#I HAVE NOT EVEN BEGUN TO PROTEST

[flangore]

❥ scarlet plumes

feat.: Valentino/f!reader

warnings: nsfw content, noncon, physical + psychological abuse, unhealthy relationships, violence, drugging, rough sex, choking, punishments, manipulation, Valentino is his own warning

You were not the type to get into trouble.

Being confrontational, at least attempting to have things go your way through protests and complaints, had never seemed worth it; not when the one you were up against was Valentino, who always got what he wanted in the end, one way or another.

All too often, you had seen the way he punished disobedient whores; all too often, you had watched the way they were still limping days after, bruises blooming on skin if they had been lucky, bullet wounds trying to heal, oozing blood, if they had been less so.

There was no reason to willingly go through the struggle of disobeying when simply giving in, caving to Val's wishes and orders, was so much easier.

When Valentino told you to bend over, you did so readily, spreading your thighs apart in offering; when Valentino ordered you down onto your knees, you went obediently, lips dropping open, praying he wasn't in a bad mood, unpredictable as his sudden bursts of anger often made him.

You were not the type to get into trouble, and yet you currently found yourself on the floor, crumpled in front of Valentino's boots, cheek warm and stinging.

“Now, why don't you tell me what happened, baby?” His tone was a low coo, almost gentle enough to soothe your sobs. “You've never acted out like this before. What happened to my well-behaved girl, hm?”

In your defense, it really hadn't been your fault — you hadn't meant to do it.

Your night shift had been supposed to be a simple session for a well-known client, consisting of some lap dancing and a blow job; that was what he had paid for, at least. Your surprise when he had begun ripping your skimpy panties off you, forcing your legs apart, hands greedy, mouth drooling, high on some drug, was therefore understandable in your eyes; as was the way you, in your shock, had lashed out, claws scratching at his chest in order to push him off you. A split second later, the side of your face had ached with pain, his flat palm having met your cheek before he had stormed out of the room, screaming and spitting.

Valentino had been with you after barely any time at all.

“I didn't—”, you choked out, voice trembling, “I didn't mean to do it, sir, I swear, he just startled me, and, I mean, he didn't pay for more, he wanted to —, he wanted to—”

One hand of his cupped your cheek, golden claw gently tracing over your jaw. Even with him crouched down in front of you, he seemed ridiculously tall. “Hey—, relax, sweetheart.” At an exhale, red smoke coiled around you, assaulting your senses. Instinctively, your raised shoulders fell as tension bled from your muscles. “I get it. I understand.”

With how utterly merciless Valentino was known to be, it took a few moments for you to actually understand the meaning of his words. Even then, you barely dared to let go of the dreadful fear curled in your stomach. “You do?”

“Of course I do”, he said, eyes half-lidded behind heart-shaped glasses. His voice was soft enough to cause more tears, now of relief, to drip down your cheeks. “You know, I was really surprised when that patron came up to me, demanding to have you fired, if not killed for your disobedience. You're usually such an obedient girl — I was wondering what actually happened. Good job for being honest with me.”

Hope bloomed in your chest, your eyes widening. Streaks of mascara and eyeshadow, black and colourful, ran down your wet cheeks. “So you're not upset with me?”

“Upset with you? Of course not, amorcito. You were scared, that's alright. It happens, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your breath hitched in a stifled sob, lips, the gloss now smudged, curling up into a pitiful mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Thank you, Val.”

This could have gone much worse. Your hands were still shaking, anxiety thrumming underneath your skin, and yet Valentino didn't even seem particularly upset. Some higher being — whether that was Lucifer or God, you didn't really care — must have blessed you, somehow.

“Of course, baby.” The moment Valentino stood once more, he towered over you, his shadow swallowing you up. “Now, follow me, yeah?”

Your legs struggled to support your weight, knees feeling weak as you trailed behind him through corridors you didn't recognise. Your steps were unsure, the heels, ridiculously high, only adding to your troubles. You have half a mind to stop yourself from asking where you're going.

It's entirely unnecessary, either way.

You arrive but a moment later, the noise of a heavy door falling shut causing you to flinch; where Valentino was in front of you just a second ago, he was now behind you, a looming presence at your back.

It was a studio; not the fancy kind actual stars like Angel Dust filmed in, but a smaller one, the light bulb flickering, the sheets on the bed stained. Voxtech cameras were pointed at the mattress.

“Val—?”

“Bend over, baby.”

“You said you're not angry with me.” The words tumbled out of your mouth without your permission, a panicked high-pitched tone. “You said you're not—”

“And I'm not, as long as you hurry the fuck up and do what I tell you to.” His voice was sharp. Instinctively, you obeyed, bending over the edge of the bed, nausea churning in your stomach. “See, that guy you were a bitch to was a regular. Good money. I gotta show him you're sorry, sweetheart. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, you didn't get a word out, throat tight as tears spilled past your lashes. Eventually, you managed a shaky; “Yes, Valentino.”

“There we go. Knew you'd get why I have to do this.”

Large hands settled on your thighs, the touch making you flinch; his claws, all too sharp, teased at your skin, leaving faint scratch marks, before they prodded at your folds.

This, by now, should have been routine. It was; and yet, the idea of this being a punishment had you tensing, muscles locking up while Valentino thrust one claw into you, only to grunt, irritated.

“Ungrateful bitch”, he spat, one hand settling on your lower back, pinning you to the bed while another fumbled with his belt, metal clinking. “That's what I get for tryin' to be nice and preparing you — tightest cunt I've ever seen. Loosen the fuck up or deal with it.”

“I'm sorry.” Your voice shook, though the threat of violence, of pain, didn't help with relaxing in the slightest. Instead, you instinctively clenched around the digit, only to whimper when he yanked it back out.

“Sure doesn't seem like it.”

The fat head of his cock, pierced, the metal cold, pressed against you, then pushed inside; you were unable to stop yourself from letting out a pitiful noise, sounding more like a wounded animal than a practiced porn star.

Valentino didn't seem to mind it one bit.

Your vision blackened out for a moment when he bottomed out inside of you, the pain agonising. For a moment, you were certain he was tearing you from the inside out. His hips slapped against your plush ones, building up a steady rhythm; one set of his hands grabbed onto your hips, claws digging into your skin, using his grip for leverage to pull you back against him

“Some wetness would help us out here, y'know”, Valentino mumbled, complaining, bitching, like this was your fault. It probably was.

The only response you were able to come up with was a choked out sob, a dull ache steadily present in your abdomen, only interrupted by sharp stabbing pain whenever Valentino's tip hit an impossibly deep spot inside of you.

This couldn't have possibly gotten worse — or so you thought, tears dripping down your face, your claws ripping the sheets as you scrambled for purchase, only for it to get so much more agonising when, all of a sudden, his hand closed around your throat, squeezing.

You weren't able to breathe.

Instinctively, you clenched around him, thighs shaking. If he wasn't still holding you up, you would have collapsed.

“Fuck, you're so damn tight.” Valentino groaned, low and raspy. His tongue lapped at your neck, leaving trails of pink saliva to drip down your shoulders, your chest. “We could've had such a pleasant time together, baby, if only you hadn't been such a disobedient slut. Hate that you're making me do this.”

His pace was unforgiving, the metal of his belt buckle hitting your hip with every other thrust, surely leaving bruises. Not that it mattered — Valentino did provide you with full coverage makeup, after all.

Out of the corner of your eye, you focused on the red dots of the many cameras, blinking, recording. By now, numbness spread through you, a small blessing. You weren't certain just how long it went on; only that, eventually, Valentino came with a groan, filling you up, making you whimper.

When his grip on your throat loosened for a split second, allowing you to suck a burning breath into your lungs, it felt like Heaven.

“Use your words, baby. Talk to me.”

“Val, 'm sorry—”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry”, you repeated, the words barely audible through sobs, “I'm sorry, Val, I'm sorry—”

Suddenly, his hand, still on your throat, yanked your head up, his lips clashing against yours; the very moment you opened your mouth, pliant with submission, with exhaustion, smoke flooded it, you choking on it.

Your mind felt muddled, mouth dry even as saliva trickled out of your lips, jaw slack.

Faintly, you were able to feel his cum drip out of your cunt and down your thighs, sticky.

“Now”, Valentino said, voice a sultry purr, “Why don't you wait here, I'll send you your client and you apologise properly to him?”

Mind filled with scarlet plumes, you barely knew what you were agreeing to, nodding mindlessly. “Yes, Valentino.”

“That's what I like to hear. Good girl.”

When multiple pairs of footsteps echoed through the room, you, even in your hazy state, had the bad feeling that you were going to be having a long night.

i won't lie i didn't proofread this yet.. tomorrow... ALSO FIRST POST YIPPEEE

[fastandcarlos]

Lucky Charm ~ Lando Norris

Summary: Y/N finally decides she’s ready to brave the chaos of race day at the paddock, and the boys are more than happy to give her the introduction she deserves

liked by georgerussell63, alex_albon, and 51,292 others

ynusername: imola here I come 🇮🇹

2,282 comments

username1: ofc she’s going to support lando

alex_albon: who said anything about lando?? maybe she’s there to cheer for me??

landonorris: can’t wait to see you bby 🔥

username3: I swear these two are complete goals

username4: it’s not fair how one person can be this pretty

carlossainz55: there’s a seat in ferrari with your name on

maxverstappen1: woah there! we’ve already called dibs on having her at red bull

landonorris: um excuse me…I think you’ll find y/n will be spending her weekend with me

ynusername: you lot are the worst 🤦🏻‍♀️

username5: I love seeing all my favourite people argue

username6: this is my highlight and the race hasn’t even begun yet…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

landonorris just posted

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 728,220 others

landonorris: race day ready with my lucky charm by my side 🍀

tagged: ynusername

83,271 comments

username7: mum and dad 🥺

ynusername: cannot wait to cheer for you tomorrow!! ily

landonorris: ily so much more ❤️

danielricciardo: @landonorris i love you more than y/n does

ynusername: @danielricciardo that’s impossible

username8: how have we survived waiting this long for paddock y/n and lando

charles_leclerc: it was worth the wait tho…right?

username9: can you pls just marry each other now and have lots of beautiful babies

alex_albon: how do you race for 2 hours and still manage to look this good norris

landonorris: @alex_albon you just need a y/n in your life, she always leaves me looking a million dollars

alex_albon: @lilymhe get better

ynusername: @alex_albon oi we do not accept lily slander in this household

landonorris: ahem, aside from me ofc

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername posted

liked by landonorris, lewishamilton and 39,201 others

ynusername: ready for the race and to cheer for my man! 🏎️🏁

tagged: landonorris

4,926 comments

carlossainz55: if you’re cheering for your man, why are you not wearing my shirt??

username10: excuse me sir?? you are very much mistaken

ynusername: if I was cheering for my favourite ex team mate of lando’s then you’d be my number 1 😍

danielricciardo: 💔💔💔💔

landonorris: did I ever tell you how good papaya looks on you?

landonorris: I just know I’ll win today with my lucky charm watching over me 🩷

username11: pls can we all adopt y/n as our lucky charm

francisca.cgomes: how have you been here 2 days and you’ve still not come to visit me

pierregasly: ha! she’s come to visit me, how does it feel to be second fave??

ynusername: @francisca.cgomes just saving the best til last aye

username12: if we do not see y/n at every race from now on there will be a protest

username13: I just want a love like theirs…is that too much to ask for??

georgerussell63: if you want a shirt upgrade y/n then just lemme know…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

landonorris just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and 1,291,749 others

landonorris: cloud nine ☁️ p1 and an evening with my best friend…what more could a guy want?

tagged: mclaren and ynusername

82,201 comments

oscarpiastri: that reminds me mate, I’m in the room next door, have you got any ear defenders?

ynusername: OSCAR PIASTRI!! SHUT YOUR MOUTH

landonorris: good idea, it’s gonna get loud tonight!

mclaren: another top week lando, well done! this lucky charm of yours might have to show up more often

username14: I don’t want this race weekend to end

username15: pls lord don’t let this be the last time we see y/n at a race

danielricciardo: congrats bud, fully deserved!!

maxverstappen1: a million dollars for y/n to be my lucky charm next weekend

landonorris: no amount of money will ever let me give y/n to you…she’s mine only

carlossainz55: is it possible to love two people more?

ynusername: stop with the third wheel dramatics!!

ynusername: had the best time ever!! can’t wait to do it all again soon my love 🩷

 ˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[viaviavie]

short drabble about overblot!jamil projecting onto you, but on the bright side, you're distracting him by feeding his ego! tw: it gets suggestive at the end part 2?

You swear you have seen this scene play out before. Perhaps it was in one of those old animated films you've seen before waking up in Twisted Wonderland, but the resemblance was simply uncanny. The feeling of warm gold gripping at your wrists made you grimace as you eyed its chain leading back to a haughty Jamil, seated upon the lavish cushions and fabrics. Students, or perhaps, slaves, tended to him from every corner, whether they were feeding him, fanning him, or guarding him. Luckily, at least he had some courtesy to let you keep your uniform, rather than give you a makeshift set donning Scarabia's colors.

God knows where Grim, Kalim, and the Octanivelle students were now. Wherever they were, you found some solace in knowing that Grim would at least remember you. If that direbeast were to ever make his way back, you would become his priority next to fixing this mess. The thought of not being rescued made you grimace, an expression that did not go unnoticed by this mockery of a Sultan.

The great Jamil spares your pitiful form a singular glance, piqued with amusement. "Prefect," The title slipped from his lips so smoothly, but the way he tugged you over with the chain was anything but gentle. Choking back a yelp, he watched as you scrambled to your feet and hurried to his side like his pet.

For a student with no magic, no family, and no knowledge of this world, it was a wonder that someone like you ended up in the eye of the hurricane. After all, Jamil thought of you to be insignificant to his wicked plan to usurp Kalim's position. It wasn't as if you had any real power to stop him, though he would be certainly amused if you tried to fight back. It would only give him a reason to put you back in your place.

Much to his surprise, however, you had been surprisingly obedient since he kept you captive and threw your companions to the other side of the realm. You did not wail or protest, nor did you struggle when he placed these chains on you. Instead, you watched along and nodded accordingly without rebellion.

And he adored every second of your obedience.

(Really, what else could you possibly do? There was too much risk in fighting back when Jamil looked like he could bite your head off! It wasn't obedience, it was absolute fright and wise decision making on your own reactions!)

Jamil was not too fond of you standing while he was lowered to the floor. With a single tug, you found yourself collapsed onto pillows, a knee trapped between Jamil's legs. Eyes wide, your cheeks had begun to burn red at how close he was, not to mention how your hands had been pressed to his chest. With a click of a tongue, Jamil raised a brow. "Clumsy." He allows you to readjust yourself, only satisfied when you sat on your knees with your hands clasped on your lap.

Perhaps that was the one thing he was intrigued by the most about you. Boring his dark eyes into yours, he leans into your stoic expression with a wicked smirk. He knows what you truly are, after all. "Delightful little thing, you are. You've seen right through my facades quicker than any of those buffoons ever had since my enrollment here." You cannot tell whether it is because of how close he was, or if it was because of his deduction, but he takes such amusement in the way your breath hitched.

"Pray do tell, what is it about you that gave you such foresight?" You swallow to yourself. Your lips had already parted but your teeth were clamped shut, as if you refuse to admit your secret. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem that Jamil appreciated your prolonged silence. A harsh hand gripped your cheeks, and you couldn't control yourself from reacting in pain. The viper forced you to look at him, and the snakes protruding from his body hissed and rattled with aggression. "You cannot fool me, prefect. I see right through you, even now." Still, he does not let you go. "To think that Azul fell for your naive and docile facade, he was a fool to let you retake Ramshackle dorm. I would have seen it coming a mile away."

You remain silent, pupils shrinking as he gripped your chin tighter. A grin of a snake overtook his features, and for a moment, you swear that his eyes were slitted too. "You and I, were are not so different." With his other hand, Jamil allowed his digits to play with the golden band around your wrist. "No one really knows what you're like. All they know is how agreeable and nice you are, and that is all that it takes to gain their trust." He gripped your wrist and suddenly, you find yourself pressed flush against the cushions and Jamil is on top, pinning you down as if you were prey. "Or maybe, that's all it took to gain more."

Still, you do not fight back. You stare at him with shock, frozen and uncertain on how to plan your next move. Jamil is looking for something on your expression, but not even he could force a reaction out of you. "Did you find me a fool, prefect? If one cannot wield magic themselves, surely, they can find others to wield it for them." His eyes narrowed with suspicion as his grip tightened even more. "You could have stopped with Housewarden Riddle, but you had wormed your way into Savanaclaw and Octanivelle. And now, you are trapped here with me." Jamil lowered himself into your ear, and you can feel that sinister smile.

"You and I are the same. I don't need my unique magic to make you admit it." It takes everything in your power to keep yourself from correcting him. A man who has worn a mask his entire life, and you, who only learns to adapt accordingly. He, who yearns to be something he can never be allowed to be, and you, who has been struggling to blend into a world that did not belong to you. You are not him and he doesn't seem to realize that. After all, when you live with envy, it becomes easy to believe that everyone out there is aching to be more than what they already are.

"What did you hope to gain from me?"

As much as you wanted to reply, you saw a glimpse of teal hair from the corner of your eye. Then you spot two heads of teal, and that fedora hat. Hiding your relief and excitement, you avert your attention back to Jamil. Holding back a gulp of courage, you sighed in an affectionate tone. “Jamil,” You breathed out, turning slightly to shield his view. “I never realized how attractive it was when you took what was entitled to you.” You felt him stiffen before he shifted towards you, almost suspicious of your words.

In an attempt to feed the lie, you mustered wonder into your eyes and smiled in triumph. "I did not hope to gain anything from you, Jamil. Rather, I was just looking for the right person to admire." You could sense that there was still distrust in his gaze, but nonetheless, he did not pull away. Instead, he allows a hand to play with your cheek, toying with your starstruck expression. "Go on." He purred, as if he were trying to milk more honeyed words from your lips.

And you would indulge him. "Riddle was only a little boy with a temper. A housewarden with such a short fuse would forever be blinded by his rage. An impulsive boy he was, and even now." You lie cleanly, leaning into his warm touch. He hummed, seemingly pleased. "Leona wouldn't care less about matters within his dorm unless it were to challenge his pride. He will forever be indulged in sloth. He knows nothing about hard work." It hurts you to say such things about your friends, but seeing Floyd give you a thumbs up from afar as he snuck through the crowd had eased the guilt.

Jamil is smiling now, allowing a hand to play with your hair. "What can I say about Azul?" You paused for a moment, watching as your friends halted from behind a pillar as you mentioned the Octanivelle housewarden. You sucked in a breath, and hummed condescendingly. "He is nothing without victims, and without his contracts, he is just as insignificant as everyone else without power." Jamil barks harsh laughter at your words, almost surprised himself but your 'true nature'. Luckily for you, he was so distracted by his wicked laughter that he does not notice you screaming a silent apology to a seemingly offended Azul.

Once he composed himself, however, his face darkened as he forced you to meet his gaze with a slight tug of the chain. “And Kalim?” His voice cut through the silence like the sharp end of the knife. For a moment, you swore you were going to falter into fear. “What of Kalim?” Jamil hissed, growing more agitated at the thought of his supposed master. Instead, you stare at him with narrowed eyes, mimicking his scorn. “A foolish boy who is undeserving of his position.”

You allow an impulsive hand to cup his cheek, and luckily, the gesture was welcomed. “It was a relief to see someone so capable take his place.” You sang with a villainous smile, fooling the viper perfectly. "You and I saw how he managed this place. If he was given a kingdom, it would have collapsed under his weight." Jamil shuddered as your hand trailed from his cheek to his neck, down to his collarbones. "It was not too hard to see who was truly ruling Scarabia. I knew immediately who was bringing glory to the name."

