to his own food with a pout, much to everyone’s amusement.

After dinner, Y.N. decided to sit out the last round of poker, even though Aemond protested. “Leave the dishes. You don’t have to do that.”

But Y.N. insisted, washing up the dishes and tossing the takeout cartons, while the others finished their game. By the time she was done, Aemond had emerged victorious, as expected, while Aegon sulked.

“You two are definitely in on this together,” Aegon grumbled. “I’m sure you’re plotting against me, conspiring with one another-”

Daeron shook his head, laughing. “It’s a game of poker Aegon, not Game of Thrones”

As the night drew to a close, Aemond glanced at the time. “It’s getting late. You two should head out.”

Aegon, never one to miss an opportunity for innuendo, smirked. “Oh, got something else planned, do we?”

Before Aemond could respond, Y.N. cut in with a teasing grin. “Yes, actually, we do. And no, Aegon, you can’t watch.”

Daeron burst into laughter while Aegon held his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But we should do this again soon. Next time, we should invite Helaena.”

Y.N. smiled, nodding in agreement. “That sounds fun. I’d love that.”

After bidding Aegon and Daeron goodnight, much to Aemond’s annoyance, Aegon insisted on giving Y.N. a hug before leaving.

She humoured him, but as soon as the door clicked shut, Aemond’s patience snapped, and he was pulling her into a passionate kiss.

“You drive me crazy,” Aemond murmured against her lips, his voice low and husky.

“Good,” Y.N. whispered back, a smile curving on her lips as she pressed forward and claimed his lips in another kiss.

Aemond couldn’t help the small groan that escaped his lips as Y.N’s tongue slid against his.

Aemond slowly moved his hands down Y.N’s body before roughly grasping her ass and hauling her up against the door.

Y.N whimpered, gripping at Aemond’s shoulders as he slotted himself between her legs, his tongue still invading her mouth.

Aemond presses himself against the apex of Y.N’s thighs, and he growls like an animal when she reaches down and palms his hard cock over his jeans.

“Fuck-“ groans Aemond as he begins grinding his clothed cock against her.

“Someone’s eager” whispered Y.N as she flicked her tongue against the corner of Aemond’s mouth.

“Oh, you have no idea” quipped Aemond as she spun her off the door and carried her to his bed.

Soon their clothes are abandoned in a haphazard heap on the floor and Aemond was laid between Y.N open legs moving his fingers through her dripping folds as he expertly devoured her with his mouth, his nose bumping against her pearl as fucked her with his tongue.

Gods, she tastes incredible.

Aemond loved performing oral sex on Y.N she was delicious in a way he’d never tasted before.

“Fuck,” squeaks Y.N as she grasps at the back of Aemond’s head, her fingers digging into his hair, holding him in place.

“You’re quite sensitive. Are you going to come already?” asked Aemond smugly.

Aemond alternates between using his fingers and tongue to bring Y.N to her peak.

Y.N arches her back as she comes, Aemond gently sucks on her pearl as she rides out the euphoria of her peak.

“Is that you done baby, or do you want more?” asked Aemond playfully, his chin shining with her slick.

“M-More, please” gasps Y.N as Aemond reaches forward and presses a singular kiss to her pearl before he quickly wipes his chin with his hand.

Aemond smirks as he removes his boxers, his hard cock slapping up against his abdomen, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

Aemond takes himself in hand and guides his hard cock to Y.N entrance, pushing in slowly and pausing to give himself a moment.

Gods she was so wet and tight.

After pressing a gentle kiss to Y.N’s lips, Aemond pulls out slowly and slides back in, his pace gentle and steady.

“Oh-please Aemond-Harder-” whimpered Y.N.

Aemond lets out a pleased grunt and thrusts into Y.N harder, smiling as she lets out a yelp of surprise.

Soon he was moving inside her with a series of sharp hard thrusts, as much as he wanted to fuck her into the mattress, he didn’t want to harm the baby.

Y.N moaned desperately, as she moved her hips to meet his, attempting to allow his cock to reach deeper within her.

Aemond gets the hint, and quickly lifts Y.N’s legs over his shoulders, using the new angle to drive his cock a little deeper than before.

“Tell me how it feels-tell me how my cock feels” demands Aemond.

“It’s good, so good-yes-yes, right there”

Y.N praises sets something off inside Aemond as he continues to thrust into her, the headboard banging against the wall.

“Aemond, please, I’m close” whimpers Y.N.

Aemond moves a hand down to where the two of them are joined, and rubs Y.N’s pearl in quick circles, dragging her closer the edge of the precipice.

“I never want to leave this sweet pussy–fuck,” groans Aemond as he marks each of his words in tandem with a snap of his hips.

Y.N come with a loud, scream, her body shaking underneath Aemond’s as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“J-Just a little longer-fuck” groans Aemond as he thrusts into Y.N three more times before reaching his own peak, spilling rope after rope of seed inside her.

After a few moments, Aemond gently moves Y.N’s legs from his shoulders, his chest heaving with every breath he takes.

“I-I wasn’t too rough, was I?” asked Aemond.

“No. I-It was wonderful” exclaimed Y.N, her body shaking slightly.

Aemond smirks as he slowly removes his softened cock from her slick cunt, his singular eye fixated on the drops of seed that spill out.

He takes a finger to Y.N’s opening and pushes his seed back inside, delighting in her moan of surprise. He leans over to press a gentle kiss to her lips, before bringing his finger to his own mouth and sucking it clean.

Aemond laid down on the bed and pulled Y.N to him.

“Not tired, are you?” asked Aemond curiously as Y.N laid her head on his chest and began running her fingers through the sparse hair that graced his chest.

Y.N looked at him and smiled as she shook her head.

“Good, because I plan to fuck you so many times tonight that you cannot walk tomorrow”.

 “Promises, promises” replied Y.N.

Y.N stood in front of her wardrobe; frustration etched on her face as she rummaged through the sea of clothes. Every outfit she tried on felt wrong, and with every rejected option, her anxiety about seeing Alicent only grew.

Aemond, sitting calmly on the edge of her bed, watched with quiet amusement, his eye following her frantic movements.

"You look beautiful in anything," he said, his voice soft, trying to ease her stress.

Y.N shot him a look of disbelief, tugging at the hem of a dress she had just discarded. “Of course you’d say that”.

With a playful roll of his eye, Aemond slid off the bed and approached her wardrobe. “Fine, I’ll help,” he muttered, thumbing through the hangers thoughtfully.

After a moment, he pulled out a blue chiffon lace midi dress, holding it up for her approval. “Here. Try this.”

Y.N eyed it for a moment before slipping it on. She checked herself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric over her figure.

After a few moments of contemplation, she nodded, satisfied. “You’ve got good taste,” she admitted, finishing her hair and makeup before stepping into a pair of heels.

She turned to him. “What do you think?”

Aemond’s gaze softened as he looked at her, admiration clear in his eye. “You look beautiful,” he said sincerely, stepping closer to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

With that, they headed out, climbing into his car for the thirty-minute drive to his mother’s.

The entire ride, Y.N’s nerves churned. She had been to the manor many times and had met Alicent before, but this time felt different.

She squeezed Aemond’s hand, seeking comfort, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze in return, sensing her unease.

When they arrived at the grand Targaryen manor, Y.N took a deep breath before stepping out of the car. Hand in hand, they entered the house, greeted by Alicent’s warm smile.

Aemond’s mood darkened slightly as he spotted his grandsire, Otto Hightower, seated in the drawing room.

“Y.N, would you like a drink?” Alicent offered kindly, and Y.N gratefully accepted a glass of orange juice. Aemond declined any alcohol, as he was driving.

As they sat down at the table, the air was initially filled with polite conversation. Otto, however, quickly turned to Aemond with a thin smile. “So, how are things at Targaryen Inc.? Any updates?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened slightly. “I’d prefer not to discuss work right now,” he said coolly, making it clear he wasn’t in the mood for business talk.

Alicent, sensing the tension, turned her attention to Y.N. “It’s been a while since I last saw you. How have you been? What have you been working on lately?”

Y.N relaxed slightly, smiling as she answered. “I’ve been busy finishing a piece for the local museum. I’m almost done with it.”

Before she could elaborate, Otto cut in. “And what is it you do again?” His tone was laced with thinly veiled condescension.

Y.N remained composed. “I’m a restoration artist. I work primarily at Howlett’s Bookstore, but I do commissions for other places as well.”

“A bookstore?” Otto sneered.

“Yes,” Y.N replied evenly. “I restore old books.”

Otto looked unimpressed, but before he could say more, Alicent interjected with a curious smile. “That sounds fascinating. Restoring old books must be quite the delicate process.”

“It is,” Y.N agreed, relaxing a bit more. “It can be time-consuming, depending on the book's condition, but it’s incredibly rewarding when I see the final result.”

Aemond leaned in, his voice filled with pride. “She’s incredibly talented. I’ve seen photos of her work—she can bring even the most damaged pieces back to life.”

Alicent’s smile widened. “Do you restore jewellery as well?”

“I do,” Y.N nodded.

Alicent stood from the table, disappearing briefly before returning with a small box. “This brooch belonged to my mother, Alyrie. It was passed down to her by her grandmother, but over the years, it’s become discoloured.” She opened the box to reveal the intricate brooch. “I was wondering if you could restore it.”

Y.N took the box gently, studying the brooch. “I can restore it, no problem.”

Alicent looked relieved. “Thank you. I’ll pay you, of course.”

Y.N shook her head with a smile. “No need, I’m happy to do it.”

At that moment, Y.N nudged Aemond gently in the ribs, urging him.

Aemond cleared his throat, glancing between his mother and Y.N before blurting out, “Y.N is pregnant.”

Alicent blinked, clearly surprised but processing the news quickly. “Are you two getting married?” she asked, her gaze shifting between them.

“No,” Aemond replied, “but we’re committed to raising the baby together.”

Otto, however, looked scandalized. “It’s unacceptable,” he snapped. “A child born out of wedlock—this is disgraceful.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his patience thinning. “This isn’t the dark ages, grandsire. My child will still have the Targaryen name.”

“It won’t be a true Targaryen,” Otto shot back coldly.

Aemond’s anger flared. “Why not? The baby will have my blood and my name. A piece of paper won’t change that.”

“How could you have been so careless?” Otto demanded, his eyes narrowing. “Or did she get pregnant on purpose?” His gaze flicked dismissively to Y.N., who gasped in shock.

Aemond stood abruptly, furious. “Y.N. is no gold digger. We spent the night together, and we didn’t use precautions. It’s as simple as that.”

The argument escalated, Otto criticizing Aemond for ending his relationship with Alys, claiming it would jeopardize business ties with Larys Strong. The tension in the room mounted until Alicent finally intervened.

“While I’m not thrilled about the two of you not getting married,” Alicent said calmly, “I’m happy to welcome my first grandchild.”

Otto, still fuming, spat, “It’s unacceptable.”

Aemond glared at his grandsire. “It’s not your life. It’s mine. And my mother’s approval is the only one I care about.”

Turning to Alicent, Aemond softened. “I’m sorry, Mother, but we won’t be staying for dinner.”

He took Y.N.’s hand, and led her out of the manor, his anger still simmering as they left Otto behind.

As they left the Targaryen manor, Y.N. felt a heavy silence settle between her and Aemond. The argument with Otto had rattled her more than she wanted to admit.

The tension, the judgment—it all weighed heavily on her. She stared out the window of the car, her mind racing.

"Aemond-" she began quietly, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, unsure. "Can you just take me home?"

Aemond glanced at her, concern evident in his expression. "Y.N., are you alright?" He reached for her hand, but she gently pulled away.

"I just-I need to be alone," she said, her voice faltering. "Please."

Aemond hesitated, the hurt flashing briefly in his eye, but he respected her request. He nodded silently and drove toward her flat, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he fought the urge to push her for more.

He could feel the emotional distance growing between them, and it made him uneasy.

When they arrived, Y.N. unclipped her seatbelt hastily. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the door handle as if she wanted to say something, but the words never came.

Instead, she glanced at him with an apologetic expression. "Thank you for taking me home."

Before Aemond could reply, she slipped out of the car and hurried toward her building. Aemond watched her rush inside, his heart sinking as she disappeared from view.

Aemond had spent the past week in a fog of frustration and anxiety, the silence from Y.N. gnawing at him like a wound that refused to heal.

His texts to her had gone unanswered, and every day without a reply made him question if he'd somehow lost her.

He considered going to her flat multiple times but ultimately decided against it, fearing that showing up unannounced might only push her further away.

Even his usual game night with Aegon and Daeron provided no relief—without Y.N. there and Helaena refusing to join, the nights were hollow.

His foul mood grew so unbearable that Aegon and Daeron eventually kicked him out of their flat, tired of his snapping and sourness.

The breaking point came when Aemond, still seething with anger at his grandsire, drove to his mother’s house to confront Otto.

The confrontation erupted into another fierce argument, with accusations flying until Aemond, overwhelmed with fury, punched a wall, splitting his knuckles open.

He hadn’t even felt the pain, only the burning rage that filled him. His mother, had gently cleaned and bandaged his hand afterwards, her touch soothing but her words even more so.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper,” Aemond muttered, his voice low and ashamed.

Alicent had looked at him with that patient, understanding gaze. “I understand. What your grandsire said was unacceptable”

“I-I just don’t know what to do mother” whispered Aemond.

“You need to tell Y.N how you feel."

Aemond shook his head, his voice raw with uncertainty. “I’m in love with her, mother. But I’m terrified. What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Alicent had smiled softly. “-I remember when Y.N first came here, Helaena had asked if she could bring a friend home from school-it wasn’t too long after you’d lost your eye, and you were worried what people would say about your scar-”

Aemond shuddered at the memory of being so scared and insecure, consistently hiding in his room, not wanting anyone to look at him.

“-It was Y.N who managed to get you out of your room” said Alicent softly.

Aemond remembered that day very well, he’d caught sight of Y.N in the gardens with Helaena.

The sound of her laughter and the mesmerized look on her face as a butterfly landed on her outstretched hand.

His sister had never brought a friend home before as everyone thought she was odd, and despite his insecurity, he found himself wanting to go outside.

He kept the left side of his face hidden as best he could, when Helaena introduced him to Y.N, but a sudden gust of wind had blown the hood from his head and exposed his scar to Y.N.

Aemond had rushed to cover his face, feeling absolutely mortified, but Y.N stopped him, she gently took his hand and told him not to hide, that his scar showed that he was brave.

“I was so grateful to her-” said Alicent smiling.

Aemond smiled back, of course Y.N became a regular visitor, having sleep overs with Helaena, and befriending Aegon and Daeron.

But his insecurity still loomed over him like a shadow and as he got older, he convinced himself that despite her gentle nature Y.N would never reciprocate his feelings and instead he pushed her away.

He was mean and unkind to her, but he rationalized his treatment of her due to the fact that she was so damn annoying, especially in their classes, hand in the air always eager to answer.

He simultaneously loved and hated that smug look she would get on her face when she bested him.

“-I always noticed that whenever she was here, your gaze would linger on her as if she was the only one in the room-” whispered Alicent.

“I was so horrible to her though-“ muttered Aemond.

“-Yes, you were, and I cursed your stupidity many times, for I could see how hopelessly in love with her you were-”

Aemond had leaned into his mother, placing his head on her shoulder, in a show of vulnerability.

“If anyone was going to have your child, I’m glad it’s Y.N but you should tell her how you feel, who knows, she could feel the same way-”

"I hope so," Aemond had whispered back.

Days later, as he worked out in his penthouse, trying to clear his mind, his phone buzzed with a message from Y.N. His heart leaped in his chest.

It was brief but enough to send his pulse racing: I’ve finished restoring your mother’s brooch. I’ll bring it by later.

Aemond had never showered so quickly in his life. He rushed to tidy the penthouse, making sure everything looked perfect before the knock on the door came.

When he opened it, there she was—standing there as beautiful as ever. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her.

“Come in,” he said, his voice betraying how desperately he’d missed her.

Y.N. stepped inside, and there was an awkward tension between them, a mix of uncertainty and emotions that had built up over the week. She opened her bag and pulled out a small box, handing it to him.

“I hope she likes it,” she said quietly.

Aemond opened the box carefully, and his breath hitched. The brooch, once dull and discoloured, was now vibrant and radiant, as if it had just been made.

It was stunning. His mother would love it.

“This is incredible,” he whispered, placing the box down. “Thank you. My mother will be overjoyed.”

Y.N. nodded, her eyes flickering with emotion. Aemond noticed her hesitation and stepped closer, his worry mounting.

“I texted you,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I was worried. I didn’t want to show up unannounced and make things worse, but—”

“I’m sorry,” Y.N. interrupted, her voice trembling. “I just needed time to think.”

Aemond felt a pang of dread settle in his chest. His mind raced, preparing for the worst. Was she about to break things off?

Which in hindsight was odd as they weren’t officially dating. His heart pounded as he watched her eyes well with tears, bracing himself for the words he was terrified of hearing.

“W-What happened with your grandsire really upset me-,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “-b-but it was wrong of me to shut you out, it wasn’t your fault a-and I’ve really missed you this week-”

Aemond moved forward and pulled her in his arms, kissing her with a passion that made the world around them disappear.

“I missed you too” he breathed against her lips, kissing her again, happy to have her in his arms once more.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Oh-I had an argument with my grandsire and lost my temper” replied Aemond.

“Did you hit him?”

“No-I took my frustration out on a wall” said Aemond his breath hitching as Y.N took his bandaged hand and placed a kiss on the knuckles.

“M-My grandfather used to call it a healing kiss,” said Y.N  softly.

Their gazes locked and Aemond could feel his stomach churning, as Y.N leaned closer to him and kissed him, her hands sliding into his long hair.

“Can I?”

Aemond nodded and sighed as he felt her slowly unclasp his eyepatch, her thumb caressing his scarred cheek.

“Y.N-” muttered Aemond.

“You’ve always been beautiful” breathed Y.N as her lips met his.

The next morning, as they laid in bed together, Aemond gently ran his hand over her stomach, smiling at the slight swell he could feel.

The thought of their baby growing there filled him with a sense of awe and excitement. They had another appointment with the midwives soon, and he was already counting down the days.

He wondered when they could start going baby shopping, His spare room had already been cleared out, a blank canvas ready to be transformed into a nursery for their little one.

He imagined what it might look like—crib, toys, soft colours—his heart warming at the thought.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table, and a quick glance told him he was late for work. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t leaving the warmth of this bed, not today.

A rare day off was in order; he wanted to savour every moment with Y.N., who was still fast asleep beside him.

As he lay there, his thoughts wandered. When was the right time to tell her that he was in love with her? And more importantly did she feel the same?

Aemond knew that, for him, the feelings had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. Y.N. had gotten under his skin in a way no one ever had.

With a small smile, he closed his eye again, intending to sleep a little longer, but when he woke up later, the bed beside him was empty.

His heart skipped a beat, and he called her name. No answer. Getting out of bed, he pulled on a pair of boxers and sighed in relief when he found her in the kitchen, pacing as she talked on the phone.

She was wearing one of his shirts, and the sight of her in it drove him mad in the best way possible.

The top buttons were undone, offering a teasing glimpse of her breasts, and the hem barely grazed her bum, leaving him aching with desire.

How was it possible to want someone this much?

His thoughts were interrupted when she giggled, and he caught her saying Aegon’s name.

Aemond frowned, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway, waiting for her to finish.

Why was she talking to his brother? After a few more moments, Y.N. hung up the phone, turning around to see Aemond glaring at her.

“Why were you on the phone with my brother?” Aemond demanded, the irritation clear in his voice.

Y.N. raised an eyebrow, her expression amused. “Because he’s also my friend.”

“Do you talk to him often?” Aemond’s question was laced with suspicion.

Y.N. shrugged casually. “We usually text every so often. He called because he was going to McDonald's and offered to bring me one at work, but I told him I was here with you-”

Aemond huffed in annoyance, his lips pressing into a pout. Y.N. grinned at him.

“You’re cute when you pout,” she teased.

“I do not pout,” Aemond muttered, his scowl deepening.

Y.N. laughed, stepping closer and rising onto her toes to press a kiss to his nose. “Yes, you do. You’re doing it now.”

He tried to maintain his scowl, but her teasing was infectious.

As Y.N. brushed past him on her way to the bathroom, she glanced over her shoulder with a playful smile, as she began to unbutton the shirt she wore.

“I’m off to take a shower. Care to join me?” said Y.N as she removed the shirt and threw it at him.

At the sight of her naked body, Aemond’s sour mood vanished in an instant, a smirk spreading across his face.