Hook, line, and sinker. Jamil fell for every bit of the act.

"Oh? You sing such sweet words, prefect. I prefer this 'honest' you. Perhaps I should keep you in a cage." Jamil relaxed onto his side, his back turned against the rebels who are attempting to hide behind the next pillar. Your attention on them was returned to Jamil as he leaned in close to you, sneaking himself into the crook of your neck. You felt his hand dance along your hip to your waist, making you shudder in his presence. "Wouldn't you like that, prefect? You would never have to pretend again." You find yourself biting on your lower lip as you nodded slowly. "Only for you, Jamil. You are the only one who saw through me." You breathed out as he looked at you once more, barely closing in the gap between your faces.

"Master, prefect." He smirked so boyishly for a moment, and it was enough to make your face red. "Call me 'master'." Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct as his lips finally touched yours, demanding just as the giver was. You felt your heart stop and your neck grow warm as he pushed into you, lowering you both until your head hit the cushion.

If your eyes were open, perhaps you would see the Leech brothers share stunned yet amused expressions at the sight. Kalim was certainly puzzled, maybe a bit scandalized and confused by the sight of Jamil being so forward. Grim and Azul could only stare with their jaws hung until Grim clumsily found himself stumbling onto a table with metal platters that fell with a loud clang!

The spell you had trapped Jamil in had broken in that moment. Eyes snapping alert, Jamil jolted up and whipped his head forward. "What was that?" He gritted out, about to look in the direction of the Leech twins before you yanked on his neck, pulling him back down. "Master, please let me have more." You murmur hastily as you forcibly wrapping your arms around his neck. With urgency, you pull him back into another kiss, rougher than the previous. Whatever resistance Jamil had in the beginning had immediately melted away as he fought against you, prying away your dominance and returning it to his hands that massaged and played with your hips. Purring into your touch, Jamil smiled against your lips. "What an honest pet." He murmured before diving in for more.

With dizzying affection, you lost yourself into Jamil. Perhaps he did not need his unique magic after all to draw out such a secret desire. However, you do hope that Azul and Kalim figure something out sooner before Jamil's hands wander any further from your hips. If you remember exactly how the story was supposed to end, the Great Seven only knew what was going to happen if you never got rescued.

[theorist-fox]

Promise rings

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Filthy. That's it. If you want some more humiliation kink I highly, highly, highly, highly recommend this by @/the-californicationist

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

18+

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: Simon fingers you in the rec room and you give him a promise ring. Or two—depending on how many fingers he's used.

CW: smut (fingering, finger sucking, squirting), humiliation kink, semi-public, Simon is a little mean but you love it so it's fine

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“Don’ wan’ anyone to hear ya now, do we?” 

He hushes you, mouth to your ear. His hand is shackled to your hips by the waistband of your sweatpants, two thick fingers already slick and buried to the knuckle.

Simon holds you tightly in place, hand curled at the base of your throat as an empty threat he won’t fulfill unless you kindly ask. He has you tucked between his legs, aptly spread to accommodate your body in between, as he slowly pumps his fingers into your cunt. Your knees are conveniently hooked on each of his thighs, and they’re already trembling even if he’s just begun.

Sweat collects on your back, dampening your shirt and by extension his own too. You feel his heart rabbit in his ribcage, thrumming against your spine. Thick arms glue your back to his chest—just in case you want to make a run for it. 

As if, right?

Earlier that night, he’d caught you out of your room much past midnight, trying to sneak a cuppa in the common area. Told you something along the lines of how he should have you cleaning the toilets because you’re breaking curfew, and you bit back with a hefty dose of sarcasm about how that’s not your favorite punishment he’s ever given you.

And so, he’d grabbed you by the waist and dropped back on the couch with an arm still coiled around it. 

You’re ashamed to say it only took two fingers circling your entrance and his tongue licking wanton stripes down your neck to make you embarrassingly wet. Balaclava lifted to his nose, he’d murmured unholy things to your ear, like how he’d want to drill in your head that you can’t go and break base rules, how he can’t keep covering for you, how he’d love to teach you a lesson by splitting you in half on his cock until you can only part your lips to apologize for giving him a headache.

But alas, the location isn’t sex friendly. 

However, the notion hasn't stopped Simon from adopting a more subtle approach that would lead to a similar conclusion. Like swirling the tips of his fingers around the fluttering hole of your cunt. Or biting softly at the shell of your ear, while keeping you nice and still with a hand on your collarbones.

Doesn’t stop him now, as he curls the pads of his fingers until they press where the velvet of your walls gets rougher to the touch. 

You abandon your head back onto his shoulder, heavy puffs leave your mouth in tandem with the skilled work of his hand, one that knows every nook and cranny of you. Glossy lips start nibbling at his neck and you relish how his throat bobs each time your teeth sink a little deeper. His growing stubble scratches the tender skin of your mouth, but it’s more than fine because you like how it stings.

“Little more, please?” You breathe.

But it’s then that he stops beckoning his fingers, leaving your walls to clamp around them as they fall still. You protest by biting the tendons of his neck a bit harder, suppressing a groan into it.

“Maybe it went over your head,” he drawls, tugging the balaclava down his chin before returning his hand at the base of your throat. “But this is a punishment, love.”

He cruelly leaves your hole to desperately flutter around nothing, but ultimately uses those same fingers to wet the rest of your sex. Keeping quiet becomes less of an option when he starts rubbing idle circles on your clit. He’s neglected it all this time, making it swell with blood and causing its sensitivity to peak. 

You shudder when he first brushes over it. 

As if out of habit, you search for his lips, sure to add a nice make-out session to pair with his fingers. But your mouth only meets fabric, and you frown.

“Don’t be a bastard, Riley.”

He hums, turning away to press a kiss to your cheek through the balaclava. “Only way I know.”

You pout. “Just one.”

“Behave.”

With a sigh, you relent. There’s no use in begging for something he won’t give you. You’ve learned to recognize what you can get from Simon, and what will be out of reach for the time being. If he’s decided he doesn’t want to kiss you, you will not get a kiss. 

But it doesn’t mean that you can’t be a little petty about it. 

You tug at his mask with your teeth, catching his lower lip too, and sharply bite into it.

In response, Simon slaps your pussy. A wet thwack echoes in the silent rec room. It sends tingles up your spine, and you hiss and gasp against his lips. Your nerves are currently haywire, and they cannot discern whether that rush was due to pain or pleasure.

You pull back only to pout, but it's obvious to both of you that there is no animosity in your eyes. In fact, Simon’s gaze falls to your lips with lust embedded in his pupils, and he takes that slightly jutting lower lip of yours as a little plea for him to give you what you need. Which is why he brushes his wet fingertips to your clit again, and again, until he can feel you soften in his grasp with a sequence of breathy, surrendering sighs. Only then, when you feel like molten wax in his hands, he switches to more rewarding, steady circles.

His focus leaves your lips only to take in your eyes. They’re diligently trained on him, because you know he likes to look you dead in the eye when he’s making you tremble to the bone. Eye contact is the only means he uses to communicate with you in the fog that is your relationship.

He’s more absorbed than you are, your eyes getting glassier by the minute. You want to keep it up, to hold your own against his stare that defies you to crack him open and peel the layers and understand. But you and him both know that is the last straw for you. He’s made you sensitive and supple and dull. Your head rolls back against his shoulder, and you push back, once again, the discovery of Simon Riley.

You breathe softly against his neck, trying to give yourself some containment due to the location you’re in. Nails dig in his forearms until they mark pink crescents over his tattoos, hoping that releasing tension through touch would help you keep your mouth shut.

Simon knows you still have something up your sleeve to use against him, because his weakness is to have you yearning for him as much as he does you—to have you pleading for his words, his touch, his presence, like he internally does each time you walk into his same space. 

You’ve never had a problem begging. When you’re confident enough about your person, pride doesn’t even get involved—they’re just words, and if he likes them, then so be it.

As long as he makes you come until your head spins.

“Please, Simon.” You whimper, putting up that act he knows all too well. As if he’d believe you’re truly submitting to him—but it’s fine, to be honest.

He's never wanted you to bend for him. Simon likes that fire that singes your pupils when you’re on active duty, or when you fuck him. He wouldn’t dream of snuffing it out, not when he’s more than aware that it makes him glow, too.

“Bit louder.” He rasps against your ear.

And you oblige, going as far as to wet your lips and bat your pretty lashes at him. Minx.

“Please? I’ll suck your cock after.”

Simon huffs. “Sellin’ it alrigh’.”

He loves to feel the stiffness of your clit under the pads of his fingers, how the more he skims them over it, the harder it gets—as if he’s flipping a switch. Which he sort of is, isn’t he? You’ve turned from the snarky little minx that could make him crack a smile or two, into this soft clay molding under the warmth of his touch.

“Wanna cum,” you sigh sweetly against his skin, sucking tenderly at the exposed flesh on his neck. “Please, Simon, let’s go to my room.”

He tuts at you, slowing down with his hand only to get you annoyed.

“We’re gonna stay ‘ere,” he murmurs, softly shaking his head so that the fabric of the balaclava scratches your skin. 

Then, out of the blue, you feel fingers dig into your jaw and pulling your mouth away from his neck. He forces your eyes forward, where the door of the rec room opens to the dark hallway. 

“You’re gonna cum on my hand, yeah? Soak it nicely.” He rasps against your ear, “An’ you’re gonna be quiet ‘bout it.”

Your cunt flutters.

“Need you sharp. Tha' clear?” He says, commanding as ever. “Answer, Sergeant.”

It almost makes you unravel then and there. Your eyes roll back and your hips buck against his hand. But you still have bits of reason floating around that mush he’s turned your brain into. 

“Cameras,” you mumble, sounding a little stupid and definitely on the verge of surrender. “There’re cameras.”

His response comes swiftly. “Not pointin’ at the sofa.”

Your chest stutters. He feels it under the weight of his palm. Your soft moans quiet down, too. A telltale sign of your beautiful brain whirring its cogs again. How he loves it, more than your body. Outwitting his every move. A true opponent—or ally, if only he’d allow you a little closer.

“You planned this, haven’t you?” You whisper cleverly, face still hidden in the crook of his neck and chest still heaving under his hand. Still affected by him, and yet your voice sounds steady and smooth.

And you’re so right. He knows this place by heart and could walk around it blindfolded. When he saw you in your grey sweatpants and an old white t-shirt, fumbling lazily with the electric kettle, blood had rushed so quickly to his cock he thought he could have fainted.

There is something about you invested in this almost boring, domestic light that always strikes him breathless. When the outline of the pillow fabric is imprinted in your cheek. When your hair is tousled by the bedsheets.

You look good in uniform too, all safely cradled in Kevlar and padded in neoprene. But it’s when you look drowsy and soft that sends him spiraling.

With the calculating mind of the pathological control freak he is, he’d retraced the position of the cameras in his head, and promptly decided to have you then and there.

The silence following your question must not be as subtle as he thinks. In seconds, you go from pliantly soft, into a squirming mess trying to escape him. Simon manages to hold you still only because he overpowers you in strength.

“What is it, mh?” You hiss, pushing at his forearm. “Been following me, L.T.?”

He hadn’t. Truly, he’d just stumbled upon you. It wouldn’t be too odd—he’s a sleepless ghost, after all, oftentimes found wandering around base at ungodly hours. The fact that he’d found you in his usual haunting grounds had been mere luck—true, blessed luck.

“You are-”

“Shut up.”

“-Fucking obsessed, and you-”

“Don’t.”

“-can’t even admit it.“

“Sergeant.”

“Coward.”

He plunges those two fingers back inside, punching a gasp out of you, and he gives no time for your hole to readjust to the stretch. Simply, he starts dragging against the front of your walls with a voracity that could be mistaken for hate, if you didn’t know him better.

You stiffen suddenly, arching your back off his chest. Teeth catch your bottom lip in an almost bloodthirsty grip—as much as you want to scream at him, you don’t want to get caught either.

He rams relentlessly into you until you're melting once again. His mouth is painfully pressed against your ear, and if the balaclava wasn't in the way, he would be lapping at whatever piece of flesh he could land on.

“Y’re a clever little thing, uh?” He groans huskily. “Always got the fuckin’ answer ready.”

You laugh under your breath, perhaps because you’re getting exactly what you want, or perhaps because you’ve been reading him more keenly than he thought and you've finally uncovered some new information that has been shrouded in darkness up until now.

He doesn’t care, and he gives in to you.

“Oh, you love it, you bastard,” you bite back breathlessly, which only makes his cock twitch in the tight space of his briefs.

“Smug little cunt.” He breathes in your ear, but you swear there isn’t an ounce of hostility in it.

You turn your head to meet his eyes. The playful smile on your fucked out face is straight out of his dreams—he's seen it so many times and yet it never ceases to amaze him. Nor does the way your hair bounces off your face in recoil from the frantic work of his hand. Or how your cheeks turn ruddy for him. Or how your lashes cast heavy shadows down your face.

“You love this smug little cunt, too.” You breathe, smugly.

Just proving his words, really.

“Don’t get cocky,” he hums in your ear. “Might gonna have to prove ya wrong, then.”

The heel of his hand rolls against your puffy clit in tandem with his fingers, because he wants you to come undone impossibly quick now that you’ve caught him red-handed.

It’s enough to make you forget you’re having a battle of wits with him. Your eyes roll back again, and your head falls limply onto his shoulder.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you wheeze, and he takes that as a sign to not stride away from the pace he’s taken.

His hand at the base of your neck tightens slightly, causing your breathy moans to lodge in your throat. Your cunt clenches right then, and your lips tug in a smile—because you love it, and he knows.

His contorted little mess. His cunning fox, strutting around the base with so much confidence in her gait, looking seemingly untamable. But when you're in his clutches, you're nothing but his pet, the one who enjoys having her leash tugged a little more firmly than socially acceptable.

“S-Simon.” Yes. Yes. C’mon, sweetheart. C’mon. “Simon – oh God –“

You’re being too loud. He doesn’t care if he gets caught with his pants down. He dares someone to confront him about it. Simon doesn’t revel in fickle things like dignity, not after life has done its goddamn worst to strip him of it.

But you? Hell, not you. He cherishes your privacy, in spite of how this whole predicament might make it look otherwise. On top of that, he selfishly likes to think he’s the only one with the delightful honor to see you so flushed and breathless, moaning his name like it’s the only one you know.

“Told ya to stay quiet.” And he stuffs two fingers in your mouth.

You groan and suck them back to your throat, until his pads graze the soft palate at the back. You gag around them, and he almost comes in his pants, wishing it was his cock instead. 

“Bite, don’t shout.” 

And you do. You bite the flesh around the base of his fingers, while his other ones are bringing you closer to the edge. An edge you’ve touched plenty of times with him, but one you’d rather not reach in such a public spot.

Granted, it’s night. It would be a fateful event for someone to walk by—rare, if not unique.

But still.

“Simon,” you moan, voice muffled around his fingers. “Fuck’s sake, no’ ‘ere.”

He chuckles, because he knows.

And you confirm it, by getting all agitated in his arms, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. Your hand curls around the wrist of his offending hand, still ramming deep into your sex.

“Simon, stop –” You croak, slightly pulling back to speak. “M’gonna cum—stop.”

He doesn’t. That’s not the safe word, is it? Say it, and he’ll stop stock still in less than a heartbeat. 

But you won't, right, sweet thing? No, you won’t. Because it feels too good, doesn’t it? 

“Red?” He rumbles, voice low and measured to give you the impression that he still has some semblance of control left.

You cry around his fingers until your brows touch. Tears prickle the corners of your eyes, and maybe, he thinks, you like this. The thought of getting caught. The thought of someone seeing you come for him, shaking and bucking your hips like you’re a fucking cat in heat.

His fingers don’t relent, because that tiny word still hasn’t left your lips.

“Red?” He insists, as he feels your cunt clench impossibly tight each time he speaks. “Answer.”

But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head with a sob, and Simon would bet his fucking right hand that it’s out of pleasure more than anything else.

He chuckles, low and deep. “Dirty fuckin’ slag.”

He’d recognize that fucked out look anywhere. As if you’re struggling to breathe, eyes unfocused and glassy, lustrous lips puckered right above the knuckle. He regrets refusing your kiss, because he's sure they’d look even more delectable after he’s bitten them to bits.

“You like this, uh?” He rasps against your ear. “Wan’ an audience all for ya, yeah? Wan’ the team to pop in to see you like this?”

You shake your head, muffling a cry around his fingers. 

He tuts at you. “Don’t lie to me, love.”

You squirm and moan, sniffling with your nose as tears travel down your temples and into your hairline. You nod, then, because you’re a good sergeant and you follow orders as dutifully as you hand them out—every time.

"Wan' em all to 'ave a wank as you cum 'round my fingers, don't you?" He croons, even if the thought of someone seeing you like this has his blood boiling.

Drool gathers at the corners of your mouth as you buck your hips to intensify the work of his hand. And you nod vigorously, once again, with your eyes rolled back. Heavy puffs leave your nostrils, shallow and quick.

Simon hums a groan deep from his chest. He loves to see you break, loves to see you crack so easily. Doesn’t care if your mouth is quieted by his fingers, because your cunt is so wet it’s making sounds of its own that are enough for his greedy, insatiable ears.

His forearm starts cramping but he'll be damned if he stops, keeping his ring and middle finger inside as he presses them to the front wall of your vagina, while rhythmically dragging them in and out in a dance he knows will make you shatter.

And then you tense, corded neck tilted back. A long, agonizing moan escapes your stuffed mouth, and your walls signal your orgasm before your lips do. You ripple around his fingers, making movements hard, if not impossible. He easily overcomes that obstacle and keeps fucking you raw with the help of your come collecting on his palm. You’re so wet he barely has to try.

He looks at your profile on his shoulder. At the fucked out look in your eyes, misty and unfocused. Keenly listens to the moans you're trying to contain, as they turn into wheezing mewls. Feels the vice grip your pulsating cunt has on his fingers, the indents left by your teeth on his other hand.

Fuck it, you're gorgeous.

You come back down from the high with a wet gasp choked by his knuckles. Your nose is stuffy and it’s probably a little hard to breathe—but he’s merciful and takes out his fingers. 

Or, at least, tries. 

Your head lunges forward before he’s fully pulled them out. You gag when the tips touch the back of your throat again.  

Simon’s eyes widen but he doesn’t waste a second.

He resumes the pace that has already made you come, watching with rapt attention how your face doesn’t even look like yours anymore. There’s spit on your lips, and tears down your eyes. He’s already seen you wrecked, folded in half on his bedsheets. But there’s something even more unhinged about having you panting in the common area of a high security military base. It feeds him a great deal of power—you’re doing this for him, you’re putting yourself on the line because of him. 

That, of course, requires a reward. 

“Look at you,” he croaks. “Gimme one more, yeah? One more.”

Your legs squirm and you kick your heels against the sofa in sudden overstimulation, the hold of your hands on his arm turns into a death grip that paints your knuckles white and his flesh red. You could be skinning him alive, and he wouldn’t stop the onslaught on your pussy. 

He can hear you heaving, sees your pebbled nipples brush against the soft cotton of your t-shirt. Your teeth are sinking into his flesh, and he will most likely be sporting bruised bite marks on his fingers for a few days. He rolls his wrist to cause fluctuations in the pressure on your swollen clit and against your walls. Your hips swing together with his hand. He knows where to touch, you know how to guide him—it’s an intimate dance, and it belongs to you two only.

Simon scratches his cheek against your temple to collect the tears that are falling into your hairline.

He flattens the heel of his hand against your clit, which is once again a stiff kink of nerves—he’s shocked by how far he can push you before he wrings you dry. 

Your eyes touch his own, but you’re not even looking. Still unsated, still greedy for more—you love this, don’t you? Too much on your shoulders: responsibilities, a haunting past and an uncertain future. This job gives you very few rewards for the effort you put into it. That’s why you love it, when he brushes away every fear and uncertainty with a simple roll of his hand. 

He starts beckoning his fingers inside of you, teasing and pressing against that one overstimulated spot that has already made you come. The squelching noises coming from your pussy are enough to make his cock leak as he keeps pressing and sliding against your ass.

“Leakin’ like a fuckin’ faucet.” He rasps against your ear.

You moan around his fingers, and it vibrates through his bones. Your eyes are hooded, lushes clumped with tears, and your body is completely abandoned and at his mercy. You trust him to ruin you in the best ways, and he can only comply.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whispers in your ear. “Could cum just by lookin’ at ya.”

Feeding you this knowledge seems enough to tip you over the edge again.

He wishes he’d taken this to another room like you asked before, because you slip into a second orgasm with a choked “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck!” muffled by his digits that will haunt him forever.

A rushing flood invades his palm, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at the sight. You come spraying liquid, tense and quivering in his arms. The soft grey marl of your sweats first darkens with tiny speckles, and then it blends into a larger spot covering the crotch of your pants.

Breath is caught in your throat, and if he wasn't witnessing the strength of your orgasm firsthand, he'd be dead worried by the look on your face. Pinched and overwhelmed.

"There it is." He murmurs, low and gravelly, "Fuck, tha's a sight. Fuckin' lovely."

He leaves your hole to flutter emptily only to skim the pruny pads of his fingers on your clit to prolong your orgasm, watching mesmerized how your squirt keeps staining the fabric.

It’s impossibly hot and it makes something in his head tick at the sight, almost like a needle puncturing his brain. His cock twitches helplessly as he unconsciously keeps rubbing the swollen head against your plump rear, before an unexpected warmth floods through him and invades each one of his nerves. 

He tastes blood on his tongue for how hard he’s been biting his cheek. 

Fuck.

A ragged breath around his fingers tells him you’ve returned to yourself. You soften against him like a doll prettily placed on his lap. 

"Breathe," he says softly, watching keenly as you come back to your senses. "Slow n' steady, love. Deep breaths. Tha's it."

His fingers slow, guiding you down to earth. Your eyes are hooded, glossy and now apparently sated, blood collected in the apples of your cheeks. You’re looking at him too, now gently suckling on his fingers to keep quiet, nostrils flaring to breathe as he's instructing you.

You’re so beautiful he forgets he has to be a bastard around you, or you’ll come and try to steal the heart you unknowingly already own.

Simon takes his fingers out of your mouth, not without smearing the spit they collected all over your lips first. You pant and smile. And apparently, you don't care that he's wearing the mask, because you lean in and kiss where his lips would be. Just a peck. He can’t fathom giving you more, not now. Not when his head is so confused, thoughts and feelings twisted in an imprecise knot. He simply kisses you back, silently cursing the fabric separating your skin from his, but ultimately doing nothing about it. Then, he helps you stand. 

“Go on, now.” He murmurs, patting your thigh. “S’after curfew.”

You're looking a little out of it. Simon can't help but feel a brief moment of guilt for leaving you to fend for yourself, when your legs look like they're made of jelly and your head still swims in ecstasy.

You wobble to the table, flattening your hands on the faux wood to regain your balance. Head bowed and still panting, your hair falls to frame your face and hides it from his sight. You feel dizzy, blinking your eyes to center yourself. The pleasure ebbs away slowly, languid, like molten lava leaving the crater of a volcano, dripping down your quivering legs scorching hot, until it puddles at your feet.

Differently, Simon doesn’t move from the sofa. A hand comes to adjust his crotch, and he lifts his hips to get into a more comfortable angle. He stays like that, legs spread as the ghost of you still sits in between them. His thumb grazes the fabric of the sweatpants he uses as loungewear, and he looks at you. Bent at the waist, wet, messy and panting—his name is written over you with a big, fat indelible marker. 

You’re his, his, his. No matter what you say, or what he says—you’re his.

Simon’s eyes are dark and heavy with lust and a tinge of anger, and you can feel them like lasers drawing your profile as if he’s carving it into marble. Whichever thought about him was about to bloom, however, is smothered to cinders when you spot the huge wet patch between your thighs.

Your eyes widen and you turn, if possible, even more flushed. Your head snaps upward and to him in a flash. Your eyes are burning, and Simon can’t help but think he’d love for you to scorch him to the bone.

“Y-You fuckin’ bastard.” You point an accusing finger in his direction, walking awkwardly as the sodden cotton of your knickers sticks uncomfortably to your pussy.

“Go on, I said.” He murmurs in his usual, jaded way. “S’late, you’re gonna get caught.”

You’re infuriated. Incensed. He wants to fuck you all over, flatten your tits to that same table, and ram into you while you shower him with curses and come.

“How am I s’posed to walk around like I’ve pissed myself!”

You’re whisper yelling. Smoke is billowing out of your ears. Your eyes turn crimson and you’re growing horns and a pointy tail.

You look beautiful.

But he simply rolls his neck and keeps his big hand draped over his groin. 

“With your legs, love.”

And you stomp to him until you’re standing once again between his thighs.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Simon throws back his head onto the top of the couch and looks at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown into a black hole that sucks the light of his brown irises.

“Can’t kill a ghost.”

"Oh, shut your gob with that shit.” You spit with vitriol. 

“Not so smug now, uh?”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“You-you fuckin’ wanker.” You hiss, but the embarrassed stutter makes you look like a puffed up cat more than a viper. “I fuckin’ hate you.”

“Bet you do.”

“I’m a respected sergeant, I can’t go ‘round like I’ve piss-”

“That all?”

You glower at him. If he didn’t know you like the back of his hand, he would cower. Shame for you that he does, and the irate flame in your eyes only makes his hunger grow because he knows how voracious you are when you’re furious. 

“Told ya t’was a punishment, didn’t I?” He deadpans, “Jog on, now.”

Once again, you splutter. It would be such an entertaining sight, one he’d relentlessly tease you for, if he was in the mood. But he isn't, and in fact, he needs you to leave as soon as humanly possible.

You clench your fists, probably ready to strike him right in his mug. Totally deserved it, he’d let you get him straight on the nose. 

But then you huff and strike you don’t, stomping your foot on the floor like an angry child. Cleverly, you decide to put your hands to better use and tug down the hem of your oversized t-shirt instead—trying to cover, as best as you can, the wet patch on the crotch of your pants.

Scowling, you threaten him with a sizzling “I’m gonna make you pay for it, Riley.”

You turn around, marching away with ire in each one of your steps as if the soles of your feet could melt the linoleum of the floors by sheer, angry heat.

“Sure you will.” He murmurs to himself, knowing fully well he’s started a battle he’ll gladly let you win. 

Simon waits for the noise of your steps to disappear before he sinks into the couch with a defeated sigh. Tugging off the balaclava, he runs a sloppy hand across his face. He can still smell you on his fingers and something in his stomach knots.

Wearily, his eyes travel down his torso until they meet the hand covering the crotch of his sweatpants. With his thumb, he traces the purple indents left by your teeth at base of each finger. Tomorrow, he’ll wear them proudly. A weird promise ring, sure. But yours, nonetheless.

He lifts his hand slowly and scowls.

An incriminating stain stares back at him. Untouched, softening cock sensitive to the barest of movements he makes. 

Looks like you’ll meet again tomorrow in the laundry room, first thing in the morning.

[sleyu]

thinking about how mean!bf sirius would have a hugeee corruption kink, he just wants to ruin your mind yk

idk maybe its just me

i think mean or not, it is definite that sirius black has a corruption kink and it unquestionably couples with his possessive nature.

just imagine mean bf ! sirius meeting you for the first time. you’re a timid, but undoubtedly kind individual who is meek next to him—fully aware of sirius’ notoriety in his personality and habits. he becomes so awestruck, he has nothing to respond to your unassuming questions aside from the occasional nod or gentle murmur.

he displays a calm, relatively friendly aura until the pair of you begin to become acquainted with each other and ultimately, begin dating. it is only then, that the mean teasing and snickers begin, and his heart bursts with joy at the sound of your bashful whines and protests every time he playfully slaps your ass or tugs your skirt, laughing and pulling you close to him, muttering how his actions are all in good fun and that he’d never let anything actually hurt you.

‘so bloody sensitive. y’know i’d rather die than let someone lay a hand on you, dummy.’

and of course, sirius isn’t stupid. he’s been having lewd, perverted thoughts about you since the day he met you. in fact, it was only the same night that sirius cast a silencing charm around his bed to hide the sinful sounds of him grunting as he fisted his cock, thoughts about bending you over the classroom desk polluting his already depraved mind.

since you’ve started dating, he reckons it’s time to manifest these fantasies into life, especially after noticing how your meek gaze has begun to linger on his broad chest and widen at the sight of his bulging crotch. his inner self beams with joy and crude anticipation every time he feels you pawing at his thighs, looking up at him in despair as if you’re unsure of what you really want or why the throbbing ache in between your thighs is only getting worse.

i think mean bf ! sirius would definitely become dizzy at the sight of you on your knees, hands gripping his muscular thighs, begging him to let you suck his cock or to fill your cunt up. usually he was the one doing the begging, but here you were, pliant, obedient, and desperate for his every touch. he genuinely has to sit down and stare at you while also controlling the immoral urge of forcing his cock down your throat, watching how your eyes widen and become teary as your throat contracts and chokes around his pulsating cock.

he genuinely cannot control himself once he sees you fully submit to him, begging him to give you the exact things you were too shy about even insinuating merely a month ago. it makes him feel so accomplished knowing that he was the one that made your brain all cloudy and fuzzy—that he was the one who got your cunt hooked on the feeling of his relentless, unforgiving cock.

‘sirius—my fingers—they’re not good enough—need your cock in me—jus’ want you to ruin ‘n abuse me—please da—’ as soon as you become close to uttering the last word, he’s already lifted up your skirt and forced his cock inside your aching pussy anyways, groaning into your mouth and fucking you ten times harder than he would have any other day.

‘slut—you’ve become a little slut—oh, fuck—‘n who’s are you, huh?’

it becomes the first time that sirius loses all sense of reason and caution as it has become evident to him that he’s irreversibly corrupted you into becoming just as disgusting and perverted as him.

‘nah, not sirius’, honey, you're daddy’s, yeah?’

‘gross fuckin’ bitch loves that, huh, puppy? you like it when daddy forces himself inside you like that, hm?’

‘hogwarts newest slut, yeah? but only mine, isn’t that right? only i get to ruin—fuck—this whorish cunt—mmm,’

sirius is so mean, he doesn’t even tell you when he’s about to cum :( he makes you cum and afterward, you’re a fucked out mess because he just doesn’t stop. your eyebrows begin to furrow and you can only manage to mumble a quiet ‘sirius?’ before he groans into your neck, breath all hot and heavy, and pumps you full of his hot, sticky cum. all you can do is whine and writhe beneath him as he pushes your knees to your chest and uses your cunt to drain his massive cock.

all the while, he’s reveling in the realization that he has just cummed inside you and that if spells and birth control were forgotten, it would be no surprise if you fell pregnant with the copious amounts of cum pumped inside your spent hole.

‘my dirty girl likes when daddy breeds her, doesn’t she? oh, don’t shake your head, pup, i know you like it—can feel you clench—god—around me right now.’

sirius gets so turned on when you confess that you can’t make yourself cum without him ever since the two of you started having sex. the image of you crying out in frustration at the feeling of your own neediness and the dull throbbing in between your sore thighs—incapable of doing anything without his guidance—makes his cock harden far quicker than it should have.

‘poor thing. my dumb girl can’t do anything without me, can she? your small fingers just aren’t as daddy, hm?’ paired with a faux, mocking frown because sirius black is an asshole that is very visibly ecstatic that you’ll always have to come to him to find a release.

and nothing fuels his ego more than having you beg him to stuff you full of his cum before class begins. he loses his mind seeing the effects of ruining your perfect, angelic interior. his once smart, goody-two-shoes, good-girl has become a conniving slut, her own cunt betraying any logic or rational thinking within her mind :( seeing his shy, perfect-attendance girlfriend begging him to skip class with her to fuck in a dingy broom closet is all it takes for him to bust right then and there.

[martiniblues]

MIDAS TOUCH ✦ mark lee

pairing female!reader x spider!mark

synopsis just because your boyfriend is your friendly neighborhood spiderman, doesn’t mean he’s a tough guy all the time. you especially know how to get his nerdy, awkward, boyish side to show when you express your likings towards someone else (even if they are fictional).

genre so much fluff, mark is so down bad it’s not even funny, slightly suggestive.

“do you really think he’s tougher than me?”

your boyfriend, mark, whines as he hangs by his finger tips from your ceiling. you stood in front of your mirror, touching up your lipgloss with gentle strokes.

the tv played the daily news, clips of your boyfriend swinging around the city flash vibrantly catching his attention.

“i’m not saying he’s tougher than you mark. he’s a fictional character.” you sighed, looking at mark through the reflection in your mirror.

he still hung behind you, his spidey-skills giving him the ability to stick to any surface with ease. a small pout was on his lips, taking in your words but still watching the tv.

“i can literally swing from buildings and hang upside down. i bet he can’t do that.” mark let go of one of his hands, throwing it out in protest.

you finalized your touch ups, turning around to tug on mark’s t-shirt which had begun to ride up his torso. “you’re seriously jealous of someone who’s not even real?”

his eyes quickly tore away from the screen at the feeling of your fingertips on his bare skin. you smirked, seeing the way his cheeks and ears immediately began to flush a light pink.

“how am i supposed to react when i see you giggling at some words on a page and not me?” he plops to the ground with a thud, moving past you quickly to hide his blushing. mark always tried to hide his dorky, awkward side from you even if he was unsuccessful ninety-nine percent of the time.

you laugh, quickly reaching out to tug him back by one of his belt loops by his hip. his steps stuttered before he looked back to see you looking up at him with a grin. “i laugh at you all the time spidey-boy.”

he finally turns around, leaning his body against your door frame accepting defeat. your other hand comes to hook around his waist, pulling yourself nearly flush against him.

“yeah-“ he looks down at you not able to fight the urge. “but you’re laughing at me. you’re a complete bully to me!” he goes on, your lips pulling more into a smile as he goes on.

“you know,” you fight back your laugh, turning towards your desk where your book sat annotated to the brim, “he wouldn’t be acting like this.” you turn to see mark completely dumbfounded.

he tore his eyes away from you, scoffing as he looked at the book. how could you be so caught up in a guy who wasn’t even real?

“how would you feel if i was drooling over some girl in the movies we watch?” he dropped his head to the side, you almost swore his eyes were trying to trick you into feeling bad.

“first off, i would beat you to it.” you reached out and brushed his bangs that fell into his face away. “don’t beat yourself up markie, not every girl can say that they are are actually, not fictionally, dating spiderman.” you smiled as you continued to soothe him as your fingers raked against his scalp.

his pout morphed into a smiled at your words. “yeah, you’re right…” he leaned back against the wall, smirking to himself. “-not every girl gets to wake up and see these bad boys and know they’re from my heroic duties.” mark reach up and leaned his head against his arm, causing his muscles to flex in your face.

you could have sworn you felt yourself drool a little. mark wasn’t the most ripped man in the world, but those spidey-skills don’t just come without putting in a little effort.

your eyes followed from his lean forearm, to his sculpted triceps, and then to his lean shoulders that practically suffocated in his t-shirt.

“yeah… you’re right.” your words came out slow and soft. you couldn’t even think of a clever comeback and you didn’t care to.

mark watched you with a satisfied smile, knowing you were just trying to get under his skin a bit. “so what was it about that guy?”

“i have no idea what your talking about.” you quickly pulled him flush to you, your lips silencing him from commenting on how red your cheeks had gotten.

as your lips moved with one another’s, you couldn’t help but smile as you felt his hands skim under your shirt.

“i love you, you know? even if you do like some fictional guy over me.” mark muttered against your lips as you shoved his shoulder softly. “i love you too.” you pecked his lips once before kissing along his cheek. “way more than that guy.” you felt him smile against your lips.

thank god you weren’t one of the girls who had to imagine these scenarios with mark.

hiiiiii!!!! omg i’ve been gone for so long this feels so weird. sorry this is so short and literal trash T-T i just really wanted to get something out. please leave any recs in my inbox!!!

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — prologue | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | coriolanus is his own warning, mentions of death, elitism, self harm (Coryo burns his wrist)

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 eight year old Coryo finds out who his soulmate is and his feelings about it

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 this is the first official post about this series that I started on a whim! I am excited to see where this goes, please give me feedback, thank you!

series taglist | series masterlist | navigation

It started with Sejanus. Despite being friends with the boy, eight-year-old Coriolanus Snow couldn't help but loathe the fact the boy had District blood.

Sejanus' presence in the Capitol Academy was an insult to all of Capitol. He couldn't comprehend how it was all allowed before he heard the whispers. Sturbo Plinth bought his way in with money.

Money. The one thing a Snow should be entitled to and yet has none of. Even the power his name held was dwindling. Coriolanus will do anything to make sure ‘Snow lands on top'.

With that vow, Coryo gently brushed his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist. A number, something of significance for his soulmate. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, he traced over the dark lines. He felt instantly calm.

Everything is going to be alright.

His soulmate will be a princess, a goddess, a rich Capitol girl no one can compare to. He will have a happy ending with her. Snows will rise on top, and his girl will be beside him every step of the way. The First Lady of Panem as he will be the president.

He vividly remembers the day all of his hopes were crushed. It was a couple of weeks after Sejanus started attending the academy. The boy was mocked by everyone, and Coriolanus thought it was deserved, a district boy was nothing more than an animal.

Then came the district girl, this one from District One, the district closest to the Capitol. But still not the same. The girl from the district was the prettiest he had ever seen. Although she's district. She had claimed the hearts of the teachers, and in return received many privileges. It was rumored that even the dean had a soft spot for her.

It was understandable why. She was a girl with a sweet smile, a secret sharp tongue, and hidden cruelty in her eyes he wasn't sure anyone saw except him. Her eyes always softened when she looked at him but she was always friendlier with Sejanus. Pea in a pod sticks together after all.

It was a bright day, a hot summer making him sweat in his uniform more than the walk to the academy did. That was the day he felt his heart break, and soul crushed. It was completely by accident. Sejanus and you thinking that maybe, you were soulmates. And Coriolanus thought so too, after all, you both were so close, attached to the hip.

Coriolanus felt like he was intruding into something private whenever he was near you both. With your shared giggles and secret smiles, you were as close as children could be.

When you raise your shirt sleeve revealing your soulmate's tattoo, the date is meant to be the most significant to your soulmate. Sejanus didn't recognize it but Coriolanus did, much to his nightmare.

It was the date most important to him. It was the day of his mother's and unborn sister's death. The day he lost someone he held so close to his heart. That's the number etched on your skin.

No. No! He grabbed your wrist, ignoring your yelp and the protest from Sejanus. His eyes were wide and he felt his body shake. “No. . .” He whispered, a sob in his throat.

“What's wrong?” You asked, trying to get your hand out of his hold, and due to his weak, underweight body, you did it easily enough. You rub your wrist and wait for Coryo's answer.

You don't get one because Coriolanus Snow had turn away and begun to walk away from you and Sej.

When he reached his home, his body was shaking and fat drops of tears falling from his eyes. A district girl as his? Never, never in a thousand years. His dead father would have been so disappointed. He refused to accept her as his.