“Oh, hell yes-” exclaimed Aemond as he followed her eagerly, his thoughts now consumed by the love and desire that only she could ignite in him.

And gods be good, fucking Y.N in the shower as the hot water cascaded over them, was incredible, and most definitely the perfect way to start the day.

Y.N. lay back on the midwife’s table, her heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Aemond sat beside her, his hand resting protectively over hers as the midwife pressed the doppler against her small but growing bump.

A few seconds passed in silence before the sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, a rapid and steady rhythm that echoed like the most beautiful music. Y.N. smiled softly, her eyes misting with emotion as she turned to look at Aemond.

"I can't believe that’s our baby," Aemond whispered, his excitement barely contained.

The midwife smiled as she moved on to measure Y.N.’s bump, jotting down notes as she continued the checkup. She tested Y.N.'s urine, reassuring them both that everything was progressing beautifully.

“The baby’s growing nicely, but your iron levels are a bit low,” the midwife added. “Try to eat more iron-rich foods, and at your next appointment, we’ll test your blood again. If your levels are still low, we’ll prescribe some iron tablets.”

Y.N. nodded, making a mental note as they booked their next appointment for the 20-week scan.

As they were leaving, they began discussing whether they should find out the gender of the baby.

"I don’t really want to know," Y.N. admitted, glancing at Aemond. "As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all that matters to me."

Aemond, however, seemed to have a different opinion. “I’d like to know,” he said thoughtfully. “I want to make a start on the nursery, get everything ready.”

Y.N. came to an abrupt stop in the hallway, her eyes widening as his words sank in. “Wait-what did you just say?” she asked.

Aemond blinked, momentarily unsure if he’d said something wrong. “I, uh, cleaned out one of my spare rooms-I was thinking of turning it into a nursery.”

For a moment, Y.N. just stared at him, and Aemond’s heart skipped a beat, wondering if he’d overstepped. But then, a wide smile broke across her face, and she reached up to kiss him softly.

“I love that,” she whispered against his lips.

“I just want everything to be perfect for our baby,” Aemond said, his relief evident in his voice.

Y.N. pulled back, her eyes gleaming with an idea. “What if-you find out the gender, and you do the nursery? Then, when it’s finished, you can surprise me with a sort of gender reveal.”

Aemond’s face lit up at the suggestion, a boyish excitement taking over. “That’s brilliant. I love it. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Y.N. smiled, resting her hand on her stomach. “It’s your baby, too.”

With a renewed sense of joy, Aemond suggested, “Let’s go shopping. We can make a list of everything we need for the nursery.”

Y.N. nodded, her heart swelling with love and excitement. Together, they walked out of the clinic, ready to embrace this next chapter in their journey.

TBC

[wishyouloveme]

The way of his frustration 👀18+

song rec: Feel you- faaruka

Warnings: HEAVY ASS FUCKING SMUT. MINORS DNI. swearing, Solo Sikoa (had to write him as a warning cuz tbh he ain't my fav rn), pet names, mentions of violence.

A/N note: I'm so sorry I've gone off the radar, but I'm back now! this isn't a story for minors, so pls get off my page if you are a minor. XOXO

Pairing: Solo Sikoa (Joseph Yokozuna Fatu) x Fem! reader

tags: @harmshake ❤️ @wrestlingprincess80 💗 @whatdoeseverybodywant 🩵

You knew almost automatically when you heard Roman's entrance music, your husband was going to come home fucking pissed.

Late on Saturday night, you we're watching summer Slam on the wide screen in the basement, wanting to see your man in action, and fuck was he looking good. maybe the bleached hair was growing on you...

You weren't aware of the script, not knowing Roman was going to come back and screw Solo out of the championship.

Swearing to yourself, you quickly make your way down to the basement. Once again, you were about to be late to watch the main event of summer Slam, except this time, it was your husband.

Sitting on the reclining chairs, you turned the TV on, tuning into the first fifteen minutes of his match, and already found yourself getting hot. The way he was throwing Cody around reminded you of the way he could pick you up and throw you.

You watched the match almost to the entirety, zoning out part of the time from thinking of your husband, you snapped out of your dazed moment when you heard the familiar entrance music.

"oh fuck."

With your eyes wide, you sit forward, watching the t.v with wide eyes, certain you hadn't gotten told about the script change.

After Solo's match, you found yourself needing to do other things, to calm yourself down, sexually and non. Your man had looked so fucking good, but you were so fucking pissed about how he hadn't gotten a fair chance at the title.

Closer to Monday he was finally on his way home, and you were so fucking excited.

You were sitting on the couch when you heard the front door open, and felt your heart stutter. Not because you were nervous, but because you could literally feel the tension and anger that rolled off of him in waves.

"hey baby" He groaned out, dropping his bags, and making his way over.

You bit your lip at the sound of his voice, rubbing your thighs together as he made his way over, leaning up to kiss him, your hands going to his hair.

"mm well that's a nice welcome home" He chuckled deeply, his hand going to your chin as he kissed you back.

"you want dinner?" You ask after the heated kiss, watching him, although if he says yes, you might just jump on him anyways.

"hm that depends, are you my dinner?" He smirks to you, lifting you up by your thighs, pulling you close.

You laugh at the sudden movement and the implication of his words, before you hum quietly "well I'm making quesadilla's, but I could be your dinner if you need"

He kisses you, slowly making his way to the bedroom, moving a little slower due to the match on saturday.

He pulls away to throw you onto the bed, pulling his shirt over his head as he watches you with dark eyes.

You scurry up to the headboard, pulling off your shirt and your breath hitches as you saw his chest. "my beautiful man" you whisper softly, tugging him closer by the waistband on his pants.

"All you mama's" He groans out, kissing you again, taking his pants off quickly, needing to be inside of you as fucking quickly as he could be.

Tugging your pants off, you threw them to the side, not caring about where they landed.

You pulled away from the kiss to run your hand through the buzz cut, and your breath hitches as you look into his eyes. "my fucking tribal chief" you whisper to him. His eyes darken a considerable amount and he grabs your hips, flipping you over, ignoring the tiny squeak of surprise that had come from your throat.

"I'll buy a new pair" You were entirely confused at what he meant, until you felt your underwear get literally torn down the middle. "You rip my bra, i will kill you" You warn, your breath hitching when you felt a warm tounge press against your clit. He chuckles, the vibrations dancing off his tounge onto your clit, making you whine quietly. "Solo" you whine out, backing up more. "I'm gonna eat this fuckin' pussy like a starvin' man" was your only warning before you felt his tounge enter you, making you gasp and your eyes roll back, holding onto the pillow.

He smirks from behind you, pushing a hand up and cupping your breast, licking your clit, before plunging his tounge into you again, starting to eat you out. You moan out, throwing your head down against the pillow, moaning into it. He gently nips at your clit, making you gasp and whimper, slowly becoming a writhing mess under him.

"that's my girl, c'mon" He growls into your pussy, bringing a hand back to smack your ass, making you whimper as you close your eyes. "C'mon baby, don't you wanna make me feel better? cum for me" He growls to you, continuing to eat you out. He did this thing with his tounge where he quickly flicks it up and down, and it made you see stars. "Oh shit, fuck, solo-" You moan out, grinding your hips back against his face.

With a sudden groan, he pulled back, flipping you over again as he leans down, kissing you. You moan at the taste of him and you, wrapping your legs around his waist, feeling the material of his boxers. He chuckles, hearing your whine about him having his boxers on still "breathe, mama's" He hums, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, and down your arm, before kissing the side of your stomach, his fingers tracing circles into your bra cup "should I take this off?" He teases, pressing a kiss to the cup.

"please" You whine impatiently, thrusting your hips against his clothed hardness.

He bites his lip as he leans back, grabbing her bra and slowly moving around to the back of it, unclipping it and pulling it off, groaning at the sight of your tits. "shit baby." You blush, whining needily as he leans down, licking and nipping at your right nipple. He chuckles, and massages the other one, going up and kissing you. "you want my dick mama's?" You nod roughly, whining and tugging at the roots of his hair, before you try to use your foot to push down his boxers.

He chuckles at your eagerness, reaching down and un tangling your legs around his waist, before getting off the bed and taking off his boxers.

Your breath hitched at the sheer size of him, 8 inches fully rock hard, precum on the tip that you almost outwardly moaned out, missing him. almost drooling at the beautiful brown color of his dick.

He gets back onto the bed, leaning down to kiss you as he pushes his hand down your body, feeling at your pussy. "shit baby, your wet as fuck." He groans into your mouth, before he sits back, disconnecting the kiss as he leans back on his heels. He grabs your ankles, before slowly pulling you closer, wrapping your legs around his hips. "you ready, Angel?" You nod, watching as he slowly kisses your stomach, hissing at the stretch when he slowly pushes in, whining quietly. "shit no matter how much we do this, you're always so fuckin' tight." He hisses through his teeth at the feeling of you clenching around him, his hips stuttering before he fully pushed into you. You moan out, tightening your legs around him "shit, baby" You moan, leaning up to kiss him, trailing your nails up his back.

He kisses you back, grabbing at your hair, and slowly pushing you back down, starting to move his hips slowly, moaning at how good you felt "fuck Mama's"

You tighten around him, instantly cumming at the feeling of him "holy f-fuck" you whimper out, your nails digging into his back.

He smirks and picks up his pace, leaning down by your ear as he grunts and swears "who's your tribal chief, hm?" He groans into you ear, gasping as he keeps thrusting. "f-fuck you are!" The minute he heard that he pushes deeper into you, cumming. You moan out, your muscles starting to strain, exhaling softly when he collapsed onto you, but freezing as you smelt something burning. "whats that?" he asks quietly, not even lifting his head. "oh fuck...the quesadilla's!"

[bellarkeselection]

His Compass of Harrenhal part 4

Part 3

- do y'all want one more part to this mini series???

Tag list - @only4thefics @superintenseart @universallyrascaldreamercookie @uniquecroissant @vavafaure1994

Daemon and I silently stood there just staring at the old caretaker of the crumbling castle.  The weight of the words that had just come from his mouth was very clear in the forefront of our minds.  I knew that this day would come, but I never imagined that it would be as sudden as this.  This visitor was not simply us meeting a friend for a chat. No, this was the Dragon Queen Rhaeynra Targareyon.

She is a fierce dragon and I am simply a fish out of water.  She could kill me probably without even blinking and walk away if she wished to.