He won't. Ever.

Tigris tried to ask what happened, but Coryo ignored her. He went into the kitchen, turning on the stove. The fire burned blue and orange. He didn't hesitate, ignoring the scream from Tigris as he put his wrist forward. He bit his lips to not scream himself.

By that time, Tigris had pulled him back. The skin had burned, along with it was gone the soulmate tattoo of his. He let himself sob as Tigris tried to fix him up as much as she could. She didn't scold him, couldn't, when he was crying like he had lost everything, all of his dreams shattered and the reality had settled in.

This was ten years ago, he decided he had no soulmate.

Now as eighteen, he wondered if it would remain true.

next chapter!

Taglist: @tristanswildcat

[jaethaone]

Can’t Get Enough

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black F!Reader

Word Count: 2.8 (She A Big One 😂)

Requested: I just want a fic of Roman who’s obsessed with how thick his girlfriend is, maybe she’s built kinda like Skai Jackson or even Trinity Fatu but he loves to hit and smack her ass, watch it move when they fuck, squeeze it when he walks by, I just want smut 😞

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: SMUT! Like Pure Smut .. I’m Honestly Ashamed Of Myself 🙈😂

A/n: I Honestly Wasn’t Expecting This To Be As Long But Once I Get In My Zone, It Just Be Writing😂 Hope You Guys Enjoy.

Roman couldn't keep his hands off of you. He was absolutely obsessed with your curvy figure, especially your ass. It was his favorite part of your body, a source of endless fascination and desire.

Whenever you were together, his hands were drawn to you like magnets, needing to touch, caress, and possess every inch of your soft flesh.

Almost every time you were around Roman your eyes sparkled with mischief, knowing the effect you had on him. You loved dressing up for him, choosing outfits that showcased your body, especially your generous curves. Tight dresses that hugged your hips and accentuated your waist were your signature style, driving Roman wild with desire.

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm glow over the room as Roman returned home. He dropped his keys on the hall table with a clatter, kicking off his shoes and padding barefoot into the living room.

Upon entering , his smile widened at the sight that greeted him. You were curled up on the sofa, long legs tucked beneath you and a book forgotten in your lap as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling with affection.

Your hair tumbled over your shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the deep V-neck of the fluffy loungewear set you were wearing, which accentuated your cleavage.

There you are," he said, crossing the room in strides and pulling you to your feet for a kiss. "God, I've missed you."

"Mmm, I've missed you too." You moaned softly as your lips met, arms wrapping around his neck.

You wore no bra, and Roman could feel your breasts pressing against his chest, your nipples hardening at his touch.

As y’all kissed, he slid his hands down your back, savoring the soft feel of your skin, and then lower, grasping a handful of your ass. You giggled, breaking away from the kiss, your eyes sparkling with what could only be lust.

"Roman!" You chided playfully, swatting his hands away. "Behave yourself. I was just about to make some dinner."

"Oh, let me help with that," he said, his eyes never leaving your body as you started to walk past him towards the kitchen. He admired the way your hips swayed beneath your knitted shorts, the fabric hugging every curve.

"You know I love to watch you cook," he added, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he followed you into the kitchen, pressing up against you from behind as you opened the fridge.

"Is that so?" You asked, a smile in your voice. "And here I thought you just liked to eat."

"Oh, I do," he said, nipping at your ear, his hands sliding up your stomach to cup your breasts. "I love to feast on every inch of you."

You gasped, breath catching in your throat as his thumbs brushed over your already sensitive nipples.

"Roman, we have food to make," you protested weakly, even as you leaned back against him, your head falling back to give him better access to your neck.

"Mmm, you taste as sweet as ever," he murmured, his lips trailing kisses down your throat as his hands continued their exploration.

One hand slipped lower, sliding between your legs, his fingers teasing at the damp fabric of your panties.

"Oh, God..." You moaned, your knees buckling slightly as his fingers found your clit, circling it gently. "We—we can't... Not yet..."

"Why not?" he asked, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers continuing their relentless torture. "I want you now, Yn. I need to feel you around me, those tight, wet walls squeezing me..."

"Roman, please..." You whimpered, one hand holding onto the fridge, the other clutching at his arms as your legs trembled.

You could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against you, and your body craved his, but you knew if y’all started now, you wouldn't make it to dinner.

With a final, teasing stroke, Roman relented, withdrawing his hand and stepping back, his eyes glittering with desire. "Fine," he said, his voice strained. "But we finish this later. I want you screaming my name, Yn."

You shivered at his words, a heady mix of excitement and anticipation coursing through you.

"I always do," you promised, eyes locking with his as you straightened your clothes.

Dinner was a relaxed affair, with soft music playing in the background and candles flickering on the table, casting a warm glow over your plates of pasta and glasses of red wine.

You both talked and laughed easily, sharing stories from your day as you enjoyed the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal.

But despite the casual atmosphere, an undercurrent of tension and desire thrummed between you, an unspoken awareness of what was to come later that night.

Every so often, Roman's gaze would linger on your body, taking in the way your shirt dipped low to reveal a hint of cleavage, or the way your hair fell over your shoulders, concealing yet tantalizing.

And You, for your part, was equally aware of him, the way his eyes followed your every move, the way his broad shoulders filled out his shirt, and the way his strong, calloused hands moved as he ate and drank. You knew what those hands could do, the pleasure they could bring, and the thought made your core clench with need.

As you both finished your meal, Roman pushed back his chair with a scrape and stood, crossing to the kitchen to put away the dishes. You watched him move, your pulse quickening as you took in the way his jeans hugged his narrow hips and powerful thighs.

"Come here, Yn," he said, his voice low and commanding as he returned to the table, holding out a hand to you.

You rose from your chair, heart pounding, and placed your hand in his, feeling a spark of electricity as your fingers intertwined. He pulled you close, his free hand sliding down to cup your ass, pulling you against the hardness that was already growing insistent at his groin.

"I need you," he growled, his lips brushing your ear as he pressed himself against you. "Now."

You whimpered, your body melting against his, all thoughts of resistance forgotten, hands clutching the sides of his face, pulling his lips down to yours for a hungry kiss.

With a growl, Roman swept you up into his arms and carried you from the kitchen to your shared bedroom.

You laughed, a breathless, excited sound, as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind them and strode toward the bed, laying you down gently on the soft, rumpled sheets.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his eyes devouring you as he loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light.

You reached up, tugging at his shirt, and he quickly pulled it over his head, revealing his muscular chest and arms, the light from the bedside lamp casting shadows over his defined abs.

"Mmm" was all you said, as your hands glided over his skin, marveling at the feel of him. "I love your body."

He smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dim light, and leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, even as his hands went to work, tugging at your clothes, eager to reveal and explore every inch of you.

He took a moment to appreciate your body, the sight made Roman's mouth go dry.

"You look incredible," Roman whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Soon, you were both naked, clothes discarded on the floor, mouths never leaving each other, hands desperate to touch and feel.

You moaned into his mouth as he pulled you against him, your bare skin sliding against his, nipples hardening as they brushed against his chest.

Roman broke the kiss, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there as his hands roamed, squeezing and caressing your breasts, your hips, your thighs.

Roman's strong hands grasped your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. His fingers dug into your soft flesh, leaving momentary imprints on your skin.

"I love how you fill my hands," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "So fucking thick and soft."

You let out a soft moan, feeling his fingers gently squeezing and kneading your ass. He loved to play with it, feeling the plump cheeks yielding to his touch. He smacked your ass playfully, enjoying the way it jiggled with each strike.

"You like that, don't you?" You teased, kissing him passionately.

Roman's kisses were hungry, his tongue invading your mouth as his hands continued their exploration.

"Let me see it," he whispered, his voice thick with need. "Let me see that beautiful ass." Getting up off the bed.

You obliged, slowly turning around giving him a full view. You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands on the bed, offering him a perfect angle to admire your curves.

Roman's eyes traced the curve of your spine, down to the soft, round globes of your ass, now exposed and waiting for his touch.

Roman wasted no time, his hands cupping your cheeks, squeezing and spreading them apart. He admired the way your ass filled his hands, the plump flesh overflowing his grip. He delivered a sharp smack, leaving a red imprint on one cheek, then the other, watching as the skin bounced back with each strike.

"Oh, fuck, yes," You hissed, feeling a rush of pleasure and pain. "harder."

Roman obliged, his hand connecting with your ass repeatedly, leaving a mosaic of red handprints on your skin. You moaned loudly, your body trembling with each impact. He reached down, sliding his fingers under you, finding your wetness.

"You're so fucking wet," he growled, his fingers sliding easily through your folds.

You arched your back, pushing your ass towards him, inviting more of his touch.

Roman's fingers delved deeper, finding your sweet spot. He rubbed you firmly, his thumb circling your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"You like it when I touch you here?"

"Oh, God, yes..." you gasped, your head falling to the bed.

"That's it, let me hear you," he encouraged, his voice a husky growl as he added a second finger, thrusting slowly into your wet heat. "Let me know how much you love it."

"Oh... Oh, Roman..." you moaned, your hands clutching at the bedsheets, your back arching as his fingers worked their magic, curling just right to hit that hidden spot deep inside you. "I love it... I love the way you touch me... Please, don't stop..."

"I don't plan to," he growled, adding a third finger, stretching and filling you as he rubbed your clit with his thumb. "Come for me, Yn. Scream my name."

"Roman!" You cried out as your body dropped to the bed as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, an electric tension building, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through you. "Oh, God, Roman!"

"Cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice a low, sexy rasp. "Let me feel that pussy squeezing my fingers."

You couldn't hold back any longer. As Roman's fingers worked their magic, you came hard, your body shaking, a chorus of moans escaping your lips. Roman continued to stimulate you, drawing out your orgasm, until you were reduced to a quivering mess, your legs weak and your body drenched in sweat.

As your body shuddered and convulsed, Roman turned you back around and lowered his head, taking a hard nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving it with his tongue as your cries echoed in his ears. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding him to you as you felt the after shocks of your orgasm wash over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Slowly, you came back to earth, your body relaxing against the bed, a lazy smile curving your lips as you opened your eyes to find Roman watching you, his eyes dark with desire.

"That," you said, your voice a hoarse whisper, "was amazing."

"We're not done yet," he promised, his voice thick with need. He withdrew his hand from between your legs, his fingers glistening with your arousal, and brought them to his mouth, sucking your essence from them as you watched, your heart pounding.

Then, with a low growl, he hooked his arms under your knees, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders as he settled between your thighs, his hard length pressing against your wetness.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his voice strained with his own need as he rubbed the head of his cock against your sensitive clit.

"Yes," you moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as the sensation sent sparks of pleasure through you. "Please, Roman, I need you."

With a groan, he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside you with one smooth stroke.

"Ahh!" You cried out, your eyes flying open as you felt herself stretch around him, your body accommodating his size.

"You feel so damn good," he grunted, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for control, his hips stilled as he gave you a moment to adjust.

"Move, Roman," You pleaded, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "Please..."

With a growl, he began to move, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming back into you, his hips snapping forward as he set a relentless pace.

"Oh, God..." you moaned, your head tossing from side to side on the pillow, your breath coming in short gasps as he filled you over and over. "It's—it's too much..."

"It's never too much," he growled, his hands gripping your thighs as he drove into you, his balls slapping against you with each powerful thrust. "You take all of me, Yn. You take every inch."

"Yes..." you whimpered, your body trembling as he pounded into you, the bed creaking beneath them. "I'm trying... Oh, God, Roman..."

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his teeth gritted as he fought to hold on, his own pleasure building to a peak. "Take it... Take my cock..."

"I'm trying..." you moaned, your nails digging into his skin, legs wrapping around his waist as you met his thrusts, your hips moving in perfect rhythm with his. "Oh, Roman, it feels so good..."

"You feel good," he grunted, his eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. "So tight and wet...”

"Yes..." you moaned, your body on the brink again, your walls clenching around him as you chased your own release. "Come for me, Roman... Let me feel it..."

“Mmm not yet” Roman moaned as he pulled out, turning you back onto your hands and knees. “Gotta see that ass clap from behind”

You felt the head of his cock breaching your entrance again, stretching you, filling you in ways only he could. Roman's hands gripped your hips tightly as he began to thrust, his cock sliding in and out of your, wet pussy.

"Yes, fuck me," You urged, pushing back against him. "Fuck this ass."

Roman obliged, his hands leaving red marks on your skin as he guided you onto his cock. He pounded into you, his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust, driving you closer to the edge.

"You love it when I fuck that fat ass, don't you?" Roman growled, his voice filled with primal desire.

"Yes, yes, I do!" You cried out, your body on fire.

Roman's grip tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you with abandon. He pulled your hair back gently, exposing your neck, and planted wet kisses along your sensitive skin. His thrusts became more urgent, his cock throbbing inside you.

"I'm gonna cum, baby," he warned, his voice strained.

You could feel his cock twitching inside you

With a loud groan, he let go, his body tensing as he emptied himself into you, his hips stuttering as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through him.

"Roman!" You cried out, the sensation causing your own orgasm to crash over you, your walls milking him as your body shook with release. "Oh, God, Roman!"

As your cries echoed in the room, You and Roman collapsed onto the bed, (more so you collapsing onto the bed and him collapsing onto you) his full weight pressing you into the mattress but not crushing you as he fought to catch his breath, his heart pounding against your chest.

"Wow," you breathed, your hands stroking his back, a lazy smile curving your lips. "That was..."

“Incredible," he finished for you, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to your lips, and rolling over next to you. "You're incredible." Roman whispered, his hands gently caressing your ass as you curled into his side. "I can't get enough of you."

“You can’t get enough of me, or my ass” you laughed, feeling his hands go from caressing your ass to grabbing fistfuls.

“Yes”

The End

Tag List

@whatdoeseverybodywant @trippinsorrows @rollinssection @cyberdejos2 @amandairene88 @loloschive

[synqiri]

I LOVE YOU SO.

in which you are insecure about whether or not he truly likes you, and he comforts you in turn.

or, the first time he says ‘i love you’.

PAIRING: wanderer x gn!reader

WARNINGS: none

WORDCOUNT: 1.5K || CONTENT: hurt/comfort, you're a bit of an overthinker, you cry, wanderer is bad at Feelings™ but he's trying

NOTES: a lil different from my usual style but yes >:3

“do you even like me?”

wanderer turns to look at you, confused, brows drawn. he scoffs, as if you had just asked if the sky was blue. perhaps to him, you may as well have. “what kind of ridiculous question is that?”

it’s late, you think, and the sun has long since dipped beyond the horizon. the both of you are idling in bed, him with a book in his hands, and you with nothing but worries on your mind. you sigh. you hadn’t meant to blurt it out in that manner, but since it already happened, you may as well…

“i just — it’s so stupid, i know, but… it feels as if you only put up with me, y’know? and that you don’t really like like me. i’m sorry, i’m just —”

“you truly get the most foolish ideas.”

his tone is biting, his eyes an electrifying violet. the book in his hands creases in his grip, and you wince. you wonder if he’s angry at you.

then again, he always seems irritated at you, doesn’t he? a tiny little voice whispers in your mind. it sounds bitter and resigned, and you find yourself getting angry at that thought. something sour claws its way up your throat. “do you have to sound so snide all the time? is it so hard just — just speak nicely to me for once?”

his lips part, yet nothing comes out. he looks astounded, really, and it’s probably the first time you’ve seen him without a witty retort in response. it’s not satisfying at all. that realisation only serves to worsen your mood.

tears prick at the corners of your eyes. archons, it’s not like you to get this emotional, to blow up at him like this. you knew what you were getting into, falling in love with the wanderer. you knew he was guarded and prickly and cold and you chose to love him anyway. 

perhaps he was right and you truly did have the stupidest ideas. you had been friends with wanderer before you had been lovers, and he had opened up to you so much in that span of time that you thought if you took things further, he’d only trust you more. but he hadn’t. in fact, ever since you began dating, it felt as if he had begun to pull away. 

how foolish, that little voice says. did you think you could change him?

roughly, you bring the back of your palm to wipe the dampness from your eyes. you sniffle, throat tight. “sorry, just… ignore that. forget about it. it’s been a long day and i shouldn’t take it out on you. i’m g’na sleep now.”

you switch off your lamp, and the room plunges into the darkness. not even the moon is out tonight, the moonlight blocked by the thick, rolling clouds. you settle yourself into bed comfortably, facing the wall as you do. 

usually, you’d be cuddling right up to him, despite all his grumbled protests. he always let you have your way in the end, anyway. you can’t help but smile a bit at that. 

despite everything, you know he isn’t all bad. he can be kind and sweet and gentle and absolutely swoon-worthy — and even then, those moments are getting increasingly hard to come by in the recent weeks.

“i wouldn’t be here, playing house with you, if i didn’t like you,” wanderer says suddenly, tentatively. his tone is softer than it had been before, and you know it is meant to be his way of comfort. 

you know he favours you, cares for you. the evidence is in everything he does, in the way no one else would be able to act the way you do with him but you. except all his softness is buried under layers and layers of all the things he has yet to work through. and though you’ve always been the patient type, his callousness chipped away at your spirit little by little til you were a mess of anxiety and insecurity and —

white-hot anger stabs at you then, despite all your efforts to force it down. you laugh wetly, voice thick. “you have a funny way of showing your feelings, y’know that?”

“you never approach me first. and there was that week i decided to wait and see if you would, and it took you a whole week before you — and you’re always so guarded — and that’s not the problem but the problem is you act like you trust me less now than when we were just friends and —”

you’re rambling now, everything that you had been bottling up bubbling out of you in surges. you draw in a shallow, shuddery breath, and it’s only then you notice the dampness on your pillow. you rub at your eyes harshly, sighing. 

“i know you hate being vulnerable, seeming weak — but if you can’t trust even me then what’s the point? i really… i don’t know how much more of this i can take.”

you go silent there, having run out of things to say. yet your tears can’t seem to stop, your body curled tight, your back facing him. you don’t know how you’d be able to look him in the eye again, after an outburst like that. gods, what if he broke things off with you? what if…

“i warned you about what you were getting yourself into,” he says softly, “loving someone like me. foolishly, you chose me anyway.”

how in teyvat was that supposed to make you feel any better? had he not been listening to you for the past ten minutes?

“and like an utter fool, i couldn’t have been happier.”

oh.

he shifts, the bedsheets rustling, and you’re tempted to turn and look. but you don’t. not yet. sighing, he continues, “you make me soft. weak. i couldn’t accept it.”

“so you started to distance yourself from me.” 

it comes out flatly, a short, unimpressed realisation. you wonder why he agreed to date you if all he’d do is push you away. you have a feeling he doesn’t have an answer either. he falls quiet at your words, a silent acknowledgment. 

“i’m sorry,” he says finally, stumbling over the words. “you deserve better than that. than me.” 

the words, though spoken no louder than a whisper, echo within the silence of the room. you’re crying again, silently this time, and more out of relief than anger and hurt. you bite on your lip to swallow your sobs, but don’t bother about wiping your eyes. you didn’t expect you’d hear him apologise, let alone admit he should’ve treated you better. it lightens something in your heart, the tension in your chest dissipating a little. 

still, you think, even if you deserved better, it is him that you loved, and you’d be truly foolish to give it all up because of problems that could be worked through.

“think of me however you want,” he tells you. there’s an undertone of earnestness in his voice now, hesitant but true. “i am far from a good person, much less a good lover. even so… never doubt the fact that it is you who i love.”

you falter. he… what?