She is also Daemon's former wife or maybe in her eyes they are still together.  There's no possible way that she knows about me.

"Daemon, what do you think she's going to do to me?" I mumbled lifting my head up slightly with a very nervous expression crossing my features.

He squeezed his fingers into my hips where his hands were resting on my body. "I don't know.  But you shouldn't worry your head about it."

"But she's your wife."

His bright purple eyes meet my gaze. "Y/n, don't worry about it because I will make sure she doesn't touch you or the baby in any capacity."

"Daemon! She's your wife. She needs you to get the support of the lords of the realm. I don't help give her any assistance-"

He covered my mouth with his right hand closing most of the gap that was still between us.  His voice went deeper yet remained in the gentle side that he only showed around me.  "Listen to me, little fish.  You are important to me.  I wouldn't have the support of the Riverlands if it wasn't for you.  So I never want to hear you say she doesn't owe you anything when she does owe you some grattitude."

"I'm still afraid, Daemon." I whispered to him under my breath.  The dragon prince nodded his head wrapping his strong arms gently around my waist, bringing me in closer.

Simon, who was standing in the doorway spoke up once before announcing his presence.  "My king, my lady, we should address the princess before she wastes anymore time."

"You should go.  I'll stay back-"

"You won't dare do any such thought.  We're in this together you and I.  I want you by my side."

"I wasn't expecting you."

Rhaenyra eyed her husband then the crowd of men behind him. "Seems rather a lapse in foresight.  I see you have done well here."

"They are sworn to me and not a moment too soon." Daemon admitted to her proudly, knowing she needed this army to have any chance of getting the Iron Throne.

Rhaenyra lifted her head up slightly to send him a deep glare asking the question.  "And to whom are you sworn?"

"The world is not what we thought it was.  This war is just the beginning.  Winter is Coming with darkness and doom.  ( Se vys iksos daor skoros īlon thought ziry istan. Bisa vīlībāzma iksos sepār se beginning. Sōnar māzis rūsīr darkness se vējes.)"

Rhaenyra made a confused expression.  "You sound like my father. ( Ao sound raqagon issa kepa.)"

"I saw that we cannot withstand it..and yet, somehow we must. ( Nyke ūndan bona īlon daor withstand ziry. Se yet, somehow īlon līs.)" Daemon clicks his tongue glancing over his shoulder at me for a brief second before looking back at her.  He lowered himself down onto one knee catching her by slight surprise. "The realm's only hope is a leader who can unite it.  And my brother chose you.  You are the true Queen.  Rhaenyra, the first of her name, Protector of the Realm.  I am meant to serve you and all of these with me until death or the end of our story."

Slowly every single lord around me bent down on one knee to address her properly as their Queen.  I placed one hand on my swollen stomach and did the best I could to be down on one knee like the others. Squinting my eyes I was still trying to understand what they were saying in High Valyrian, I was still learning the language from Daemon. "Leave me again at your peril. ( Henujagon issa arlī rȳ aōha peril.)"

"I could not. I tried. ( Nyke could daor. Nyke sylutan.)" Daemon rose from the stone ground addressing her before her dragon made a noise.  "My Queen."

"For every one of us who falls a hundred of them.  There will be no mercy." Daemon put his back to the two of us, drawing his sword out and declaring to the massive crowd of men.  "We fight for our Queen!"

The crowd drew their swords and cheered alongside him till Rhaenyra noticed me standing at the front of the crowd with my hands resting on my stomach and I was only really looking at her husband.  "Daemon, who in the realm is the pregnant woman standing before me?"

"You're grace..." I nervously bowed my head down to address the dragon queen before me.

The queen slowly walked forward scanning her eyes down my body and held her eyes solely on my pregnant belly.  "What is your name, my lady?"

"Y/n Tully, your grace." I simply responded to her.

She questioned back softly.  "Who is the father of the babe in your belly, Lady Tully?"

"Um.  I must admit I am not comfortable sharing that information, your grace." I lowered my gaze from hers and accidentally took a few steps away from her showing I was afraid of her next response.

Rhaenyra bites her lip in a tight line.  "Daemon, I demand to know what else you have been doing here while working to secure me an army of Riverlands men and I demand to know now!" 

"Rhaenyra, she's my - the baby growing in her womb belongs to me." Daemon placed his sword back inside its holder coming over to the two of us.

The dragon queen clicked her tongue.  "There's more you're leaving out.  Tell me now."

"She's my wife." Daemon finally mutters under his breath.  This caused everyone else in the crowd to gasp and take large steps backwards in utter shock.

Rhaenyra whipped her head around glaring at me and I shut my eyes thinking she would lay a hand on me.  Yet when I heard a harsh smack where I peaked one eye opened seeing Daemon holding his cheek with one hand.  "You promised me you'd be loyal to me.  You led me on when I was a child and I believed you and yet you still do this.  You betray my trust by marrying and bedding another woman!"

"I now see what my brother saw in you when he named you heir.  I see that you will be the realm's protector even if you no longer are the object of my desire." Daemon made his way past his former wife stopping directly in front of me.  He cupped my face in his hands resting his forehead against his.  "I've never thought that a woman would change me, make me truly care about her safety, want to bear her children and not simply to further my house.  She brings out the best version of me."

"And where does your loyalty stand, Y/n Tully?" The black Queen questioned me after we had broken away and I was standing beside my dragon husband.

"My loyalty will be to your cause, my Queen." I gave her the best curtsy I could, sending her a weak smile.

Rhaenyra glared at me and her former husband but bravery pushed her jealousy aside knowing we had bigger problems if she wished to take her throne back from her half brothers.  "Our focus needs to be on getting my throne back from the Greens.  But don't think for a moment that this conversation is over between the three of us." She spun on her heels being escorted into a separate room by Simon leaving me, Daemon and the lords behind us all thrown for a loop by how she ended the conversation.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

Prologue

tags: prince gojo x princess f!reader, arranged marriage au, mentions of abuse from reader's family, tw: she is yelled at and stuck, her name is lia ravencrest (oc), gojo will appear in the next part

series masterlist (to be updated soon)

"his majesty satoru gojo has pledged his support in exchange for lady Ravencrest's hand in marriage." your family turns, stunned to see you speak with a crumbled letter in the fist of your hand. "he calls for nothing in return, only wishing to unite both kingdoms under one. his family asks the Ravencrest's that lady Ravencrest live alongside her husband, as it has been for customary "

"so it's settled." your stepfather, crowned king of your wing of the kingdom announces. "you shall marry into the gojo clan."

"we must commence the wedding plans." your mother chimes, "she'll look beautiful in lunaris silk."

you watch, hurt and deflated as the two adults discuss your parents until you interrupt, "Is my presence here so insignificant that you plan my life without a word to me?”

the regret fills your body as soon as you are thrown inside your room by your stepfather. your mother's cries muffled by the large doors of your room held back by servants per order of the king. he strikes.

"you ungrateful petulant being!" the man roars, "have you forgotten? It is I who picked you out of the shit! no one wanted to marry your mother but me! and I took care of your mouth, fed you, and you dare disobey me?!" his screams leave you silent, trembling as his hands point at you. "you have truly shamed us. go ahead and say no. deny the prince! say no! go on, if you say you have no voice then use it. we'll send you off to a whorehouse. maybe that is where you belong." whenever he acts like that and leaves, the servant girls peek. they're too shy, maybe too scared to approach you, but they always leave you water and something cold to soothe the pain in your cheek.

"his majesty gojo will be fortunate to have a bride like you." says a servant girl, brushing your hair the next morning, "my lady is too kind, far too gentle."

"have you heard word of his majesty?" you ask, knowing she might not have any knowledge, but hopeful. "what is he like?"

"none from me, but one of the house ladies says she spoke to the gojo clan messenger. it is said he is fair tempered, a good head on his neck."

you hum, clearly not so pleased with limited information. was that all? fear thumped along your heart. what if he was like your stepfather? what if he was better? if he was, could he change into something worse? continue as your mother but worse?

"darina," you speak, the name of your servant girl with such softness. your memory was far better than your mother's, able to know nearly everyone's from the castle, "do you think... my stepfather... is cruel?" she exhales.

"his lordship has... firm character, yet I believe he has an interest to improve the reputation of the family."

"I didn't ask if he was cruel to the crown, rina. I asked if he was cruel to his family."

"he... he could be kinder. that I am certain. it pains me to see my lady sad."

"don't worry." you say, "I have already accepted the marriage. in 30 days I shall become bride to the next king of the north. I may be a princess, but no one shall touch me as queen."

[ibunyang]

pirate au go brr. sorry quick lore drop about this au

so it starts with moleswift(DUH...) as pirates they were first mate and his captain (swifts) captain, they were probs looking for something to make them immortal idk fountain of youth pirates of the Caribbean core, they find it they drink from the fountain and mike dies almost instantly compared to norton and he has to get traumatized to see him die in his arms

Norton realizes he is immortal under the full moon like he's full skelly under the light, so he's just actually a dead man walking. Mike's dead tho but he gets another form of immortality (constant reincarnation)

Anyway, norton and every iteration of Mike throughout 500 years

< soul and sparrow - i think this was his ronald of ness era where he was still trying to hide the fact he was immortal so he kept changing his identity, the first ever time he met another mike that found in a barrel at like 19 years old.. maybe idk, sparrow grew part of his Golden Rose crew, during the whole time… and mike looked up to him as his captain.. until smth more… Ronald projected swifts the most on sparrow, and honestly ended up having to leave him when sparrow was realizing that norton wasnt aging at all since they met, he had to leave him bc he was having an existential crisis about being immortal and not aging at all anymore no matter how he tried to hide or ignore it, so he left sparrow (and the crew, basically fakes his own death.) this is when he just embraces his immortality at this point, after being kind of a recluse for a while

< cocoa and soul - maybe 100 years after sparrow, and hes given up trying to fake his identity, he has the face paint and everything, hes mostly known as soul now.. cocoa is the owner of an inn and he meets him every time he docks at his towns port, hes nice to him kind.. much softer than sparrow or swifts, but still as cocky and confident in himself (he notes that this mike smokes) cocoa lets him stay over whenever he wants to (hes trying not to get attached to this mike , so hes thankful for the fact that hes not a pirate or a sailor, just someone he can come home to any time, his light house per say.) he didnt have to do a painful goodbye with him, just a letter and the occasional sack of gold and jewels to spoil his favorite chef.