“you — you love me?” you ask. it comes out in a dazed murmur. slowly, you turn to look at him, eyes swollen and all. you must look ridiculous now, you think, but you find you can’t quite care a bit. “you mean it?”

he lets out a low chuckle, as if he can’t quite believe it either. “i do.”

despite yourself, you can’t stifle the small smile that grows on your face. it’s the first time he’s ever said that to you, the first time he’s ever explicitly expressed his feelings toward you out loud in words. 

“will you say it again?"

“i love you,” he says again, this time, without any hesitation. he huffs, and you’d like to think he sounds fond. his tone turns lofty. “you should be proud of yourself. to be the only person who can make a fool out of me.”

there’s a small smile tugging at his lips too, his eyes bright and soft and warmer than you’ve ever seen before. you laugh softly, rubbing the tear stains from your face. you feel unbelievably light, lighter than you have in days. it’s a nice feeling. 

“will you try, at least? to be a good lover?” you ask hopefully. you don’t think you’re asking for much, really. “i think… then, we can work on being a good couple together.”

he agrees easily, almost breathing out the word. “yeah.” 

you yawn. all that crying has you completely exhausted, and you suppose it’s time to call it a day. stretching, you reposition yourself comfortably, cocooning yourself in the blankets. he didn’t need them anyway. 

“good night,” you whisper, eyes already fluttering shut. 

your consciousness dips partway into slumber then, so you don’t get to hear his response. yet you feel a warm, gentle pressure on your cheek, and something light ghosting over your forehead. you smile.

and for now, that is enough.

[monimccoythings]

Like Father Like Daughter

I have so many WIPs from different fandoms and this Wolverine fic ideas just keep coming and coming... I appreciate so much the support I've been shown, I don't look at the notes because it shows in activity that is 99+ and I get anxious lol. Logan has a nasty temper but is really fun to write.

Living with an ill-tempered man like Logan wasn't always easy, but living with him and his variant's teenaged clone turned adopted daughter who had the exact same temper as him, was proving to be quite the challenge.

As anybody would expect, those two were constantly butting heads at everything, be it food, curfews, or, just as they were doing at this very moment, Laura's choices in fashion.

The girl had chosen some shorts and black leggings, with black sneakers, and a crop top that was way too short for an old fashioned man like Logan to approve, to hang out with some friends she had made at her new high school. Barely sparing a glance at her outfit, Logan had snapped at her to go back to her room and change into something more appropiate, which Laura took it as well as any teenage girl that had spent part of her earliest teen years dressing and doing what she pleased in the void would. And then the screaming match had begun.

"NO CHILD OF MINE IS GOING OUT DRESSED UP LIKE THAT."

"IT'S JUST A SHIRT, IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL."

You let out a quiet sigh. You knew daughters were supposed to rebel against their parents, but having two superpowered beings at each other's throats at all times wasn't the great idea the universe thought it was. You knew they loved each other deeply and would kill for each other, but sometimes they were way too much alike.

"Sweetie, listen to Daddy on this one, he just wants what's best for you."

How the fuck had Wade gotten in and embraced your husband's muscular arm without anyone noticing. With a low growl, Logan pushed him away. Laura did not seem too pleased with him either.

"FUCK OFF, YOU AREN'T MY MOM!"

Wade covered his mouth and let out a shocked gasp that honestly was worthy of an Oscar nomination. You quietly thanked him for his presence, maybe that would help relieve the tension in the room. Laura turned at you, imploringly.

"Tell him he's just overreacting. Please."

You sneakily looked at your husband, who seemed to be red with rage, his lips pulled back in a feral snarl that clearly was a display of dominance, knuckles pressed against the wooden table so tightly that you started to fear for the well being of the furniture. His muscles were so tense he looked like he was going to burst out of his shirt, by the way the veins in his neck were swelling.

You didn't want to disrespect his authority over his daughter, but you also didn't want to make Laura direct her hate at you; you loved that girl and her attitude as if she was your own child. It seemed they needed some consesus, and you guessed you'd have to be once again the bigger person here.

"Laura, your father is just worried about you. If you want to wear that top, then you'd have to put a jacket on. And we want you back home by eleven."

"But my friends-" She started to protest, but you quickly cut her off.

"Eleven and that's more than your father was willing to give you."

She bit her lip, considering her options. With a huff, she stomped back towards her room to get that jacket. She slammed the front door on the way back out, not even bothering to say goodbye. Teenagers.

The living room got quiet. Really quiet. You could only hear Wade munching on some popcorn he had gotten from God knows where. Logan was fuming, not at you of course, but at his unruly adoptive daughter's behavior. He stormed towards your shared bedroom and slammed the door close hard enough, it made the pictures on the wall tremble. You sighed.

Well that went well.

It wasn't until half an hour later that he cooled off and decided to come out. You were cleaning up some dishes while Wade sat on the couch watching some cartoons. It made you smile, it was like you had two children running around.

You felt your husband's stubble and nose nuzzle against the back of your neck, as he embraced you from behind, his massive hands covering the entire expanse of your fourth month pregnant belly. "Feeling better now?" You casually asked.

His teeth nipped at the skin on your neck leaving a burning feeling that only his tongue could soothe. "I don't know what to do with her, she seems to fight against everything I do or say." His deep rumbling voice sent shivers running down your spine.

"Deep down she knows you love her. And she loves you too, even if she is too 'cool' to admit it." He let out a bitter chuckle, massaging your belly while leaning his chin on your shoulder, his sideburns made you tickle.

"I just hope this little one doesn't give us that much trouble."

"Hey, however they come out, we will love them the same, because they are a part of our family." He kissed your cheek and you leaned back into his embrace.

"Yes, our family." You let out a laugh at the sudden extra weight on your backs. Looks like Wade had gotten tired of the tv and had decided to join you into your little embrace.

"Wade..." Logan started warningly, carefully prying his hands away from your belly.

*SNIKT*

[subskz]

multitasking - s.cb

content: sub changbin, dom reader, pegging, lots of teasing, slight dumbification, binnie cries a little, male squirting, praise, handjob, female reader

word count: 4.5k

“One, two, three. One, two, three. Just like that, okay?”

Changbin’s breath came out in shudders, so noisy that you wondered if he could even hear you over them. Judging by his scrunched up nose and furrowed eyebrows coming together to form an adorable look of concentration, you doubted it. He was focused on one thing and one thing only.

“Binnie,” you sang. “Are you listening to me?”

Just to make sure you had his full attention, you brought the steady roll of your hips to a halt, keeping your strap buried inside him, but denying him the friction that had wiped all coherent thoughts from his brain. His body rocked for a few seconds more even after you’d stopped, operating purely off muscle memory. Then, it turned into squirming, hips twisting helplessly in the sheets to try and regain the buildup of pleasure he’d suddenly lost. You watched him wiggle around, half-amused, half-endeared as he finally blinked his hazy eyes open to process what was going on. 

“Mm?” he mumbled; drowsy, like he’d been stirred from a dream. “S-sorry? I didn’t…”

His gaze fully refocused to find you smiling down at him. On your end, you could’ve sworn his pupils dilated just a little bit more, painting his irises black and glazing them over. They looked so innocent, you’d never guess what he was really pleading for.

“I said,” you began playfully, running your palms up his twitching thighs just to tease him. They felt especially thick under your touch with all the tension they were holding, you couldn’t resist digging your nails into his flesh, hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents behind. The tight clench of his muscles was almost as satisfying as the sweet little gasp he let out. “Are you listening to me?”

Changbin swallowed down the saliva that had begun pooling in his mouth, sucking in a deep breath to find his voice again. “O-oh, yeah.” He shifted on the mattress to inch himself closer to you, as if your strap didn’t already have him filled to the near brim. “Yeah, listening. Sorry.”

“What number are we on, baby?”

He paused, doll-like lips curving deep into a pout. It was almost cute enough for you to let him off easy—almost.

“I…I don’t—” he chuckled nervously, eyes flickering to the side. “F-four?” You shook your head. “Five?”

You could tell he was growing restless, even when he was doing his best to behave himself. His dick twitched against his stomach, crying out for you to just forget about the count and start thrusting into him again. All the blood in his system must’ve pooled hot in his abdomen by now, you couldn’t even blame him for not being able to think straight. 

“S-sorry, I really can’t remember,” he stuttered, embarrassed. “Again?”

It was the second or third time Changbin had lost track by now, and he once again found himself cursing the second he’d ever let his pride rope him into this tortuous little game you’d proposed. He’d never been one to back down from a challenge, even if it was a challenge that you both knew full well he’d fail miserably at. That, combined with his insatiable need to impress you clouding his better judgment, had him playing right into your hands.

“I can multitask!” he’d protested. “Do you know how much work it takes to be this cute and sexy at the same time?”

“So much work,” you’d agreed solemnly, trying not to crack a smile over the defensive squeak in his voice. “Then this should be no problem for you, right?” 

From the moment you’d first bottomed out inside him, Changbin had gotten the sense that he’d already lost.

“I’m trying to help you, baby,” you pouted down at him. His eyes fluttered shut as you dragged your index finger along his plump, wet lips, mesmerized with the cute popping sound they made every time you prodded at them. “If you’re too dumb to count by yourself, just repeat after me.”

“N-no, Binnie’s smart,” he insisted, muffled by your finger. His legs squeezed around your waist like they had a mind of their own, trying to rub against each other and generate some friction. “Not dumb. I can do it, lemme do it.”

“Yeah? Let’s try and make it past three this time.” You gave his cheek an affectionate pat. A shiver ran through his body as your hands glided down to his hips, gripping his soft flesh to stabilize yourself before inching out of him bit by bit. 

Immediately, Changbin’s attempt at counting was cut off by his own whine, stretching out for every second the silicone dragged along his walls. Then, you heard it, shaky and breathless as you pushed back inside him.

“O-one.”

His stomach rose sharply under your palms as you pulled out a second time. Before you’d even snapped your hips forward again, he gasped out a “two”, all too eagerly. You giggled, waiting a few extra seconds just to test his patience 

“Two,” he repeated with a tinge of desperation. He looked lost, like he was genuinely wondering if he’d already managed to mess up the order somehow.

You felt a tinge of pity; he really was trying his hardest for you. So, you followed through, deciding to take it slow this time so he actually stood a chance in counting your thrusts. His foggy brain was grateful for it, but his body, not so much. 

“Th-three—ah. Three. Faster, please?” he barely got the words out in time before he felt that delicious stretch again, coaxing an especially high moan. “F-four.”

You could practically taste the hunger rolling off his skin in warm waves. Every needy noise that grew louder his throat, every jerk of his hips begged you for more, even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with it. His teeth sank into his bottom lip when you pushed back inside of him without missing a beat—faster, just like he’d asked for, and as deep as your position would allow. You dragged your hands up and down his stomach in unison with the slide of your strap; such a simple touch, but enough to disrupt his concentration all over again. 

“Fi—” he began. His voice failed him, cracking pitifully as you grabbed his bouncing chest at the very same instant you brushed against his sweet spot, digging your fingers hard into the plush skin. “F…f-fi…fuck.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back against the pillows as his resolve fully crumbled. The sensation of your palms pressing against his nipples was already dizzying enough, but once you took the hardened buds between your fingers and pinched, he was a complete goner. He made no effort to keep counting even when you didn’t stop rocking your hips, instead letting his mouth hang open uselessly, spilling out another long, shameless moan that made goosebumps rise on your skin. Just a few strokes in, and he was already so far gone.

You let him get away with it for a bit longer, taking the time to admire his dark, messy curls sprawled out against the white pillowcase, even fluffier than usual from all his tossing and turning. Everything about him was so soft. His pecs spilled out between your fingers as you pawed at them, his full cheeks were flushed red and his lips were swollen into a cute, puffy ring after how much he’d nibbled on them. It took all your willpower to not give in to the irresistible sight and keep pounding into him until his head really was too empty to think anymore. 

“So pretty, Binnie. Wanna keep you like this forever,” you murmured. You could feel his heartbeat pick up over the praise, pulsing faster under your palms. Then, all at once, you forced your hips to stop and snapped him out of his daze yet again. “But a pretty boy like you still needs to listen.”

“M-mmph,” he mewled. His body chased after your touch, protesting the loss before he even fully realized what was going on. “N-no. Sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t stop, please?”

“I only stop when you stop.” Your hum was deceptively sympathetic as you watched him fist the sheets in frustration, biceps bulging and chest heaving. His throat bobbed as you closed his slack jaw and tilted his chin up, brushing your thumb delicately over his tiny scar to urge him to look at you. “What’s got you so distracted, hm? What’s on my baby’s mind?”

He forced his eyes open again, so dark that you could see yourself reflected in them clear as day. They gave you your answer before he even said it. 

“You,” he breathed. It was a reply he’d normally be proud of, but with the way you were staring him down from above, he couldn’t stop a sheepish giggle from rising in his throat, lips twitching at their corners and cheeks bunching up.

“Me?” you echoed. “Or this?”

You slid your strap back inside him in one sharp thrust, angling it so that the tip rolled against the roof of his walls and hit his prostate perfectly. He cried out as if on command, high-pitched and sweet. “Ah! Yes, r-right there.”

Even your own rules were becoming less convincing of a reason to deny him when you knew those were the kinds of sounds you’d be missing out on. But you were on a mission, today; teaching Changbin how to multitask, or, toying with his body until he couldn’t take it anymore—whichever came first.

“There’s my answer.” You feigned disappointment, flattening your palm against his stomach and pressing down right around where you guessed the head of your strap had reached inside him. “All you care about is being filled up, huh, baby?”

“N-no, no.” His hand pawed around blindly in the sheets for a moment before he found you, grabbing on to your wrist and pushing your hand harder against the soft pudge of his tummy. You weren’t sure if he’d done it just to gain some kind of stimulation, or because he was just aching to be as close to you as physically possible, but to his credit, he forced himself not to lose his train of thought even as the sensation had his eyes rolling back.

“Binnie’s a good boy. ‘M only like this ‘cause of you. I need you, please.”

He was right; he was such a good boy. He could forget how to count, forget how to close his mouth, forget how to listen, but he’d never ever forget how to say please. That was something you didn’t have to teach him. Still, you didn’t give him what he wanted just yet, instead tracing gentle patterns on his skin, just above where his cock was leaking out tiny drops of precum. It took a few moments for him to connect the dots, but finally, he rasped out the word you were looking for.

“Four…n-no, wait, it was five,” he stammered. “Please, don’t stop, please?”

“Good boy,” you cooed. Grabbing hold of his thighs, you used all your strength to pull your bodies closer together, lifting his legs and settling them around your waist for easier access. A cute, flustered giggle escaped him as he scooted down the mattress, melting into a sigh of pleasure when you were able to nestle your strap even deeper inside him than before.

His fingers sank into the sheets, gripping them so tight that you could see the muscles in his forearms flexing. “S-six,” he gritted out. “M-mm, feels so good. More, please, more.”

The sound of skin on skin began to fill the room as you finally picked up your pace like Changbin had been begging for. You made every stroke count; deep and heavy, pulling out until just the head of your strap was left teasing his entrance, then sliding all the way back inside until your hips smacked against the back of his thighs. The new position immediately took a toll on him, you could tell by the growing lapse in his counting. Every time you left his walls fluttering around nothing, it took a few seconds before he remembered to call out the next number, just so he could feel the relief of you burying the toy inside him again.

“Nine,” he gasped. The building pressure in his core drained his concentration little by little, making for an adorable show of reactions for you the more his self-control slipped. Every pretty sound he made rang out in the thick, hot air around you, unrestrained and heavenly. Your gaze fell from his blissed out face to where his dick laid half-hard against his stomach, bouncing from the impact of your movements. It gave you an idea. 

Changbin choked on his next number as you brought your hand to his head, scooping up the tiny beads of precum and curling your fingers around it. You felt him swell in your grip almost instantly, and when you began to pump his cock along with your thrusts, he fully throbbed in your hands with a fresh wave of heat.

“El-elev—ngh,” he slurred out, barely intelligible. “Three…four. No, t-ten.”

“Four? Ten?” you mimicked. “That’s not right, baby. Try again.”

You swirled your thumb around his leaking tip, effectively fizzling out the last of his thoughts. It was hopeless; the strokes of your hand were mixing up with the pump of your strap, muddling his everything together until he couldn’t distinguish between the pleasure. “Six…n-no, ah. Good, so good. I c-can’t—”

“You usually listen so well, Binnie,” you frowned. “What happened to my good boy?”

Changbin bit down on his bottom lip, so hard that you worried his cute little fang might dig deep enough to split the plush skin. You timed your thrusts seamlessly with the rhythm of your hand, sinking down on his cock as you pulled out of him, and gliding back up his length as you bottomed out again.

“Y-your hand,” he whimpered. “It’s confusing me, I can’t…feels too good.”

“Should I stop touching you, then?”

You released him from your grip, letting his dick fall against his stomach to twitch over the loss. His hips surged up in protest, a soft whine spilling out of him and growing even louder when you pulled your strap out of him in one fluid motion, leaving his walls clenching wildly for you.

“No, no,” he groaned, locking his ankles around your waist to try and bring you closer. “Please, ‘m so close. Please.”

Taking the silicone into your hand, you lined it up with his entrance, pressing the tip just hard enough against him to add an exhilarating pressure. His reaction didn’t disappoint; a full-body shudder, rippling through his muscular thighs, making his chest jump and his biceps tighten.

“You want it, baby?” you asked sweetly, circling the head of the toy around his rim. 

“Yes, yes, please.” The way he rolled his body was nothing short of sinful, you almost gave in right there. His tiny grunts of frustration only grew the more your strap prodded at his hole, teasing the sensitive nerve-endings without giving him the satisfaction of slipping back inside. “Please, b-been so good. Give it to me, please.”

“I know, baby.” You inched the toy away before he could get any real stimulation out of it, brushing its slick tip against his inner thighs in a playful taunt. “Just tell me where we left off, and I’ll fuck you like a good boy.”

Changbin shot you a look of pure helplessness, eyebrows scrunching in dismay as it dawned on him what you wanted.

“I-I…I don’t remember,” he mumbled, not even trying to muster up a guess before he surrendered. “I got it all mixed up, I can’t—”

“I thought Binnie was smart?” 

He squeaked in protest as you pulled your strap completely away with a click of your tongue. “I am! I a-am. Again, please? I’ll try again.”

It wouldn’t make a difference, he knew that as well as you did. But he said it anyway, as a last resort—anything to feel you stretching him out again, anything to hear you whisper honeyed praises into his ear as he fell apart for you.

“You’re hopeless, baby,” you murmured, brushing back his fluffy bangs to reveal his eyes. They were wide as moons, full of desperation and welling up with tears at their corners.

“Please.” The droplets spilled over before he could blink them away. You softened as they trickled down his flushed cheeks, darkening his eyelashes and glazing over his pupils. 

“You’re crying?” Gently, you cupped his face to soothe him. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin as you wiped away his stray tears, only for new ones to take their place again. “You want it that bad, angel?”

The wet gleam in his eyes spoke for itself, but still, he managed a tiny nod. 

“You look so pretty like this,” you marveled, rubbing the pad of your thumb under his eye to scoop up another bead trailing down his face.

Despite himself, Changbin perked up over your words. “Pretty?” he sniffled.

“Mm.” A mix of lube and tears smeared his skin as you tilted his chin up, looking him straight in his eyes to admire the fresh droplets gathering at their edges. They caught the light like rhinestones, a visual captivating enough for you to give him anything his heart desired in that moment. “Beautiful boy. My pretty little crybaby.”

Changbin’s nose scrunched up, a shy, downturned smile tugging at his lips. He knew there was a condescending hint to your words, but when they were spoken so sweetly, when you called him pretty in that voice—when you called him yours in that voice—he could do nothing but melt.

“Seriously. Don’t you like me too much?” He pawed your hand away in embarrassment, but you didn’t miss how his face lit up, visibly yearning for more compliments, for your approval. 