<pomegranate mike, and soul honestly pomegranate was probably part of a traveling merchant boat that got destroyed at sea, luckily souls crew was around to fish them out of the water, this mike tho wasnt interested in anything that he had to offer preferring the life of being free with his guild at sea or anywhere, he loved to entertain but staying with soul probably felt like a cage. he probably asked soul to take them to the nearest port, hes was a nice equally fun mike, but wasnt interested or too scared to commit to soul. (Wahh da one that got away) soul respects him, of course, but it cant be denied he was hurt over this. and he grew a little bitter because of it.

<cunning and soul.. - at this point 300 years passed already…pomegranate was the last mike he found and he didn't stay with him long and let him go without fighting because thats mikes choice man WHATEVER anyway, this is nortons sad emo boy era or as i like calling it weezer norton era. he became relentless, ruthless and his name was known through the seas, hes travelled the world at this point and his immortality has never failed him yet. he learned magic from patricia at one point, and now he has a crew of ghosts he necromanced into life to man his ship,- really kicking up the visuals in my head here but he has a literal ghost ship, its a physical ship but everyone on board is probably a ghost or a zombie (WHATEVERR MY AU MY WORLD BUILDING I SAY THEY EXIST.) anyway (onepiece reference i guess) when he saw cunning in one of the meetings for idk pirates or smth, tagging along with hollow (also a pirate bitch on his ass for the past years hes annoying as hell), he ws down right pISSED. (he hasnt seen a single mike reincarnation in 300 years, hes tried sleeping around getting over him, but NOTHING really compares to his soulmate.)

BUT anyway basically, in this au Hollow is looking for Alice (eternity whatever) and Soul knows where she is so he makes a bargain, he'll give Hollow Alice in exchange he gives him of of his most trusted men. (Points at cunning.) IF he gives him Alice in a pretty little bow for him, he can have cunning for himself.

Cunning is like "pft. Yeah right. You're not gonna find her before we do." And soul is just smiling (horny depressed and has been blue balled for years at this point, u don't know what this guy can do) so he just smiles.

Hollow, surprisingly agrees. "OKAY if u find her before we do I'll give my end of the bargain." Cunning is a little upset at this, but he's determined he'll find Alice before soul. (eermmm)

Soul wasn't lying about knowing where Alice was tho, so he kidnaps her and takes her to hollow. Like a sack of potatoes.

"Gimme gimme." smth like that and mike is so distraught about this he's crying, verbatim; " I don't want to be that bag of bones property- I'm not property " but he's already at souls shoulder and he's kicking and screaming. He's such a bitch in this au I LOVEE BITCH ASS CUNNING WHINEY WHORE. nortons kind of an ass here and hes sort of using him as a way to distress the last 300 years away. Before he spoils him with everything hes gotten (for mike.)

So it's just rough hostage core treatment for the first couple of months until he starts using the money he's been hoarding on mike to spoil him.

But anyway, after cunning dies in idk when, 🤷‍♂️anyway when he dies kay the next one and final one is quinlan, he's an immortal vamp/witch and hes the only mike who remembers every mike reincarnations memories, he knows that soul is out there looking for him but he doesn't care about that rn, in this life he's looking for his mom, and ignoring souls horny whale calling in the back of his mind until they inevitably cross paths BEC they are SOULLMATESS AUGRGRHSHAHAGGZ In my head the way they meet went like this "Mole."

soul looking at him in surprise bec ever since someone misheard his name being soul and he grew tired of correcting people its mole, he hasn't heard that name in years. he wasn't even sure if this was his Mike, he doesn't have the blue eyes he used to have they were more green/gold… and each mike he's met always had swifts eyes. So thats why he's like emo. Do u get it anyway, this is their reunion in the middle of an pub that cocoa bean used to run, they standing in front of each other and quin almost looks too relaxed when their EYEESS MEEETTT FUCKKK anyway, "Swift?" and theres just that LOOK thats unmistakably mikes on his face that mole just couldnt help but take him into his arms like a the sad depressed man he is. They kiss and they start sailing together forever until they turn to ashes.

THE ENDD

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

One For The Road [5]

Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: Staying over with Cecil is all going well until a surprise guest turns up.

A/N: More huge thank yous to @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading <3 and dealing with all my NonsenseTM.

Warnings: sleepy sex, p in v sex, cream pie, fingering, reader has a job where they work on Friday - but not on weekends, THERE BE SOME ERM ANGST COMING, I'M SORRY, swearing, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1893

It’s about 5am when you wake up in Cecil’s bed. He’s sprawled out on his back, his left arm hanging off the side while his right hand is resting gently on your forearm. He looks so peaceful, dead to the world and angelic with how his curls fan out against the pillows. 

The fact that it’s Friday, and you have work in a few hours annoys you to no end. Really you should be getting up, heading back to yours to eat and shower and change, but all you want to do is stay in the comfort of blankets with him just a little while longer. 

You sigh and get out of bed. 

You grab your phone from the side table and head to the bathroom and close the door softly, not that you think you’d wake Cecil, he seems like a pretty deep sleeper, but you want to be on the safe side just in case.

You call your work, knowing no one will be in yet, a little spark of glee growing in your chest. You leave a voicemail, saying you’ve had a family emergency in the night and won’t be able to make it in today.

Getting fucked so hard you might have seen god was an emergency, right? 

Besides, this was the first time you’ve ever called to say you weren’t coming in. You deserved today off as a little treat. Before you head back you make sure you’ve turned your morning alarms off.

Cecil mumbles in his sleep as you get back into bed, turning onto his side and curling up next to you. He nuzzles your neck as he lets out a contented sigh and you quickly fall back to sleep in his embrace. 

.

There’s a syrupy warmth against your neck, a soft gliding touch on your hip. You keep your eyes closed for a minute, vaguely aware that you’re still half dreaming. 

And then Cecil’s hitched breathing works its way into your foggy head. 

He moans lightly, trying to stay quiet and failing as he sucks and kisses your skin, running his lips over your jaw as he presses his chest to your back and ruts his weeping cock against the swell of your ass. 

He murmurs your name as you stir and lean into him, whining as you rock back. 

“So-sorry,” he mutters, his voice thick with sleep and arousal. “I just got so…” He gasps softly, moaning into your neck, “I was dreaming about you and…” 

He swallows, the sound echoing in your ear as he squeezes your hip, guiding your movements for a second before he trails his fingers around and slips to the heat between your legs.

He groans loudly at the wetness he finds, shivers as he presses firmer, drags the tips of his fingers through your folds before he circles your clit in tight soft circles. 

“Shit,” you reach behind you and grab at him, sinking your fingers into his thick curls at the back of his head. 

He whines, gasping and moaning happily, “Oh, is that good?” He shudders, practically begging you to praise him. “You’re so wet,” he buries his face into your shoulder for a second to gather himself, “You really like me, don’t you?” The little whimper at the end breaks your heart. 

“Of course, I like you, dummy,” you breathe hard, hooking your leg over his hip so he’s got easier access. 

He sobs in bliss as he ruts against you harder, sinking two of his thick fingers inside as he rubs your clit like he’s playing guitar. 

Your back arches as he caresses your walls, a high-pitched whine breaking past your lips. “Cecil, fuck.” 

He moans after every stroke, the sounds of your pleasure making him lightheaded and dizzy. Weight settles low in his stomach, his cock practically buzzing from length to tip. 

You move your head, licking into his mouth with a whimper and long, lazy stroke of your tongue. 

He presses closer, trying to blend your bodies together through pure strength of will as he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, pushing you higher and higher to your peak.

You swear, your thighs start to shake and muscles tense. “Cecil,” normally you’d hate how desperate you sound, how needy, but now you couldn’t care less. “You, you get tested regularly right?” 

It takes him a moment to answer, but his movements don’t falter, his body too far gone to even pause. “Yeah, yeah, got to, to give blood, and, ohhh shit, I don’t, I don’t, I’ve never done it without a condom on and-”

You don’t think you can wait, you want him inside, want both of you connected as deeply as possible. It’s stopping you from thinking straight. 

You angle yourself, pressing your pussy firmly against his length and he groans, his eyes rolling back. “I’m on birth control, I, you could just-”

Cecil doesn’t need to be told twice, he notches himself at your entrance and bucks his hips forward softly, slipping in smooth and deep. 

You cry out as he stretches you, his girth simultaneously soothing that deep ache as well as adding fuel to the fire. 

His own cries harmonise with yours as you push back against him, pulling him further inside. 

“Baby, baby,” he groans, bucking lightly to work himself in, still toying with your clit as he bottoms out. “Oh god, shit, fuck, taking me so well,” he whines. “Ah- ah- feels so good.” He thrusts into you roughly, biting hard at his bottom lip until he feels you tense and writhe. “There? There?” 

You nod, hardly able to speak as pleasure rushes up through you and blinds you to anything but bliss. 

“Gonna make me cum,” he whines, tears in his eyes, “Gonna- gonna make me fill you up, shit,” he rocks with you, hitting devastatingly inside in time with the paralysing strokes of his fingers. “Never been bareback before,” his voice rises in pitch to almost breaking point. 

You don’t know why, but that’s what sets you off. Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere, pulling you down as you cry out his name in a breathless scream. 

Cecil gasps, tenses as you flutter and squeeze his cock. He comes a second later, pressing his chest as close to your back as physically possible as your walls milk him dry. 

You both breathe hard, sweaty as you recover, your hearts beating in sync. 

He kisses your neck lightly. “Thank you.” 

You chuckle with how sweet he sounds, “You don’t have to thank me silly.” 

“I know.” He grins, “But manners.” 

You laugh and turn your head to kiss his cheek. “Was that okay?”

He nods, pulling a face, “Was that okay? You just fucked my brains out, of course it was okay.” 

He kisses your lips, smiling and then suddenly pulls back, horror on his face, “Shit, it’s Friday? What time is it? You got work! Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Cec, Cec, Cec,” you pat his hair until he focuses on you and you give him a cheeky smile. “I called in, said I couldn’t come in today.”

He stares at you dumbfounded for a moment, before his eyes light up. “You did?” 

You nod.

He squeals in joy and kisses all over your face rapidly. 

You wriggle, giggling. “Stop, stop, stop, you’re gonna fall out and make a mess on your sheets.” 

He snorts but snuggles closer, managing to keep his softening cock inside. “I don’t care.” 

“I do.” You laugh.

“Okay, I care then.” He squeezes you in a tight hug. “I’m so happy. We can hang out today… if you want?” 