You let out a fond hum. Just like that, you’d found the key to keeping him motivated. He sucked in a sharp breath of surprise as you took hold of your strap, realigning it with his entrance.

“Let’s try again.” You tapped the head of the toy against his rim, just to bask in the way it made him wriggle in the sheets. “Show me how good you are, baby.”

He nodded again, still timid, but revitalized by your encouragement. His lips puckered into a cute little rosebud for you, and with a soft giggle, you took the hint, leaning down to press them against yours. The wet trails on his cheeks cooled your skin as you kissed him, slowly, dragging your lips past the corner of his mouth to kiss away away his tears, too. His shaky sigh fanned out around you, warm and feather-light as you sank back into him, all the way to the hilt of your strap. 

“One.”

You rested one hand on the mattress, bringing the other back to his dripping cock. It was still fully hard even after being neglected so long, jerking gratefully in your palm as you began to stroke it again.

“Two. Th—mm—three.”

“That’s my boy,” you praised. “I know you can do it for me.”

You matched the rock of your hips with the glide of your hand, just as you’d been doing before. It immediately took effect on Changbin, slurring his speech and making his face scrunch up. But he kept trying for you.

“Four…ah, please.”

“Good boy. Keep it up, okay?” You rolled your strap against his sweet spot, teasing it repeatedly with the curved silicone tip before pulling out again. 

“Five. F-five, again, please.”

You indulged him. “Doing so well for me, Binnie,” you crooned, swiping your thumb over his swollen head and making his hips buck. “My smart boy. My good boy.” 

“Mm, mm. Binnie’s smart. Your s-smart boy,” he agreed. He was so simple; spurred on by your doting, even as that familiar, hot coil in his abdomen started nipping at the edges of his mind again. “Your g’boy…ngh. So good.”

More tears trickled from the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them shut, trying to get ahold of his thoughts long enough to get out the next number. You were being so patient with him, so kind to him, he had to do his best for you. 

“Six,” he whimpered. A new wave of droplets spilled over, this time, because the pleasure was growing too strong to bear. You picked up your pace as you drank in the addictive sight; his clenching stomach, tear-stained face, his bulging muscles grasping at the sheets. He deserved it when he took it all so well and looked so good doing it. 

“Seven, eight—close! I c-can’t—!”

“Almost there, baby. Just a little more,” you encouraged him. “You’re so perfect like this. Don’t you wanna show me how pretty you look when you cum for me?”

His dick stiffened in your hand, both over your words and the way you wrapped your palm around its sticky tip. The squelching noise that each roll of your hand created started to mess with his head again, distracting him from his count.

“Eight…e-eight—ah, please. Please, please, please. ‘M gonna—”

“C’mon Binnie, you’re so close. Don’t give up now.”

“Ten, n-no, nine? Nine—?”

He clenched his jaw, hips surging up and walls tightening around your strap like he was afraid you might pull out at any moment. It was useless. No matter how desperately he tried to concentrate, the pressure in his stomach consumed everything else, emptying his mind a little more each time you filled him up. “S-sorry, ‘m sorry. It’s so good, t-too good.”

“I know, baby,” you purred, sensing that he’d reached his limit. “It’s okay, let it all out for me.”

Changbin’s words melted into moans again as you thrust into him with more force, giving him no chance to brace himself for each dizzying stroke, let alone keep track of them anymore. He wasn’t sure if it was because of how tortuously long the buildup to his climax had been, but the sensation creeping up on him felt more intense than usual, like a dam of water waiting to break. Everything felt amplified—the drag of the silicone along his ridges, the sensitivity of his nerve-endings at every point of contact, the dancing of your fingers around his cock—it was all dialed up to a hundred.

You thumbed at his leaking slit, unprepared for just how powerful of a reaction it’d elicit from him. He stiffened beneath you as a jolt of pleasure shot straight to his core, breaking the dam loose all at once.

Changbin’s broken sob sent a shiver down your spine. He arched his back off the mattress as his orgasm racked his body, spurting his release against the pad of your thumb. You stopped rocking your hips to admire him, completely taken by the sight unfolding before you. His cock pulsed in your hand with every wave of pleasure that passed through him, spraying out more cum than you’d ever seen before. It was noticeably different from the sticky white ropes you were used to—watery and messy. The streams splattered against his contracting stomach, glazing his skin with a translucent layer of fluid and coating your hand in the process.

He was panting by the time the last few drops of his release spilled from his aching head. Even as it dribbled down his hips and sank into the sheets underneath him, he didn’t quite understand what had happened, far too preoccupied with the tiny aftershocks rippling through his body. 

Your fingers uncurled from his dick, letting it fall limply against his ruined stomach. He flinched as you ran your hand over his soft, soaked flesh, still hypersensitive after the climax that had shaken him more intensely than either of you bargained for. 

“Look at that, baby,” you marveled, holding up your dripping fingers for him to see. “Your dick’s crying, too.”

Changbin’s eyes fluttered open, shiny with residual teardrops. They widened when he registered why his skin felt so wet, why the bed beneath him felt so sticky and warm, and why his muscles felt deliciously sore, like when he stretched them after a good workout. His cheeks flushed beet red, legs squeezing around your waist in a pointless attempt to cover himself.

“Oh my God. I c-can’t believe—” His face was hot with shame as he buried it into his palms, muffling a noise that sounded something between a giggle and a miserable wail. “I didn’t mean to. W-wait, don’t look, please.”

His babbling trailed off when you stroked his stomach, a gentle touch that masked how fast your heart was still racing over the effect you’d had on his body. You wanted to make it happen again.

“That was intense,” you murmured. “Are you okay, Binnie?”

He couldn’t find the courage in him to reply, too mortified to face you after making such a wreck of himself, too dazed to string a proper sentence together. All he could manage was peeking out shyly between his fingers.

You rested your hands over his to tug them away from his eyes and get a look at him. A soft objection rumbled in his throat, but he let you, anyway, mustering all his self-control to not shove his face in the pillows and hide away from your stare.

“M okay,” he reassured you quietly. 

“Felt good?”

“Good,” he mumbled. “Too good. Wh-what did you do?”

“Ask yourself that, baby,” you drawled. Changbin shivered as you gave his hips a squeeze, an embarrassing mewl slipping past his lips when he clenched around your strap reflexively and realized it was still nestled deep inside him. “Look at the pretty little mess you made for me.”

Changbin let out another low whine. He gave up on maintaining eye contact, turning his head to squish his heated cheeks against the pillow. “Binnie’s shy.”

“You’re so cute.” You ran your fingers through his messy curls to ease his mind, relieved when you felt some of his tension relieve under your touch. “Do you have any idea how hot that was?” 

Your words seemed to snap him back to his senses, clearing the fog in his head and reminding him of how he’d even reached this point in the first place. He made a tiny grunt of effort as he scrambled to prop himself up on his unsteady elbows, eyes widening with guilt. When he spoke, his voice was shot, edged with a delicious rasp after how much he’d strained it.

“I…” he giggled nervously. “I-I lost count again.”

You puffed out a light laugh of your own. Even you had completely forgotten about keeping track of your thrusts after watching Changbin fall apart so beautifully for you. Your little experiment may not have worked out, but you were far more interested in the outcome, anyway.

“Guess we’ll just have to keep practicing, yeah? Until we find out how many it takes for you to cum for me like that again.” 

[hedgehog-moss]

My self-imposed chore for today was to clean the donkey's shelter + 1/4th of the pasture, use the most composted manure that's basically already soil for my potato growing bags, and use the rest to shut down (and fertilise) one of the llamas' bathtubs.

See, the llamas dig these grassless circles with their pointy camelid nails so they can dustbathe like giant gerbils to keep parasites away. I fully accept that it is a healthy and normal llama behaviour but I wish they'd dig one bathtub and stick to it. Instead, every few months they abandon their bathtub and go dig a new one, and never seem to wonder how the sterile moon craters they leave behind end up magically fertile and grassy again.

It's not magic! It's me. I keep moving your (excellent, nutritious, full of plant seeds) poop from one spot to the other so the pasture doesn't become a polka-dotted graveyard of former bathtubs. I understand that if you were wild llamas you would abandon the bathtub and not return for months or years so grass would have time to grow back (I have read Pampe's 600-page manifesto on the health & environmental benefits of wild roaming), but surely you could notice your habitat has changed, and change your behaviour accordingly.

Use your abandoned bathtubs as latrines, for example, so I no longer have to move the poop where it is needed. Or at the very least set up your latrines uphill from the bathtubs? so I can push my extremely heavy wheelbarrows of manure down the slope? 🙏 There are options.

(In the foreground of this video you can see a former bathtub that was covered in manure a few months ago and has begun to heal, and in the background, Pampy happily starting a new one.)

Another thing: there is no need to act like I'm committing a crime when I cover an abandoned bathtub with manure. I only do it once I'm sure everyone has moved on from this one and yet it often prompts Pampelune (Bathtub Administrator) to start digging several new ones like she's convinced I have been gripped by a mindless bathtub-confiscating frenzy and if she doesn't outpace me she'll never get to feel the soft caress of dirt on her wool again.

Sometimes it even triggers protest movements.

Not really—I thought this was a protest involving a lie-in, or maybe a lock-on. In a complex triangle formation around the terminated bathtub (and I was going to say, that's not how this works. You're supposed to glue yourself to the ground of your bathtub to obstruct my work and refuse to budge even when I start shovelling manure on your heads. Protesting after the fact and from a safe distance is pointless and performative)—but then I realised my interpretation was clearly wrong. This was a llama mourning rite to honour last summer's bathtub, and the triangle symbolism simply represents the three stages of life, and the fact that everything, even beloved dust bathing spots, has a beginning, heyday, and end.

[wordsarelife]

—style

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary: draco and you always come back to each other, sneaking around in secret, unable to let go, even though it’s getting harder to hide and maybe you're not willing to keep the secret any longer

warnings: slight angst but ends in fluff, height difference mentioned

your back was leaning against the castle's wall, arms crossed, you quirked a brow at the boy across from you. he was spotting a similiar expression, his arms crossed like you and face in a deep frown, unmoving as you nodded for him to talk.

"i'm not gonna apologize first" you shrugged, deciding to have it like this if he wanted to be difficult.

"well, me neither" he spat, voice venomous as he looked at you unimpressed, your threat not having the least bit of effect on him. "i wouldn't even know what for"

"you were the one that came back, draco" you reminded. "we agreed that whoever came back first had to apologize"

"well, i'm not doing that"

"then i'm not kissing you" you shrugged, turning your body as if to leave, before his hand grabbed your shoulder, turning you back around in a swift motion.

before you could protest or say anything else about his sudden action, his lips were on yours, pulling you in through the feeling that evaporated in your body.

you moaned into his mouth, not even caring that he didn't apologize, as he pressed you against the wall.

draco and you came from completely different worlds. he was a proud slytherin, someone that valued social standing and reputation above everything else.

you were a gryffindor, hanging along the golden trio most of the time, but basically being friends with everyone, no matter who they were or from which family they came. you didn't mind as long as you liked them.

draco and you had hated each other from the first encounter on. arrogant as he was, he had introduced himself to harry, muttering something about the wrong kind of people (eyeing ron and you) he had chosen to spend his time with.

you rivalry reached it's peak during third year when hermione had hit him and you had caught him days later as he was trying to throw something into her cauldron during potions class. you had slapped his hand back, resulting in him breathing in whatever he had held in there and spending a week in the infirmary, throwing up hours on end.

you gained two weeks of detention from snape, but quickly decided it was worth it, considering you had saved your friend from an even worse fate.

but the real change of your relationship had begun during fourth year. you had noticed that he grew into his looks and you couldn't believe it, but his cockiness actually attracted you.

draco continued making no secret of disliking you and your friends, but you noticed his eyes linger on you longer than they had before.

it had been a week of constant fighting, hormones high and upcoming exams stressing the both of you, where one thing had led to another and you found yourselves in shared detention with professor mcgonagall who punished you to sort through and clean her classroom.

"this is all your fault" draco muttered, cloth in hand as he rubbed it along the table, that picked the water up quickly.

"sure" you nodded with a role of your eyes. the row of goblets in front of you, used for the first year classes, turning out to be a particular hard thing to clean. "as if you didn't start the fight"

"i merely concluded obvious information"

"pff" you made, sending him a glare across the room. "that's not what i would call it"

"let's hear it then, genius"

"i'd call it an uneven distribution of arrogance and stupidity" you smiled smugly as you set down another goblet in front of you.

"you take that back!" draco let go off the cloth in his hand and dashed across the room, pushing his hands to his hips and looking down on you as if to try and dare you to say more.

"no" you shook your head, rising up from your chair so you were on an even level with him.

"one last chance, l/n"

"or what? you will send daddy to straigthen me out?" you puffed air out between your lips, not even caring about his answer. "you've been using the same empty threats for years, malfoy, it's honestly gotten boring at this point."

his eyes widened, switching to collect the glimmer of your lips as a memory and before he could properly think of what he was doing, he had closed the space between you, kissing you softly.

it had taken exactly ten seconds for both of you to realize what had happened, quickly breaking apart.

"you just kissed me!" you muttered stunned, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.

"you kissed me" he shook his head, just as shocked as you, as he tried to remember what had happened exactly.

"no" you corrected firmly. "i'm not taking the blame for this mess. this is solely on you"

"you kissed back though" he concluded, with a final nod. "don't ever do that again"

"well, okay?" you shrugged "i won't as long as you don't ever kiss me again"

the tension between you was palpable, as you kept holding eye contact, no one of you moving as both of you tried to find out what the kiss would mean for your relationship, or more so lack of, moving forward.

it had been a sudden decision, maybe because you had spent all your years at school trying to one up draco malfoy, but you didn't think twice, before you pushed your mouth against his once more.

this time the kiss lasted longer and both of you had to catch your breath.

"i thought i told you to never do that again"

you nodded, before you smirked, "you said i should never kiss you back"

"yeah" he nodded, admitting that you hadn't done anything he had forbidden. "and you said i should never kiss you again"

"never is such a harsh word" you shrugged and just half a second later you were kissing once more, your hands gliding into his neck as you pressed him closer.

what began that day in the classroom accompanied you through the school years that followed. you and draco would put on a facade in front of your friends and pretend like you still couldn't stand each other, which was, to be honest, not even far from the truth considering he still constantly annoyed you. all while you would meet in secret, sneaking around the castle and hooking up with each other behind everyone's back.

apart from sleeping with each other not much changed between you. you never declared what you did to be a relationship, although both of you never met other people.

draco was the one constant through your teenage years. sometimes you would go longer without the other, but you would always come back, like a drug you couldn't stop taking even if it had the potential to destroy you in the end.

draco ended the kiss, pressing his forehead against your own. "sorry" he muttered and you furrowed your brows in surprise.

he had never apologised before, even if that was your rule. he would always suck up for a while, until you finally accepted that he was somewhat sorry, without actually saying it.

"hmm" you hummed, pressing one more kiss against his mouth, before you broke away and grabbed your bag off the floor. "we've got herbology"

draco nodded and turned around, picking up his own bag. "i'll go around the courtyard, you'll go now"

"sure" he softly grabbed your neck with his hand, bringing you close again and kissing you, more passionately than the moment allowed. you were way too flustered when he let go off you, but he just nodded for you to go. so you did.

you kept thinking about him for the rest of the day. through the whole herbology class, most of potions class and even charms, which was you favorite subject.

it hadn't been yesterday when you realized that you maybe didn't still find him as annoying as you did back when you were children. that you had maybe even grown fond of him a little, or whatever it was that you had.

and there was a stupid part of you that longed for more. for more of whatever it was.

what you had enjoyed at first, was now the part you hated most about your little arrangement. sneaking around, lying to your friends and always keeping something from them, while they viewed you as family, as someone they knew everything about.

you just wanted them to know and maybe you also wanted to know if he would stay. stay at the possibility of people finding out about you.

all that went through your head until the next day. and realistically you knew he wasn't what you wanted him to be. you knew draco well enough. he would never agree to go public, much less to even be in a relationship with you.

so it was pretty clear what you had to do.

you knew that it was the right decision in the long run. for both of you.

you met in the same hallway. you were leaning against the wall when he arrived, a distant smile on his face, that only really broke out when his eyes fell on you.

"hey" he muttered. you let him kiss you, before he stepped back, leaning across from you.

"hi" you said, testing the waters. he furrowed his brows and crossed his arms.

"what is it?" he asked unimpressed. he was used to you berating him for something he had said or done the day before. most often it was something regarding your friends and even though he never admitted it, you noticed his behaviour change, when you had been angry about something.

"nothing" you averted your eyes. you could hear him step forward, on edge, not used to the sadness in your voice.

times you had been apart came normally right after you had fought with each other. always screaming loudly, having found something to be annoyed about, before you decided not to see each other anymore, until one of you eventually came back.

"tell me" draco urged, the calmness in his voice long gone. "did something happen?" normally you would have made fun of him for his unusual care, but now you even felt sorry about it.

"i don't think we should continue to see each other" you shrugged, acting as if you didn't even care.

draco laughed, or rather puffed out air through his nose, before he shook his head. "i told you i was sorry"

"it's not about that"

"then what?" he stepped even closer. "something with you friends? i didn't even really see them yesterday"

"that's not it, draco"

there were a few seconds of silence, before he sighed loudly. "is it a guy?"

"no"

"okay, so you're just doing this? for what?" he threw his arms up, like he couldn't understand anything anymore. "you'll come back anyway"

you didn't answer anything, staring at him blankly, not having the strength to even say it out loud. without you wanting him to, he caught the uncertainty in your eyes.

"..you'll come back" he repeated, voice low. "right?"

"draco" you sighed, not knowing what to tell him.

"no, don't be like that" he shook his head and you saw that he was trying hard not to show you how much he cared. "don't act like you have to console me, don't act like you're breaking up with me"

"i'm not" you nodded. "but i'm not coming back either"

he pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, not even looking at you when you picked up your bag. you tried to catch his eyes, but it was to no avail. so you just walked away, not even knowing if you felt relieved or sad at the predicament that he would never be coming close to you again.

you walked through the halls of the castle and opened the door to the courtyard. the weather had turned rainy, thick clouds hanging over the towers of the castle, hiding them in the white air. the rain hit the ground mercilessly and you realized too late that it had been a stupid idea to walk across.

"you can't just do that" the voice behind you was so sudden and loud that your bag almost hit the wet ground beneath you.

draco caught up with you quickly, not caring about the rain one bit.

"what?" you asked, continuing your quick walk through the yard. but admittedly it was to no use, considering that you were already wet to the bones.

draco grabbed your shoulder, making you halt in your step and turn to look at him. "you can't just decide that" he said "it's not your decision to make"

"it's not yours either"

"why are you like that?" he ignored your previous answer. "i thought you liked this"

"i did" you nodded, seeing no reason to lie. "until i didn't"

"what does that even mean?" draco pushed his wet hair back annoyed. he wasn't able to understand you and scarily enough, that was the first time in years he failed to read what was going on with you.

"that means that we have to stop seeing each other"

"but why?"

you ignored him, moving your arm so he lost his grip on you, walking further through the wet garden. draco followed you.

"why?" he repeated, "what do you want me to do?"

"nothing, draco, it's fine"

"if this is some psychological trick, i swear to god"

"it's not, draco" your voice became louder, trying to drain out the rain that muffled it. "just forget about me"

"what if i can't?" he had stopped moving, staring at you blankly when you turned around. you had never seen him like this. so vulnerable, so honest.

"it didn't even matter" you simply said, "it was nice for a while, but it's over now"

"so you just decided that?"

"yes"

"but it wasn't just nice" he came closer, his face painfully twisted, as if to try and see your reaction to it. to get something from you. to see if it really didn't matter. "it was different. it wasn't just something"

"then what was it?" you pushed him to say more, to hear what you needed to for so long. "tell me why it was different? i thought you hated me"

"i did everything but that" he muttered and you had a hard time understanding him.

"why did you never say that before?" you asked, stray tears mixing with the rain on your face. "why are you so desperately trying to convince me of something you would've denied if i had asked you before? why didn't it matter before? why didn't you say something sooner?" your voice evolved into a scream, begging him to answer.

"why do you think i always came back?" he matched the loudness of your voice, anger blending with desperation as his blue eyes crashed into yours.

"why do you think i did?"

"i thought you knew" he shook his head, not understanding how it had come so far he had to explain it to you. "i thought i made it clear"

"thought you made what clear?" you asked, your voice louder than his, as he had grown more quiet. "that you didn't hate me? tolerated me even? that you—“

"that i fucking love you" his scream made you shut up immediately, eyes wide as you stared at him. "and maybe i should've actually said that or maybe i'm not what you want anymore—"

"what did you think would happen? did you think i would just accept it? not knowing how you really feel?"

"no" he shook his head "but i had hoped you would stay until i finally gathered up the courage to say it"

"how long?"

he sighed, looking annoyingly sweet as raindrops fell down from his hair and onto his cheeks. he looked like he was crying in an artful way. beautiful even, you thought, as you kept your eyes on his face like your life depended on it.

"mcgonagalls detention in fourth year"

"you couldn't have possibly loved me back then"

"maybe i didn't" he shrugged "but it was the first time i felt like this, when you kissed me"

"you kissed me" you corrected, but unable to stop the smile from breaking out.

"well, what do you say?"

"you want to hear it back?" you asked.

"preferably yes, but for now a sorry would do"

"for now, a hot shower would do" you rolled your eyes. "alone"

"and after that?" his voice lost a bit of it's cockiness, returning back to the insecurity it had held a few minutes before, "what then?"

you pressed his lips against his and he took the kiss with surprise, before he reciprocated it.

you pulled back, looking up at him, drenched from head to toe, but absolutely beautiful in his eyes.

"i'll come back"

[slu7formen]

luke castellan x fem!reader

You knew that your friend, Luke, was a tease. What you didn’t expect, was that he was going to be a tease to you.

while I finish writing part two of this story (btw, thank u so much for all the love it’s getting) , I drop this one out here for the wait <3

warnings: teasing, praising, drinking, kinda s3xual tension

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

The bonfire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the demigods huddled around it. The air thrummed with the low beat of stolen music from a borrowed radio, a symphony of laughter and easy conversation punctuated by the clinking of ice inside your plastic cups. Exhaustion from a particularly harrowing week of monster attacks had finally settled in, driving the older campers to this clandestine revelry deep within the safe haven of the camp's woods.

Across from you, Clarisse was emerged in a play-fight with his brothers, not truly a good idea based on the drunken state they were in, but who would tell them otherwise? Travis and Connor were huddled together, their whispers punctuated by bursts of laughter that hinted at some upcoming evil plan or prank. You could practically see the gears turning in their heads. Silena leaned towards Katie’s ear, whispering some secret that boys couldn’t know about, her voice barely a murmur.

And Luke Castellan sat next to you, his presence warm and familiar. His profile bathed in the golden glow. You'd known him for years, a bond forged in shared battles and late-night training sessions. But lately, you'd begun to see him in a different light. The way his muscles tensed beneath his t-shirt as he tossed another log onto the fire, the glint in his dark eyes - it all sent a delicious flutter to your stomach.

Reaching for your empty plastic cup, you realized with a groan that you'd polished off your cranberry juice and vodka concoction. Glancing sideways at Luke, you noticed his cup held a suspicious-looking red liquid that gave off a pungent, almost medicinal smell. "Let me have a sip of yours" you declared, leaning towards him without even questioning.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. Your cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the fire, were undeniably red. Your lips, slightly puffy and wet, was not something his eyes would miss either. But he'd never admit the effect you had on him, not here, not amongst their friends.

"Not sure that's your thing, doll" he pointed out, looking down at his drink for a second. "You won´t like it"

You knew you were pushing your luck, but the defiance simmering in your blood, thanks to the vodka, wouldn't be ignored. "Come on, Luke" you pout, placing your chin on his shoulder. “If you can drink it, why can´t I?”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I don't think you can handle it" he said with a little smirk on his face, the playful challenge in his eyes impossible to miss. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he was looking at you, but a spark of competitive spirit ignited within you.

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged. “Just watch me, then” you declared, snatching the cup from his hand before he could protest. You were so sure of yourself. The liquid was a fiery red, the strong scent even more potent up close. You took a tentative sip.

It was horrible.

It was like drinking liquid fire infused with cough syrup. A strangled cough escaped your lips, your eyes watering. Luke chuckled slightly. You sputtered, almost spitting the liquid out in disgust.

Before you could fully react, Luke's hand cupped your chin, surprisingly gentle despite the rough calluses that adorned his palm. His eyes held a mischievous sparkle. "Take it all down now, you told me you could handle it"

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way his words sent a thrill down your spine, but you were determined not to back down, especially not in front of him. Fueled by a mix of pride, the burn of the liquid fire, and a strange flutter in your stomach thanks to Luke's closeness, you took another swig, then another, determined to finish it. You ignored the way your throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper and the fire that seemed to erupt in your gut.

Suddenly, a loud "Chug! Chug! Chug!" broke the silence. Travis and Connor, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, started a rhythmic chant. Silena and Katie soon joined in, their cheers echoing through the clearing. You choked down the rest of the concoction, gasping for air as it burned its fiery path down your throat.

The cheers reached a crescendo as you slumped back, eyes squeezed shut, your head swimming. As the commotion subsided, you dropped the plastic cup with a clatter. You felt dizzy, and your throat felt like someone had lined it with sandpaper, but a sense of accomplishment washed over you. You'd done it.

Suddenly, a gentle touch on your chin startled you. You blinked your eyes open to see Luke leaning in, his gaze holding a playful spark. With his thumb, he brushed away a stray droplet of the red liquid that had escaped your lips during your valiant chugging endeavor.

The simple gesture sent a jolt through you. It was so unexpected that your breath hitched in your throat. Then, in a move that stole the air from your lungs completely, he lifted his thumb to his lips and sucked off the red droplet. Eyes on yours, the whole time.

"Good girl" he murmured.

He turned away then, casually rejoining the conversation with Chris about their upcoming training session. But you couldn't tear your gaze from him. The playful glint in his eyes, the lingering warmth on your chin from his touch – it all played on repeat in your mind.

Gods, you thought, your head swimming from a potent mix of alcohol and newfound desire. You really wanted to be anywhere else right now. Anywhere with him, away from the prying eyes and teasing laughter of your friends. You felt crazy in the matter of just a few seconds. You couldn´t let this slide, you just couldn´t.

You couldn´t deny the wet patch on your panties either.

You stood up, maybe a little too fast for the state you were in, but you managed to look down to Luke, who was already looking into your eyes the moment you stood up.

“I´m going for a walk. Care to join me?”

inspired by this right here, with a little change <3

[brokenmenswhore]

betrothals & brothels | aegon, aemond, & jace

part 2

pairings: aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, aemond targaryen x stark fem!reader, jacaerys velaryon x stark fem!reader

series summary: aemond targaryen tells the realm that you, the lady of house stark, are to wed him and secure a partnership in the north. in protest, you agree to marry jacaerys velaryon, affirming the north’s allegiance to rhaenyra. when the news hits king’s landing, aegon decides it’s better to have you under his watchful eye until the political partnership is solidified, but doesn’t realize you have a life away from your duty as a stark

chapter warnings: slightly violent aegon?, angst (from jace & aegon)

a/n: thank you for the ridiculous amount of support on part 1??? i think it’s my best stuff yet so thank you sm. a few people have commented/dm’d to be added to a taglist, so let me know if you’re interested in that!

series masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

It was three days of solitude before anyone had visited your chambers. Guards stood outside your door day and night, ensuring you remained in place, and the window was much too high to jump without injury, potentially death.

The door had only opened for a particularly selected group of handmaidens who were tasked with bringing you meals and libations. You stared at the fireplace, not even bothering to turn your head when you heard the familiar noise like clockwork.

“We are to begin wedding preparations in the morrow,” Aemond spoke.

The voice was unexpected. You shifted in your chair until you were twisted enough to see him. He had left you in here for three days, alone, bored, and for what? You had tried everything to find a way to escape, but every inch of your chamber’s portion of the Red Keep was watched constantly, and there was not much in the room with you.

“You bore me,” you hissed, “even after three days with no one speak to, you manage to find a way to expunge any chance of titillating conversation with one single line.”

Aemond sighed and bowed his head, his hands clasped behind his back. “I ask you to please make this less difficult, My Lady.”

“You do not have the right to call me My Lady,” you said, standing up and walking over to him, “you have imprisoned me. You seem too noble to do such a thing to someone you think a lady.”

Aemond’s nostrils flared in frustration. A portion of his hair fell from behind his ear, landing in front of his face as he dipped his head even further. “My apologies.”

You did not expect him to say such a thing. “You think yourself sorry?” you asked.

“Despite your preconceived notions,” Aemond started, lifting his head back up to look at you, “I do not wish to offend you.”

Without wasting a single second, you responded, “then allow me to take leave from this room.”

“No.”

“And why not?” you protested.

“Please, Miss Stark, do not make this more difficult than is necessary.” He was growing tired of your quick wit and temperament. He did not think you would be such work.

You scoffed. “My most impactful talent is making everything more difficult than necessary, My Prince. Tell me what I have to do to persuade you to let me out of this room.”

“I am under strict orders from The King to ensure you maintain your position,” he told you.

“I thought the fearsome Aemond Targaryen would not allow his manhood to be squandered by his own brother,” you said, “but I see I was mistaken.”

“Despite your attempt to poison me against him, he is my brother, and he is the King. I will remain loyal to his cause.”

“As your wife, I would hope you remain loyal to me.”

“You are not my wife yet.”

“So do not force me to be,” you said, ending the conversation and walking back to the fireplace, taking your all-too-familiar seat.

“You give up too easy, Miss Stark,” Aemond spoke, clearly unsatisfied with the conclusion to your conversation.

“I do not give up, My Prince,” you responded, “I am simply tired of the sound of your voice.”

Aemond sighed. He understood why you were so cold toward him- he had begun to burn your home, he had forced your hand in a betrothal orchestrated by his brother, and now you were secluded to guest chambers for three days with no explanation.

“My brother fears for your safety, if you were to take your leave and wander the Keep,” Aemond spoke after a moment.

You laughed. You laughed so ridiculously audibly that Aemond did not have to question if it was genuine. “You expect me to believe that The King has any concerns for my safety? I am in here because he fears me, that much I know. I only wish to know when he intends to let me out. I cannot be quarantined forever.”

“What is it you wish to do with all this freedom you so dearly wish for, hm? You wish to wed your bastard prince?” Aemond retorted, beginning to grow annoyed with your constant protestations.

“And how would I return to Winterfell, or even travel to Dragonstone? I do not ride dragons, Aemond. I cannot sail, I cannot ride horseback- I was never taught to do anything but run. I cannot run all the way back to Winterfell. What do you think me capable of if you let me out? You think me capable of returning home? If it is such, you are not as intelligent as you portray yourself.”

“You cannot ride horseback?”

You were growing angrier and angrier. “That is the portion of my statement that you clung to?”

Aemond felt bad. He did not realize you were never taught things that he assumed were basic- he realized he did not know much about your upbringing. He knew that you and your brother were the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, which means your father must have passed away when you were young, and it seemed as if the man had sheltered you from learning. He sympathized with why you seemed to eager to leave your room.

“I will only let you out with your agreement to an escort,” Aemond spoke, holding his head up high and returning to a proper, formal stance.

“I do not wish to be babysat.”

“You do not have a choice.”

“And who is to escort me?” you asked, “yourself? The King? Will that allow him to keep an even closer eye on my whereabouts? Was locking me in a room and ensuring I cannot leave not enough?”

“I will escort you myself until I know you can be trusted,” Aemond responded.

“I assure you I cannot be.”

“Must you be so combative?”

You shrugged your shoulders casually. “If you think me combative now, a marriage between us would kill you.”

Aemond remained stoic, attempting to calm your temper down with his gentle demeanor. “Where do you wish to go?”

“I wish for you to take me to the Street of Silk.”

Aemond was completely bewildered. That was perhaps the last place he anticipated- what could you possibly want there?

“I will take you no such place.”

“You agreed to let me out on the only condition of an escort just moments ago,” you fought, “you cannot retract your word, unless your cock is truly as small as they say it is.” It was a low blow, but you were eager and annoyed, and you simply wanted out. You didn’t care if you had to bruise Aemond’s ego to get what you wanted.

“What do you need in the Street of Silk?” he questioned, refusing to drop the subject.

“It is no business of yours.”

Aemond contemplated his options, an idea popping into his brain. “If I do this, you will agree to acknowledge our betrothal and renounce your betrothal to my nephew.”

“Then you will allow me to inform him via raven myself. And you will not intrude on the contents of my writings.”

“You truly believe yourself to be in a position of negotiation?”

“And you will not intrude on the contents of my writings,” you repeated, drawing his attention back to responding to you.

You exchanged an intense glance, searching each other’s eyes for any signs of weakness that the other could exploit. You stood your ground, just as he stood his.

“It is too risky to allow you access to ravens without allowing anyone to read what you intend to send,” Aemond tried to level with you.

You stood up to him, getting directly in his face. “You will not intrude on the contents of my writings, or you will have to drag me down the aisle, kicking and screaming.”

“You negotiate quite a lot for someone I could easily leave in here to rot,” Aemond fought back.

“I will not beg you, Aemond,” you warned, “but I will ask you to please accept the terms of this deal.”

“Okay,” Aemond finalized, “we have a deal.”

“Then we best get going,” you said, stepping aside and walking away, not bothering to turn around to check that he was following you. The moment you were out of the room, you did not need him, and you did not care if he truly accompanied you. You knew he would, and he did, swiftly catching up to you and walking directly beside you. You desperately wanted to remain in control of the situation, but you were unsure of your current whereabouts, and you did not know your way around.

You and Aemond did not speak. He escorted you out of the Red Keep and through the streets of King’s Landing, denying any guards who attempted to remain by either of your sides. He did not need to clarify when you had arrived at your desired destination, for the sudden abundance of moaning, cups, and nakedness alerted you as such.

“You may tend to your business now,” Aemond said.

“I thought you were hellbent on sticking by my side?” you said, more a question than a statement.

“I must attend to my own personal business,” he told you, “if I am not to inquire upon yours, I should hope you will extend me the same courtesy.”

You nodded your head slightly, but enough for Aemond to notice. “Who is to say that I will not run the second I am out of your sight?”

“Do you wish to be here or not?” Aemond snapped, “meet me back here by dawn, lest you risk not only my brother being alerted of your empty chambers, but your freedom ceased entirely.”

“Fine,” you replied, “go on, then.”

Aemond gave you a nod, turning away from you and entering a brothel a few doors down, walking through the street as if the path to the specific place was second nature. You looked around, attempting to decide on a building, when you realized you could have just followed Aemond.

When you entered the whorehouse, you were taken aback by how different it was from that of Winterfell. There were seldom any candles, the rooms remaining dimly lit. A woman sat behind a bar, tending to the cups of the men who were not exploring their own pleasure. You approached the bar with confidence, seating yourself.

“Rare I see a lady who doesn’t work for me in here,” the woman spoke, “what will you have?”

“Employment, if possible,” you answered, “under certain terms, of course.”

The woman chuckled. “And what makes you worthy of employment?”

You looked around the vicinity, ensuring that no one around could hear your next words as you leaned over the bar. “Give me 10 minutes with any of your most valued customers, and I guarantee you they will speak well on my behalf.”

The woman smiled. “You got a name?”

“Not when I am here.”

“I don’t do none of that,” she responded, “even if my customers don’t, I am to know the names of those I employ.”

You leaned even further over the bar, lowering your voice to an almost-whisper. “I am a Stark, ma’am. That makes my cunt worth more than anyone in here put together.” You didn’t mean the words, not believing in placing a value on women, but you knew it would strike a chord with her.

She looked at you in admiration and confusion. “What would a Stark be doing in King’s Landing, asking the likes of me for employment?”

“That is her business alone,” you replied, “but she is here, and she is ready to work.”

Her smile widened, her expression changing from uncertainty and skepticism to acceptance. “I’ve been looking for a headstrong girl like you,” she told you, “what are the terms you speak of?”

“I wish for you to be the only one who knows my true name. I do not wish to be a Stark when I am here,” you began, “and I intend to only satisfy the clients who not only satisfy my desires in return, but who do not question me on my house. If one may recognize me, I wish for you to keep them from me.”

“Ah, you want selective clientele?” she clarified, “I only do that in special cases. Some of these girls have been here for ages without such a privilege. If you fuck in my whorehouse, you fuck under my rules.”

“I will give you larger portion of my earnings than your other girls do, should it ensure that my ‘selective clientele’ remain truly selective,” you bargained.

“You would be willing to do such things?” she asked.

“I come to you for employment for myself, not for the coin,” you assured her.

She looked you up and down, top to bottom, assessing every part of your body. “You have yourself a deal.”

She reached her hand over the bar, allowing you meet her hand with your own as you shook briefly, a gesture finalizing the terms of your employment.

✶

Jacaerys,

I am sure my brother has made you aware of the events in Winterfell. Your uncle threatened to burn my home, and when he proved good on his word, I had no choice but to appease him.

I am not sure what news you will receive in Dragonstone, but Aemond and I have come to an agreement that I will renounce our betrothal and acknowledge a betrothal to him. It is imperative that he believe me good on my word.

I wish for you to know that my words hold no true meaning. I will discover an escape from your uncle, and I intend to return home to wed you. I hope you will still have me. Please do not believe any word that is not mine.

You sent the raven first thing in the morning, Aemond assuring you could trust his word that he would not read or alter its contents. Something about the way he carried himself had you believing him, despite your better judgement.

Jacaerys was furious when he received the letter, storming off to the council room to confront his mother.

“They have kidnapped her!” he yelled, slamming his fist on the table as soon as he approached it, “they have kidnapped my betrothed and intend to force her hand to Aemond. Should we not act?”

His mother sighed. “We cannot afford to act on such a minute thing.”

Jace looked at her in confusion, turning to scan the faces of everyone else present, growing even more confused when they met him with pitiful stares. “How is this minute? I am your heir, and this is my betrothed they are exploiting. This is your future queen!”

“When dragons fight, everything burns,” Rhaenyra spoke, tone never breaking, “we cannot risk such a catastrophe over someone who is not even a Targaryen.”

Jace was livid, his face turning red with anger. “If we allow them to do this, we lose our allies in the North.”

“We do not need them, should Daemon be successful in his ventures in Harrenhaal.”

“How could you possibly be so blind?” Jace asked, no longer holding back, “we need the North, mother. I cannot fathom how you could disregard my future bride in this way.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “should Lady Stark wed Aemond, you may marry Baela, Jacaerys. ‘Tis not the end of the world.”

Jacaerys realized that it was impossible to win this argument. He slammed his fists on the table once more before storming off to his chambers, dropping onto a chair and placing his head in his hands.

He missed you. It was almost the date you two were to wed, and he was growing affectionate toward you, as you were with him. He was thrilled to receive correspondence from you, but the contents of the letter only added to his misery. He understood the position you were in, and he appreciated that you had no true intentions of wedding anyone but him, but he knew his uncle. If Aemond wanted her, and she was with him, Aemond would find a way to take her.