“I want.” 

He grins widely. 

“I was thinking we could go to mine? Hang out all weekend.” 

You’ve never seen him look so happy. 

“Three day weekend!” He giggles, “But you can kick me out if you get fed up with me-”

“Shh.” You kiss him. 

“Okay.” He pauses, and then wriggles his eyebrows at you, “I have a plan, I make pancakes, we eat. We go to yours, we fuck on every surface in your house in every position we can get in, we eat, we watch some porn, we fuck some more and repeat?” 

You laugh loudly, loving his shameless smile. “Sounds great.” 

He punches the air with his fist. “Three day wee- oh shit,” he grabs at his cock, giggling as he slips out of you and lunges for the tissues. 

.

Cecil makes pancakes as you have a quick shower. He’d offered to find you something to wear, but you’d opted to just put on your pyjamas as you’d only be in the car and then back to your home. 

As you’re drying yourself you hear the doorbell and knocking. Harry must have forgotten his keys. 

A little worm of anxiety wriggles in your chest. It was obvious that you had stayed the night, there was no way around that. But, as you think on it, you realise pleasantly that you don’t mind. It would be kind of nice for Harry to know. 

Cecil’s phone buzzes from the bedroom and there’s more knocking. Harry definitely forgot his keys. 

You smile as you hear Cecil go to the door. 

It quickly disappears when you hear the yelling. 

You dress quickly, and rush downstairs, stopping at the last step. 

There’s a lady screaming at Cecil as she stands just in the doorway. He looks lost, panicked as he stares blankly at her. 

“You should be ready! What the fuck Cecil?! It’s literally the first appointment, you fucking said you’d support me!”

“I, I, Danielle, what? What are you doing here?”

He barely gets the words out before she cuts him off. “Oh, you think you can just fucking get away with it? Throw me out like trash? I’ll take you to court!”

“Danielle, that’s not what I meant-”

“You’re paying every fucking cent for this baby!”

“Dan-”

“And don’t you think!” She stops, her line of sight suddenly landing on you. You swallow. “Who the fuck is this?” 

Cecil whips around, his eyes large and panicked, a baby deer in a forest seeing a hunter for the first time. The look he gives you hurts, the pinch of pain on his forehead. The shininess to his eyes. 

“I…” He starts.

“Already trying to knock up someone else Cecil?” Danielle screams, the volume of it hurting your head.

“No!” He says quickly, “Danielle, I thought you told me the 20th? It’s the 12th, otherwise-”

“You’re so full of shit!” She steps forward and for a sickening second you think she’s going to hit him. 

Cecil flinches back, but instead, Danielle looks at you.

When she speaks it’s quieter, though not by much. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but Cecil is my baby’s,” she grabs her stomach for emphasis, “father and he’s coming with me to this appointment.” 

You nod. 

She nods back, staring at you for a second before she grabs Cecil by the arm.

He turns to you, dread squeezing his heart, “I didn’t- I’m sorry- this- I should have- please,” Danielle pulls him out of the house as he gazes beseechingly at you. 

The door slamming closed breaks you out of your stupor. 

And then the weight settles on your heart as all your thoughts come rushing forward at once.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

@steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood 

@pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23 @sub-aro @killerdollz

 @maplemind  @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist @dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious

@homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus 

@mandytrekkie @lounilu @avengersinitiative2012 @pigeonmama @marcsb1tch 

@iolaussharpe-24

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[bullet-prooflove]

Can I request from the Taylor Swift Prompts

38) drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar

For Mitch Keller

And just incase you’re not feeling that one I also included

3) wanna see what’s under that attitude

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dolphs-darling @watermeezer @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

The One That Got Away - Mitch has been thinking about you.

Love Song - Mitch doesn't expect to see you in his bar after all this time.

Clean - Mitch asks you why you're back in town.

Home - Mitch gets an answer to his question.

Sunshine (NSFW) - You've always been the sunshine in Mitch's life.

When Mitch is with you he doesn’t remember why ever needed drugs, not when he’s got his own filthy cowgirl riding him like she’s on a fucking Bronco.

One of the girls he used to run with had made a play for him tonight, kissed him right across the bar and you’d almost smashed her head through the jukebox. The only thing that stopped you was him, hurling you into the back room and before he knew it, he was on flat on his back that sweet pussy gripping every inch of him as he held on for dear life.

“Fuck sunshine.” He hollers at the top of his voice because when you screw him like this, he loses every single sensibility he’s ever fucking had. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Say my name baby.” You tell him, your palm coming to rest on his throat, squeezing just enough to make him feel like fucking stars are about to shoot out of his dick. “I want her to know that I’m the only one that fucks you this good.”

“Sunny.” He yells, his head tipping back into the cushions, his fists gripping the light fabric of your summer dress. “Fuck Sunny, fuck!”

The climax hits him like a freight train, the ecstasy hurtling through his synapses setting every single one of his nerve endings ablaze as he comes in white hot streaks that paint your insides with his essence. You keep him pinned there underneath you, milking every last drop of him until he’s breathless and overstimulated.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about you know?” He tells you in the aftermath as he pulls up his jeans. “She was nothing to me back then and she’s nothing to me now.”

“I know,” You say lighting up a cigarette as you sit as pretty as a Georgia peach on that worn out leather couch. “I just wanted to make sure she knows.”

“Honey.” He laughs as he picks up his cap and sets it back on his head. “I think all of God damn Tulsa knows after the shit we just did.”

“Good.” You say with that ferocious little smile of yours as you blow out a ring of smoke. “Because that was exactly my point.”

Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[firstprincehornyramblings]

Hello everyone! I'm getting a start early, by queueing this post for tomorrow morning, look at me go. Thank you who much to @tailsbeth-writes for the tag <3 I have ... 3 wips again, because I have no self control, so we're doing all of this under the cut, because it's gonna be long, and maybe a lil nsfw <3 LET'S GOOOOOOOO.

------ George Villier's inner dialogue during an Orgy (that's the working title on this, please bare with)

It wasn’t that George had always been this way, but an ascension into power had nurtured his hedonism prone nature. If he was to be blessed with the gift of beauty, he would take all the power and pleasure that came with it. He’d earned it after all, his bed of lovers, his social standing, influence, and wealth. Each a result of unsavory acts; but that made them so much more deserved, did it not? He could have anything he wanted, like a god among men, and so he should be worshipped the same. Though he was more than content with devotion in the form of flesh; he’d certainly used his own body as currency often enough. Even now, anything that wasn’t handed to him willingly, with a brush of lips, or a clandestine slip to knees, could become his. That in itself was testament to all he’d done, that his willing submission was as effective a bargaining tool as his power.

WATERSPORTS FIRSTPRINCE (aka, Alex is funny and Henry has a weak bladder)

“You… think it’s- what?” Henry choked out, “You think it’s hot that I pissed myself in the middle of our kitchen? Is that your idea of a joke?” “I-” the brunette could feel his own cheeks heating up now, “It’s not a joke, I do, I’m sorry, but I do,” he managed after a moment. “Oh,” the blond’s eyes shot straight down to the shorts Alex had on, falling on the visible hardness there, “Oh,” he repeated, but with much more understanding this time. There were still tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall, but he was visibly less mortified, “Alex, that is so disgusting...” “I know, shit baby, I’m s-” “I can get into it.” “What?” “I said, I can get into it,” Henry repeated, “Well, honestly, I could probably get into anything that makes your cock hard, because- well frankly I reap the benefits of that. Would you like to fuck my throat?”

AND A NEW WIP, Hairstylist Henry and his least (read as favorite) Client Alex

“Alright, tilt your head back,” both of Henry’s hands rested on Alex’s temples, carefully moving the other man’s head into the perfect place, “Do you want me to stop under the jawline?” “Whatever you think looks best, sweetheart.” Normally, Henry would hate that, some businessman using a pet name on him. But usually it felt demeaning, when Alex did it, it felt genuine, perhaps that was why he didn't mind it. He would rather accept that than admit it might have something to do with how hot his cheeks felt or how his stomach flip flopped. Instead, he chose to focus on something else, like the familiar but luxurious scent becoming more evident the closer he was to Alex. “Santal 33?” the blond asked, running the trimmers over the other man’s jawline, making careful precise lines that would accentuate the sharp angles there. “Yeah,” impressively, Alex had answered that without much movement of his face; Henry was astonished. “Makes sense.” “What is that supposed to mean?” this time, the brunette moved, but he did have the mind to wait until Henry was running the trimers along his throat with less chance of Alex’s jolt messing up something. “It means you look like someone who has good taste, don’t move.” “You’re worse than a dentist,” Alex grumbled. “Stop moving, christ you’re an absolute menace, I’m going to slice your throat open.” “With an electric trimmer?” “I’m certain if I make enough effort, I just may be able to pull it off,” Henry snapped.

OKAY, that was a long one, if you stuck around thank u I love u. TAG LINE UP!!!!

@taste-thewaste @eusuntgratie @henrysfox @thighzp

@softboynick @catdadacd @sheepywritesfics @henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones @henfox @onthewaytosomewhere + literally anyone else I'm sleepy and forgot, or anyone who sees this and wants to tag me, I love reading yall's stuff. <3

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 18 . Heterogeneity (3)

a/n: my fav chapter is the one after this hehe, but y'all have to wait until wednesday (unless you're reading this after I already uploaded it lol)

tags: overprotective people around reader, sick reader, fluff overall

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist prev . next

_____ thought their headaches and worry would end when Cale woke up after 15 days. The healer is used to the rigorous schedule the commander has whenever he wakes up after fainting. Understand that there’s a lot to catch up on, especially this time since Cale was gone for so long.

Everything had been smooth sailing. There are still a lot of things to do at Mogoru but Jack and the others can handle it. 

Finding the Mercenary King was also easy. In fact, he was the one who showed himself in their inn. Making a deal with him was even easier. As well as getting to the Wind Island. 

“Uhm so you’re telling me the owner of my ancient power is not supposed to talk to me and tell me the race of every single being I encounter?”

“...At least yours don’t have full-blown conversations about bread with you.”

Well, there’s a discovery that Cale and _____ are odd. Apparently, you’re not supposed to hear voices when you have an ancient power…

But aside from that everything else is smooth sailing.

Things started going south when Cale entered Wind Island alone.

Day 1:

Everyone is relaxed albeit a little worried for the young master. However, everyone trusts that he will be fine as he always has been.