He was worried for you. He knew exactly who his uncle Aegon was, and though you could take care of yourself, you never had to do as such around Aegon. Aegon was forceful and cruel, and Jacaerys feared for what he may do to you because you could take care of yourself. Aegon did not take well to women who did not succumb to his will.

“Jace?” Rhaena said, opening the doors to his chambers slowly, afraid to overstep and upset him further.

“Rhaena, hey,” Jace said, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, “what is it?”

“Are you okay?” Rhaena asked, approaching the fireplace and taking the seat next to him.

Jacaerys controlled his breathing, forcing himself to cease crying. “I am just frustrated is all.”

Rhaena gave Jace a pitiful smile. “You quite fancy her, this Miss Stark?”

Jacaerys let out a small chuckle. “Yes, I believe I quite do.”

“If she is all you speak that she is, she will be just fine,” Rhaena assured him, “if she can handle Aemond, she can handle anyone.”

“It is not Aemond I worry of.”

Rhaena sighed. Aemond was noble and his first priority was duty. He remained loyal to those he believed worthy of his loyalty, and despite how cruel he could be with a blade or with Vhagar, he would never hurt anyone for his own enjoyment. Aegon, on the other hand, spilled blood for the hell of it, and had nothing and no one who could calm him down when his fuse blew. He was ruthless, mean, and as king, he was capable of taking whatever he wanted, and burning anything he didn’t.

“I cannot see why Aegon would have any reason to bother her. They have taken her there for Aemond, after all.”

“Have you forgotten who Aegon is?” Jacaerys said, tears threatening to spill again, “he does not do well with those who do not show him favor. I fear for her safety.”

“She will return to you, Jacaerys, she wrote it so herself,” Rhaena said, attempting to remind Jacaerys of her written promises in an effort to calm him down.

Jacaerys took hold of Rhaena’s hand, showing his friend appreciation for her council, as his breathing calmed down and he watched the fire dance.

✶

“You let her send a raven to Dragonstone?” Aegon questioned, turning to Aemond in a fury, “tell me you read it, brother. Tell me you did not allow her to perpetuate this war by promising herself to Jacaerys again. Tell me you were not so stupid.”

“We have come to an understanding,” Aemond tried to explain, “and access to one raven was part of such.”

“You idiot,” Aegon sighed, walking away from his brother and pouring himself a drink.

“She remains here, with us. I do not see the issue. Regardless of her writings, our nephew does not have the confidence to dare try to enter King’s Landing. She has given me her word that she will acknowledge our betrothal.”

Aegon lifted his head up, cup in hand, as he turned back to Aemond. He lifted the cup toward Aemond’s chest, a finger pointed out, asking, “where were you last night, dear brother?”

“I know not of what you ask of me,” Aemond responded.

“You see,” Aegon started, taking a sip from his cup, “one of the large perks of being King, is that I may employ who I choose in such positions such as the King’s Guard. Quite nice having friends around, really. Only, just this morn, I was informed that you had not only visited our captive, but you let her out until sunrise.”

“That is quite the story,” is all Aemond said, monotone, his facial expressions remaining stoic so as not to give anything away.

“What reason would my King’s Guard have to lie?”

Aemond stepped closer to his brother. He would have been in Aegon’s face if they were the same height, but instead, he looked down upon his brother. “That is a question for them, brother. I know not of what lies they tell you.”

Aegon nodded. He always praised his brother for his loyalty to the crown, and to his family, and Aegon was almost incapable of believing that Aemond would ever betray his trust, especially if only based on the word of his friends.

“I wish to speak to her,” Aegon said, returning to a casual state, “will you inform her as such?”

Aemond nodded. “I will return shortly with her.”

Aemond went directly to your chambers, swinging the door open with carelessness to whatever your current state may be. Luckily enough for you, you were simply watching the fire.

“The King requests an audience with you.”

“He knows about the raven, does he?”

“Please, Miss Stark, I am here to accompany you to the throne room.”

You sighed, “I do not wish to go to the throne room.”

“He is the King,” Aemond reminded you, “you do not have a choice.”

“I always have a choice,” you responded, “I refuse to live without one. If your brother wishes to speak with me, he may either come to me himself, or he may let me out of this dreadful apartment permanently. You may tell him as much.”

Aemond did not try to convince you to accompany him- he knew you well enough to know it would be useless. He walked back to the throne room, alone, much to his brother’s dismay.

Aegon did not speak, but threw his hands up in exasperation. “She refuses to come,” Aemond spoke plainly.

“Tell her she does not have a choice.”

“I did,” Aemond began, “but she refuses to not have a choice. She says you may go to her if you wish to speak to her.”

“She did, did she?” Aegon said, amused and frustrated. “Very well, then.”

Aegon stood from the throne, walking past Aemond as he moved toward your chambers, Aemond close behind him.

He also had no regard to knock or announce his arrival, swinging the door open. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“What do you want?” you asked, standing and facing him.

“Well, for starters, I want you address your King properly.”

You did not speak. You did not move. You simply just stared at him, unwavering in your stubbornness.

“Leave us, Aemond,” Aegon commanded. Aemond wanted to protest, but he looked into Aegon’s eyes, and knew it would be in everyone’s best interest to depart.

You folded your arms across your chest as you stared at him, refusing to speak to him until he made conversation worthwhile.

“My guards tell me you had quite the escapade last night with my brother,” he said.

“How am I to have ‘had quite the escapade’ when you quarantine me to this cell?”

“Aemond let you free, did he not?”

You scoffed. “Aemond is holding me prisoner just as much as you are.”

“Now, what did I do to deserve such combative spite from you?” he teased, “is this room alone not nicer than the entire kingdom of Winterfell?”

“Winterfell is my home, and you instructed your brother to burn it down if I did not accompany him back here,” you reminded him, “you are a coward. If you want an allegiance with the North, are you not capable of orchestrating such a thing yourself?”

Aegon tsked, stepping closer to you, “but you’re so much more fun.”

“Let me out of this room.”

“No.”

“Let me out of this room, Aegon.”

Aegon swiped his arm across the drinks table, knocking everything to the ground with a dramatic clash, glass breaking and shooting across the floor.

“Address me by my title!” he bellowed.

“You are but a whiny little baby,” you spoke, no sense of fear in your voice whatsoever.

Aegon took a deep breath, unable to hold back his rage. “Don’t you dare speak to me like this. I could have you hanged.”

“Hanging would be great relief from this conversation.”

Aegon was growing more and more furious by the second. He got in your face, spitting, “you are nothing. You are simply just a pawn in my game. I pity my brother for having to put up with you.”

“As you should,” you replied, “so long as you hold me hostage, I shall make you pity your own existence.”

Aegon’s face was turning red, his breathing quickening in anger the more you spoke. His fingers were curling and uncurling into fists, completely unsure of what could be an outlet for all this rage. He was mad, mostly at your stubbornness, but he did not want to seem irrational.

One of his hands moved upwards to grip your throat, pushing you back against a wall and holding your neck in place.

He kept his face close to yours for a moment, the hand around your throat squeezing enough to hold you in place, but not enough to obstruct your breathing entirely. “I’m going to make your life hell.”

“My life is already hell,” you spat back, breathing the best you could, “I am forced to spend it with the likes of you and your family.”

Aegon searched your eyes for any sense of fear or worry, but he found none. You were more stubborn than he realized, refusing to allow him any true control over you. Even with a hand around your throat, and his body pressed to yours, you refused to show any signs of weakness.

“I could make you a whore, you know,” he nearly whispered, “you think yourself so strong? What will you do when I have you trapped beneath me, using you for my own pleasure? Will you be so headstrong then?”

You did not dignify his words with a response. You, instead, decided to add insult to injury, spitting in his face. His hand immediately left your throat as he used his shirtsleeve to wipe off your spit from his face, taking a moment to process what just happened before his rage grew even more.

“That was a mistake,” he spoke, low.

“Kidnapping me was the mistake, Your Grace,” forcing evident sarcasm on your last two words so that Aegon knew you did not mean them. You were patronizing him.

“I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon with the rest of the scum.”

“I am already imprisoned, I do not care if you decide to change the scenery.”

Aegon was more frustrated than ever. He could not seem to find an insult that would strike a chord with you. He did not know how to weaken you, and that killed him.

“I’ll fuck you into submission like the whore they say you are,” Aegon hissed.

“If I am the whore they say I am, I dare say myself capable of fucking you into submission should you try anything, and then you would only be weaker.”

Aegon screamed. He didn’t scream a word or a threat, but a genuine outlet of frustration and pent up anger, before commanding, “bend the knee and renounce the False Queen. Now.”

“No.”

“Get. On. Your. Knees.”

“No.”

You did not think Aegon capable of surprising you, but in the next moments, he did just that. His rage was overtaking him, causing him to lose control over his emotions as they heightened and heightened, and he began to cry. His tone remained angry, his face still red hot, but tears began to fall.

“Renounce Rhaenyra,” he pleaded.

“No,” you maintained.

He was having trouble catching his breath, but you remained still, an immovable object he could not knock down. He began to take in sharp, quick breaths as he tried to calm himself down, but he was unable. He plopped down on one of the fireplace chairs, unable to remain standing, for he felt like he could not breathe. He was crying so hard he was nearly dry heaving from the intensity.

“Stop,” you said, trying to keep your voice strong, “this will not wear me down, Aegon, stop.”

He did not turn to you. He could not respond or even think about speaking. He continued to break down in the chair, his mask of strength slipping away, and he could do nothing to stop it, his emotions completely intruding in on and overwhelming his senses.

“Aegon, relax.” You did not want to comfort him. You loathed him. The longer he was in hysterics, the more you realized it was not a game, but you desperately tried to stop yourself from being kind to him in any way. After all, he had not been kind to you whatsoever.

“I- I can’t breathe,” he stuttered out, panic setting into his features. His heart rate was rapid, and his body was becoming weaker and weaker as his heart and his mind raced.

“Yes, you can,” you said, breaking your strength a bit, “focus on calming your breathing down.”

“C- can’t,” he coughed out.

You took a deep breath, knowing you would regret assisting him in any way once he was okay again, but you kneeled in front of him anyway, taking his hands in yours. “Focus on calming your breathing down,” you repeated, meeting his eyes with your own.

His eyes were red and swollen, his entire face wet from the tears and the panic attack. His cheeks were still rosy, having never calmed down from when his hand was around your throat. He looked somewhat beautiful.

Aegon looked at you, staring into your eyes as he tried to catch his breath, watching as you exaggerated your breathing in-and-outs as a model for him to follow. He stayed focused on your breathing, matching his own pace with yours, until he was calmed down, able to breath again, no longer hysterically crying.

When you noticed he had returned, you immediately went to pull your hands away, but he gripped your wrists before you could do so.

He sniffled, all of his strength completely gone, as his broken voice spoke, “thank you.”

You nodded at him, your stubbornness still present, refusing to give him a small smile or speak.

You went to stand and walk away from him, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.

“Let me go, Aegon,” you said.

He didn’t respond, he simply pulled you back toward him until you were standing in front of his seated figure. In a split second, so as not to allow you room to leave, he removed his hands from your wrists and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his head to your stomach as he hugged himself into your body.

You wanted to make a comment about him being weak rather than strong, about how you hated him, about how he owed you leave from your apartment, but words escaped you. In the moment, Aegon was not the cruel, bloodthirsty usurper, but a lonely, scared little boy who was clinging onto the one thing that was currently bringing him comfort.

He stayed in place for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of your body and the comfort of the hug. After several moments, he opened his eyes and pulled away from you, shooting up to stand. You exchanged a glance, but he did not speak, he simply exited the room, leaving you alone and imprisoned once again.

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @torchbearerkyle @dracaryxzs @hangmanscoming

[sleyu]

C U GIRL

PAIRING: RON WEASLEY X READER

GENRE: SMUT

WARNINGS: SEX, UNPROTECTED SEX, PRAISE, CURSING

Hushed whispers and giggles were all that could be heard as the two of you frantically rushed along the hogwarts corridors in search of an empty, vacant classroom.

It had quite frankly started in the morning. You had chosen to sit across from Ron during breakfast, much to his dismay. As you were eating your cereal, you had taken notice of the lack of attention Ron paid to his food and the topic of the upcoming quidditch game Harry was urgently speaking of. Instead, his eyes were fixed on you, in the all-so-familiar dreamy look of his, enchanted by the sight of your face and presence.

Due to the upcoming exams, much of your evenings were spent either in the library or common room revising, leaving little time or focus on your boyfriend or the needs of the pair of you. Here Ron was, facing the dread of quidditch and academic papers, and positively ruined by the lack of you.

And so it started.

Ron deliberately gave up his spot by Harry—much to his confusion—and eagerly stole the free spot next to you, usually occupied by Hermione, who herself, was displeased yet unsurprised by Ron’s cheat. Hermione’s firm, ‘Ronald!’ was left ignored by Ron who sheepishly smiled at you, resting a gentle hand on your upper thigh.

‘Let’s skip transfiguration, yeah?’ he whispered, grinning innocently. You smirked, already familiar with this routine. Pretending to think over his question, you watched his eyes grow wide in expectancy. ‘Hmm, not sure. I heard from yesterday’s class that she’s revising important information. Wouldn’t it be a waste not to go?’

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed, his hand squeezing your thighs for attention. ‘I doubt it. Besides, even if she did, that’s what we have Harry and Hermione for!’ he laughed nervously, awaiting either your approval or dismissal.

You smiled. ‘i’m only teasing. sure, whatever you want, Ron.’ Laughing, you leaned against your boyfriend who had begun bouncing his knees anxiously.

This all led to your current predicament. Ron’s firm grip on your hand was unrelenting, dragging you inside the abandoned and perfectly spacious classroom.

He turned to you, grinning sheepishly, and pulled you close to him, heart skipping as you wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning up to kiss him softly. Ron sighed into the kiss, hands roaming up and down your body, from the expanse of your back to a firm, possessive squeeze to your ass.

‘Missed you,’ he mumbled quietly, pressing your chest against his and rocking his hips against yours, groaning softly. His hands reached to the back of your thighs and lifted you on top of the scratched desk.

You pulled away from the kiss, taking notice to Ron’s swollen, pink lips and his equally flushed face. His eyes had become dark and his gaze had become that of lust, intensely staring at your chest. ‘You sure we won’t be caught here?’ you asked, whispering.

He shook his head, handing reaching up to unbutton your white blouse, pausing to look at you for approval, before whispering back, ‘Don’t care if we do.’

Your cunt throbbed as his large hands began groping your chest through your bra. His mouth had become occupied on your neck, giving the skin bruised, open-mouth kisses, desperately attempting to leave his mark. Those marks were Ron’s pride and joy. If it weren’t for his cum dripping out of your ruined, spent cunt after fucking, it was the hickey’s on your neck that solidified and affirmed that you belonged to him and only him.

Much to his disappointment, which was exceedingly apparent by his whines of protest, you had pulled his head away from your neck. ‘We don’t have time—I’m sure filch is roaming around here and there. We’ve got to hurry, Ron.’ you sighed, in an equal degree of anguish.

Ron rolled his eyes and nodded before kneeling before you and spreading your legs, pulling your throbbing, covered cunt to his face. He pushed your skirt to your hips without a second thought, pressing painful bites and kisses to the soft, supple flesh of your thighs.

Your heart rate increased with Ron’s lack of urgency and the press of his fingers against your covered clit. Tugging his hair softly, he grinned and nodded before pulling your panties to the side. If you leaned closer, you would have been able to see one of Ron’s hand’s leaving your thigh to palm his hard cock over his slacks, groaning and muttering curses at the sight of your dripping, puffy cunt.

Standing up, he began to unbuckle his belt before pulling his pants down enough for him to take out his throbbing length. You whined, reaching forward to grip his cock, which twitched upon your gentle touch. Groaning, Ron rutted his hips against your fist. ‘Fuck, see this? Yeah, you did that. You ‘n your pretty face, and those doe eyes.’ he sighed shakily.

You whined, guiding his cock toward your fluttering, needy hole. ‘Can’t wait any longer. Need you inside me,’ you mumbled.

Nodding, Ron brushed away your hand before lining his cock with your cunt, suddenly pushing inside with little warning. You cried out, biting the back of your hand in an attempt to silence your voice in response to his intrusion.

Ron grunted, throwing his head back before looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. ‘Do you know how long i’ve been waiting for this?’ he whimpered.

‘How long I’ve been jerking myself off thinking about this cunt? Thinking about your sweet fucking sounds?’

You shook your head, mouth open and eyes watering at the feeling of his cock brushing against your sweet spot, deliciously stretching out your already spent hole that had severely missed his nightly routine.

As Ron thrust in and out of your cunt, he buried his face in your neck, deeply breathing in the scent of your shampoo, nearly intoxicated by the smell. ‘so sweet—so fucking sweet.’

In between pressing feverish kisses alongside your neck and jaw, he’d whimper out sweet nothings, thanking you for letting him take you out in the open so suddenly. ‘Such a good girl—fuck—my little fucking princess.’ he’d gasp. ‘Love you so fuckin’ much.’

Feeling a sudden warmth in your chest from not only your high approaching, but also his confession, you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist, pushing him further into you, causing the pair of you to gasp.

‘Love you too, Ron,’ you whispered shakily, feeling your boyfriend’s hips begin to stutter at the approaching feeling of his high, your cunt throbbing and closing in around his fat cock in anticipation of your orgasm.

Ron pulled away from your neck and pressed his forehead against yours, looking down, watching the pair of you connect as he rutted into your pussy. He whined at the sight of your cunt just barely taking in his fat cock, all swollen and abused because of him.

His hand finally reached down to rub the nub of your clit, grinning wolfishly at the sound of your loud, sudden cries. ‘That’s it, honey—fuck—cum just like that,’ he grinned. ‘Doing so good for me, yeah? You look so pretty like this.’

And just like that, you felt your stomach clench and your pulsating hole clamp around his cock, finally cumming all over his leaking member.

It felt fuzzy for a while. Your brain had practically gone numb from your orgasm, leaving you too far gone to register ron’s loud groans and pants, only focusing on the feeling of his seed filling you up, and the wet, lewd sounds of his cock thrusting into your wet, dripping cunt stuffed full of the mixture of both of your juices.

‘So, so good. wanna keep filling you up forever—fuck.’ Ron felt himself go dumb, mindlessly thrusting his overstimulated dick in and out of your pussy, the warmth too addictive to pull out from despite the pain he felt. Nevertheless, the sight of your closed eyes and heavy pants pulled him to realization. He laughed softly at your whines, pleading him to fill you up again, before he pulled his pants back up, fastening his belt.

Due to the classroom setting—which Ron eventually realized its inconvenience during the aftermath of sex—he hesitantly put your panties back on your body, slightly cringing at the sight of them becoming damp to the lack of adequate clothes around to wipe you clean.

‘Ah, sorry, love.’ he whispered as he dressed you once again, fixing your skirt and buttoning your blouse, occasionally pressing loving, doting kisses around your face in an attempt to bring you back to proper consciousness.

Alas, your head simply rested on his chest as you closed your eyes, sleepy as usual after sex. You felt yourself flush as Ron lifted your face so that your eyes could meet. What amused you was how shy he became after completely rearranging your insides. You felt your heart swell at the sight of his flustered expression and red ears.

‘Let’s go back to my dorm, okay? I can take care of you there—or—on second thought—do you think the prefect's bathroom would be better—’ you cut his sheepish rambling off with a soft peck on his lips before pulling him into a gentle hug, to which he enthusiastically responded to, wrapping his arms around your frame, projecting his warmth onto you.

‘Let’s do prefects bathroom. Round two there?’