Day 2:

Same as yesterday. Everyone is doing their own thing while waiting for the young master. However, _____ thinks that the group is doting on them more than they used to. They aren’t sure though.

Day 3:

Cale is supposed to go back, but there’s not a single sign of him yet. This made everyone in the group tense. Nonetheless, all they can do is wait.

Day 5:

The ambience in the boat has become scary. Not surprising as Cale is 2 days late now. Everyone is still sweet in front of _____. In fact, they have definitely become more doting and protective towards the healer. 

Like they can’t even take a single step forward without someone trying to assist them or asking what they need. At first, it confused _____, but they figured they were probably acting that way because of Cale’s absence.

However, that’s just towards _____.

They are so snappy with Bud. The poor man can’t even take a single breath without being told off. The only time he isn’t getting scolded is when _____ is talking to him.

So _____ took this chance to get acquainted with the Mercenary King. The healer explained to the man how everyone was just on edge because they were worried about the young master.

Day 7:

It’s been 4 days since Cale was supposed to come back. Everyone had decided that if he still didn’t come back in a few hours then they would go to the island.

“Not _____-nim. Please stay here in the boat where it is safe. I promise to come back and bring back Cale-nim”

At this point _____ is used to the group coddling them. They figured it’d either end or dwindle once Cale came back. So they just let everyone be.

Meanwhile, the healer and Bud got acquainted pretty well. It helps that their abilities are similar to each other. Talking to each other is also mutually beneficial to the two. Bud gets to talk to the only person who’s not inherently vicious in the boat. While _____ gets a distraction from the abundance of worry they are feeling.

“I have to ask Medicus-nim, what’s you’re relationship with Cale?”

Bud once tried calling the healer by their first name… never again. The looks he got from everyone were not worth it.

Names aside, the mercenary king is curious about the relationship of the two. In his opinion, _____ is the most protected after Cale. There’s gotta be a reason why that is.

“Me and the young master are friends. However, I am technically working under his orders right now.”

It doesn’t look like that to Bud but sure.

In addition to that, the blue-haired man doesn’t miss the way everyone else softens while _____ is speaking about their relationship. Something is going on that these two young masters don’t know.

However, Bud doesn’t pry. Instead, he lets the conversation die there and opts to wait for Cale silently.

Sure enough, the redhead prevails as he always does.

He came out just before the group was about to attack the island. As soon as he got out he purified the island before desperately eating apple pies like his life depended on it.

“...Cale, you do know that you’re still going to faint right?”

_____ is currently beside Cale thanks to Raon’s floating spell. 

The man in question just ignored the healer and continued gobbling the pie.

“If you don’t stop eating you’re gonna faint with a soggy apple pie in your mouth.”

Munch

Munch

Cale continued ignoring _____.

“Everyone, the young master is going to faint with an apple pie in

3…

2…

1”

True enough Cale fainted like a machinery out of mana after _____’s countdown.

Meanwhile, the healer who’s borderline making fun of Cale could be seen giggling.

Bud doesn’t know why and his afraid Ron and Eruhaben are going to kill him if he asks.

Their way back to Bud’s hometown was quiet. Everyone seemed accustomed to this and already knew what to do with Ron leading everyone.

All of them got to work as soon as Cale was resting on a bed. 

Well almost everyone.

When _____ tried to go out to help Beacrox, Eruhaben just used his mana to steer the healer back into the room. Once the healer was back in, Ron wrapped a blanket around them before guiding them to a comfy couch that had been moved beside Cale’s bed[1].

“Wait I want to help too–”

Ron ignored the healer as if they didn’t even say anything.

“A bed big enough to fit the two of you would be better but this couch would also suffice.”

“Why am I lying down too? I didn’t even use my powers–”

At that moment the children spoke up.

“Lemonade gramps, I think kind _____ forgot that their body is weak!”

“That’s true nya! It also looks like they forgot they’re still healing!”

“Go lie down nya.”

It took _____ a moment to realise what the three were talking about.

“Are you guys talking about what happened in the Caro Kingdom? That’s like a month ago. That wound is all healed up.”

“Yes it has been a month since then but your healing journey has been stunted since you used your powers while we were at the Empire. In addition to that the sea breeze is cold. It’s not good for your weak body.”

“But Eruhaben-nim I’m really okay–”

All it took was one exasperated stare from Eruhaben to make the healer clam up and lie down on the spacious couch. After they did the golden dragon sighed as if he had just dealt with a toddler throwing a tantrum.

True enough _____ developed a fever just a few hours after that. Their body couldn’t handle both the weather and the stress so it decided to break down the moment the healer got to relax. Good thing the group was already expecting this and has prepared everything a sick person would have needed.

At some point _____ tried to argue that maybe they’ll get the kids sick. So they should just let the healer recover in another room and maybe check on them from time to time. However, the children averaging 9 years old retaliated by putting on masks and casting a shield. (A bit overboard in _____’s opinion but when has not Raon been overboard.)

Just like that the two young masters slept for three days.

If on one of those days Cale’s hand twitched and placed itself on top of _____’s hand, then no one said a word.

And if they see Cale continue to hold _____’s hand after he woke up first? No, they didn’t.

[1] if you can't visualize it, just imagine a big couch that's the same height as the bed and then it's side-by-side so the couch kind of looks like an extension of the bed. basically the two + the children are all sleeping beside one another lol

[iwasntstable]

𝗡.𝗦. | 𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗚𝗢 | 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘_𝗧𝗪𝗢

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/SERIES/NOWHERETOGO [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | [series] | one-shot | blurb | head-cannons 　　﹂ [nowhere-to-go]

Series Summary: You knew the decision to follow your father into the so-called 'most dangerous Ward' was a dangerous one, but you had to do anything and everything possible to keep him alive. He's the only family you have left. Growing evermore reckless after the death of your mother and blinded by his lust for retribution, this decision is one that will alter the course of your life forever. And the life of a half-ghoul half-human who never thought he'd find himself entangled with the daughter of a former CCG Investigator.

NOWHERE TO GO is a multi-chapter story set in the Tokyo Ghoul universe, centring around Half-Ghoul!Noah and Human!Reader.

Chapter Content Tags: descriptions of violence and gore, brief mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.8k.

Note: Please be aware this story is set in the universe of Tokyo Ghoul, before the events of the manga and anime. It will, however, contain references to content found in the source material. specific content warnings will always be applied at the beginning of each chapter.

✶ [join the NOWHERE TO GO taglist.]

➔read on AO3➔➔ PREV　/　NEXT [coming soon..]

CREDIT › image — 'Tokyo Ghoul:re - Chapter 54' - 石田 スイ (Sui Ishida). › image edit — @iwasntstable (me). › star divider — @saradika-graphics. › short grey divider — @saradika-graphics. › Tokyo Ghoul — created by 石田 スイ (Sui Ishida).

“It has been reported that more violent outbreaks are occurring in the 13th Ward, following on from last week's turf war between two opposing gangs of ghouls. Witnesses describe violent altercations in the streets, resulting in massive damage to property and local businesses. The 13th Ward is no stranger to savage acts of violence, and while ghoul attacks on humans are common, acts of cannibalism between ghouls are also a recurrent sight. We have First Class Investigator Soto here to provide more information. Thank you for joining us.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

“Now, the 13th Ward is widely referred to as ‘the most dangerous Ward’. Could you elaborate for us on why exactly that is?”

“Of course. Now the ghoul population of the 13th Ward greatly outnumbers the human population, not something seen here in the 1st Ward or the 2nd, for example. Due to this fact, there is, quite simply, not enough food for them to go around. And ghouls have been shown to be incredibly territorial creatures…”

“Ugh, it’s just awful, isn’t it?” 

“I seriously can’t believe you’re moving there. Your dad is going to get you fucking killed.”

“It can’t be that bad, surely? It’s probably all just overexaggerated for the news.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that,” you sigh over your cup of coffee. “You two need to chill out. It's not gonna be that bad.”

Kira says your name in that tone of voice that you know means business—the one she uses to scold her daughter—"There are more ghouls than humans over there! To the point they’re fucking eating each other to survive! I meant what I said before, you can live with me until you find your own place.”

“You know I can’t leave my dad,” placing your cup down on the coffee-stained table and rubbing the tense point in your forehead.

“I mean this in the most respectful way possible. You don’t have to be responsible for your dad. If he wants to chase ghouls in the 13th Ward, let him. You can’t put your life on hold or put it in danger just because he thinks he has some righteous quest to single-handedly rid the world of ghouls,” she reaches across the table to take your hands in hers, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders brilliantly illuminated by the setting sun through the window, giving her an almost angelic glow.

“You’re always the voice of reason,” you smile, squeezing her hands back. “But you know it’s not that easy. I can’t lose him too.”

“We know,” Mari adds her hand to yours and Kira’s, her tanned skin a sharp contrast to Kira’s almost translucent hands. “We just want you to be safe. If you ever want to leave, if you change your mind, you know our doors are always open for you.”

“Except mine,” Haru smiles, keeping her well-manicured hands to herself.

“Yeah, your behemoth dogs take up all the fucking space,” you can’t hold back your laugh at Kira’s remark.

“Say another word against them. See what happens,” she smirks back.

“I’m gonna miss you guys so fucking much.”

“We’re going to miss you more,” Haru’s voice wavering like she’s on the brink of tears.

“Don’t you dare disappear on us. We all expect regular check-ins, so we know you’re alive.”

“Or what you’ll set your dogs after her?” Mari laughs.

“Yeah, joke all you want! They could find her! All the way from the 2nd Ward to the 13th and beyond.”

“You don’t need to do that," you laugh. "I’ll stay in contact. I promise.”

The conversation between the four of you is interrupted by Kira’s obnoxious ringtone, earning glares from the elderly patrons lingering in the corners of the cafe. “Crap. Gotta go pick up my girl,” she stands, throwing back the last of her tea, chair screeching as it slides across the floor, your own following suit when you rise to meet her. She pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, pressing all of the love from her body into yours, just in case this is her final goodbye.

“I’ll call you,” you swear. “As often as I can.”

“I love you,” she muffles into your shoulder. “God, okay. I really have to go. I’ll see you guys later, and you! Do not forget to call,” she laughs as you draw a cross over your heart, scooping up her bag and coat in her arms before heading for the door. She gives one last wave, and then she’s gone.

“I hate to do this, but I have to go too. I have work in an hour.” Mari stands as well, rounding the table to bring you into your second bone-breaking hug of the day. 

“Thank you for coming. I love you, and we’ll speak soon, yeah?”

“Definitely. Bye Haru!” 

“Bye! See you later.”

You sit back down, relaxing into the chair. The weight of the goodbyes sitting heavy on your chest.

“I am really worried about you,” Haru says quietly. “That place is so dangerous, and I’m scared your dad is only gonna make things worse.”

“He can handle himself. He served for a decade in the CCG, remember?” You try your best to convince her, but judging by the expression on her face, it isn’t working very well.

“Yeah, he’s the best of the best,” she rolls her eyes. “Or he was until- Look, you and I both know he hasn’t been the same since what happened, and I don’t want his reckless behaviour to endanger you.”

“I know how to handle him,” you affirm. “He’s still grieving. This is the only way he knows how to cope.”

“What about your grief? When do you get the chance to break down?” Her usually warm brown eyes are full of a profound sadness.

“Stop looking at me like you’re never gonna see me again. And don’t worry about me. I can handle my dad, and I can handle myself,” though you speak with confidence, you can feel yourself wavering. Doubting for a moment if the strength you hold is as robust as you claim it is.

“If you get to a point where you need to put yourself first, please know that nobody would ever blame you. None of us,” she says, taking your hand in hers much like Kira and Mari did earlier, squeezing it tightly.

“I know,” you nod.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, breaking it occasionally with casual conversation and reminiscing on older days. Until Haru too has to gather her things and leave.

“Do you want me to walk you to the station?” She asks as she slides her arms into her coat.

“No, no. It’s fine. I think I’m just gonna sit for a while. Finish my drink.”

She nods, pulls you into your third and final crushing hug of the day, and heads off home through the door. The sound of the little bell dinging follows her as she goes.

You pass the time people-watching through the window. Familiar faces you’d seen around you all your life—faces that you’d likely never see again. Savouring the last of your drink, the scent of the cafe, and the view from your favourite spot by the window until the time comes for you too to leave.

As you fix your hair from under the collar of your coat, you don’t see the customer entering into the cafe as you pass through the door. Bumping face first into a warm, solid chest. The man holds you by the shoulders as you start to topple backwards, holding you steadily in place.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see-”

“Don’t worry about it,” the smooth voice chuckles lightly. “No harm done.”

He releases your shoulders and sidesteps you to enter the cafe so quickly you don’t even catch a glimpse of his face. Leaving you standing on the step as the last light of your last day in the 2nd Ward warms your skin.

The 13th Ward isn’t too far away from where you grew up in the 2nd Ward, separated only by the 3rd. So it didn’t make sense for the weather to be so drastically different. The sky was entirely overcast, forbidding even a single ray of sunlight to pierce through and touch the ground. And it was cold. That was to be expected so late in the year, but you found yourself shivering, the chill creeping into your skin even through your layers. Looking over your shoulder from where your dad was unloading boxes from the car, you just couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you. 

“There are more ghouls than humans over there! To the point they’re fucking eating each other to survive!” Kira’s voice rings in your head, and you realise you’ve never felt like prey before. Until now.

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help?” Your dad huffs as he drops a box at your feet. Standing up straight and stretching out his back nonchalantly. 

How he could be so calm was beyond you, but then, that might be the peace of mind serving a decade in the CCG brings you. Killing ghouls was second nature to him. “Sorry, I’m on it,” you say, picking up the box and hoisting it high to get a secure grip.

“Take these too, will you?” He drops two metal cases from the rental car on top of the box in your arms, the weight of them instantly making your arms ache. You’re momentarily transfixed, having not seen them in months; an ache settles in your chest too. Pushing the thought out of your head, you focus on the task at hand—getting your possessions into your new apartment before the sky gets the chance to grow darker.

The place wasn’t too small. The CCG retirement package was generous and allowed your dad to find somewhere to live that was suitable for you both, but more importantly, suitable for his needs. The larger pieces of furniture were already delivered by some of your dad's work buddies, traditional movers, all refusing to set foot this side of the 3rd Ward; beds, couches, appliances. All that remained was to make the house a home as best you could.

You managed to get everything inside before sunset, and with the door secured with five deadbolts, you felt you could somewhat relax into your bed after the strenuous move. Most of your belongings are unpacked and organised. The only tasks left were to unpack your clothes and look for a job, though you were unsure what kind of establishments would even be hiring in the so-called most dangerous Ward. Your dad insisted you didn’t need to work, but you knew you both couldn’t survive long solely off his retirement fund.

But as you lie there and the heavy hand of sleep begins to drag you under, you find yourself thinking of your friends, missing them already even though only a day has passed. You drift off to sleep, missing the life you had to leave behind and, weirdly enough, thinking of the stranger whose warm hold you fell into.

PREV　/　NEXT [coming soon..]

[ghibli-love-s]

Tis but a Flesh Wound

Overview: after you get shot on a mission Simon visits you in the infirmary. Through your loose, medicated lips, a few things come to light.

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley

Category: Fluff

Tags: kissing, injuries, getting together, first kiss, soft Simon "Ghost" Riley

Warnings: mentions of injuries, bullet wounds and medical stuff

Words: 1,195

You're lying on an infirmary bed, eyes closed as the beeping of your heart monitor echoes quietly through the room. A few hours ago you had gotten back from a mission, a bullet wound in your side and rapidly losing blood. You had barely touched down in the helicopter when you had been wrenched out of Simon’s arms, quickly wheeled to the infirmary to save your life.

The sound of a door opening and closing softly has you opening your eyes, careful not to move your left arm connected to IVs and other wires. As you squint against the bright lights above you, you make out Simon’s hulking figure sitting in the small chair next to your bed.

Making a move to sit up you’re met with a wince of pain and a gentle hand on your shoulder. The soft, gruff call of your name has you meeting Simon’s dark eyes, the worry barely hidden within them.

“Careful. You were shot bad. Shouldn't be moving in your condition.” His eyes scan over your bandages and your blood stained pants.

“I'm fine Simon. Tis but a flesh wound after all.” You grin cheekily at him, though you can't hide the wince at the painful twinge in your side.

Simon rolls his eyes, thinly veiled affection showing through. “Flesh wound my ass. You got shot with a bullet and lost a lot of blood.”

You shrug, eyes watching his hand as it grips yours firmly. “Still alive aren't I?”

His voice is gruff with a scoff. “Barely made it off the damn helio.”

You give his hand a squeeze, smiling teasingly at him. “But I did. Gonna have to work harder than that to get rid of me Lieutenant.”

He stares at you for a moment before a short, soft laugh falls from his lips. “You are unbelievable, you know that? You get shot, almost die in my arms, and now you're joking about it. I should get a shrink in here just to make sure you're sound of mind, ya know that?”

You grin at him, the usual light back in your eyes as you absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, though you don't miss the way his thumb runs over the back of your knuckles, slowly, deliberately.

“A joke a day keeps the trauma away, don't you know that?”

That earns you a chuckle from him, and which in turn makes your grin even wider.

“You have some nerve getting smart with me while you're laid up from a bullet wound, ya know that mate?” He leans on the bed, shaking his head with disbelief, though by the way his eyes crinkle ever so slightly, you can tell he's smiling under his casual mask.

“That's what you like about me. Deep down that's the only reason you stick around.”

“Is that so? I stick around for your death wishes and your smart ass mouth?”

“Don't forget my pretty face.”

“So I also like you because your’re pretty?” At your cheeky nod he shakes his head, a small huff leaving his lips. His eyes drop to your interlocked hands before locking back with your eyes. “Maybe you're right. But don't let that go to your pretty head. Your ego is big enough without it.”

You laugh, giving his hand another firm squeeze. “Too late. But you know what I think?” You tug him closer, so he's leaning further on the bed, his free arm resting beside your shoulder.

Simon quirks an eyebrow up, studying your smug smile and bright, mischievous eyes. “Enlighten me, oh wise one on a ridiculous amount of pain medication.”

You grin tugging on his hand until he's closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I think…you can't wait to plant one on me.”

His eyes blow wide with surprise as he goes silent. He’s silent for a few minutes, turning your words over in his head before he answers carefully.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is soft, testing the waters.

“I only know because I've been trying myself. But every time you look at me with those damn eyes I lose my ability to think straight and form a coherent thought.” You study his masked face, only a few inches away from yours.

Simon's eyebrows raise teasingly at you, shaking his head amused. “Really? My eyes are what does it in for you,” he says, his voice amused and unbelieving at the same time.

“Yes! Watching my every damn move, following me, studying me. Your eyes are very intense, you know.” You pout playfully, teasing but honest at the same time.

Your name falls off his lips with disbelief. He studies you, quiet. “Does it really rattle you when I look at you like that?”

“It's like you're trying to figure me out, trying to find out what makes me tick. Makes me feel something I've never felt before.”

His eyes lock on yours. “And what do I make you feel…?”

You go quiet, getting lost in his dark eyes, your mouth dry as you're suddenly at a loss for words. “Safe,” you say lamely, your voice soft and nearly breathless.

Simon goes silent, contemplating as his thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand.

“You're something else, you know that?” He says, breaking through the quiet beeping that fills the room.

You tilt your head, meeting his eyes. “How do you mean Si?”

His thumb stutters to a stop at the nickname. He takes a moment, shaking his head as he studies you.

“Most people can't stand me, and here you are, saying you feel safe with me, saying you wanna kiss me.” His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, gentle, as if you're fragile glass that could break with the wrong move. “Worst part of it is…” He trails off, unsure of his next words.

You call his name softly, eyes never leaving his. You nod at him, prompting him to continue.

Swallowing nervously he responds. “Worst part is I feel the same way.”

You release his hand, eyes locked on him as you reach up to his face, undoing his mask slowly, scanning his expressions to make sure this was okay. It wasn't the first time you had seen him without his mask on, but it was only saved for special moments. Moments spent in the early mornings, your heads propped up on each other as you calm down from nightmares. Moments saved for sleepless nights talking in your beds. Moments like right now.

When you both lean in to meet each other, it's perfect. The warm press of his lips against yours. The way he cups your face as if you’re a precious artifact. The way you grip his bicep as his lips slowly move against yours, deepening the kiss. As he pulls away you tangle your fingers in his hair, keeping him close as he presses his face into your neck.

There would be more to talk about later, paperwork to fill out for the mission and your injury. But right now, Simon pressing up against you, gently running his hand up and down your good side, was perfect for you.