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vxsellie · 3 days ago

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KINDLY, DARLIN' - 𝐸.𝑊

summary. after seemingly endless days on the road, you find yourself at a random country bar in the middle of nowhere. entering with the sole goal of getting your hands on come kind of alcohol, your attention is soon drawn elsewhere. to a girl and her guitar. notes. ok funny story! this idea came to me from a 5 sec interaction i had with a complete stranger. i went out to a bar, gave ten bucks to the singer, & he said the line that the title is based off of , which the prompted my brain to conjure up an entire love story (he's prob double my age lets be so fr) Also! idk if any of u will like this comparison (if not, just ignore this). but, as i wrote this, i imagined ellie's voice like lucy gray's from the hunger game's. like the slight country drawl, strong vocals, yes yes yes yes Also x2! anyone who follows me should know that im absolute SHITTT at writing smut. but, for some reason, that doesn't seem to stop me from creating works of garbage for my own amusement. anyway, if you reach the smut & realize that it's literal trash, i won't blame u for clicking off of this. just a warning! warnings. brief mention of creepy old men at the bar, depictions of alcohol, public flirting ???, eventual smut, drunk sex in a bathroom LMAO, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r!receiving) wc. 5.1k

𝓕uck your back hurts. Well, if you're being honest, everything hurts. Your neck, back, stomach, legs, hands. Everything that's capable of aching, does.

However, rather unfortunately, you suppose that's to be expected after driving for nigh two days straight in your shitty truck. It's a 90s pickup, the white paint peeling and the tires in desperate need of care. The beige seats are worn and stained, evidence of age having taken its toll on your poor vehicle.

In spite of your truck's needs, you're far more interested in your own ⎯ getting a damn drink.

You're currently coasting through the backroads of some small western town, streets made of dirt and buildings all decrepit. You've never heard of this place before, the name having already slipped your mind due to how utterly foreign it'd been to your mind.

Your headlights cast a yellow glow onto the dirt before you, your tires crunching against fallen leaves and loose rocks. You pass gas stations, wooden homes, dollar stores, an immeasurable amount of churches, and no liquor store. Most shop signs are staked into the dirt, the few billboards all dilapidated in some way ⎯ broken letters, flickering lights, or completely torn from the ground somehow.

Then, by either the grace of God or a wondrous turn of fate, your eyes stutter on a certain sign. A broken wooden one advertising a bar. Your interest is instantly piqued, wheel turning toward the building without hesitation.

You don't give yourself the chance to even think before you're hopping out of your truck and walking into the bar.

The moment you push open the wooden double doors, the sound of boisterous laughter and heavy cowboy boots meet your ears. Perfect.

You stand in place for a moment, craning your neck with narrowed eyes are you examine the atmosphere. To the left, there's a bar with almost every stool occupied by an overweight old man. To the right, there's a pair of barn doors with the word 'restrooms' carved into the wood. In the center of the space, there's bucking machine ⎯ a drunk teenage boy holding on for dear life while his group of friends cackle at him from the sidelines.

Then, on the side of the building opposite you, there's a small stage. It's only elevated a foot or so, wood rotting a bit on the edges. But you hardly care for the conditions of the stage itself. What you find yourself drawn to is the person on it.

In the center is a stool, an auburn haired woman perched atop it with an old guitar situated on her lap. She strums the instrument in an upbeat tempo, leaned forward slightly as she sings into the microphone before her. There's a small crowd in front of the stage, girls admiring and boys whistling.

Considering how run-down this town is, you hadn't expected to stumble across a bar that's so fucking packed. There's barely any open stools at the bar, the bathroom doors are rarely sitting still as people continue to pass through them, the mechanical bull being gifted coins non-stop. But you can't complain.

After so long alone on the road, it's nice to be in such an active atmosphere. It's not calming, of course, but you welcome it lovingly nonetheless.

Watching the auburn for a few moments longer, you then turn on your heel and saunter over to the bar. You're forced to sit beside someone as the lack of stools forbids you from not having a neighbor.

"What can I get'cha, hon'?" The bartender asks you with a tip of his cowboy hat. In his other hand, he wipes the outside of an octagonal glass cup.

"Got any whiskey?" You inquire, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop.

"Mhm," He hums, turning around to grab a bottle from the shelves behind the bar. He sets the glass onto the counter with a light clink, popping the bottle open. "'N' how would ya like it?"

"Neat."

He nods once more, pouring the liquid into the glass with a flourish before sliding it across the wood toward you. The moment you grab it, he's turning away to tend to another patron. You drink it quickly, downing the glass in one large swig.

As you place the glass back onto the counter, you feel eyes boring into you. Hoping it's someone of interest to you, you turn only to find a duo of old men chuckling at you. Their cheeks are rosy, bellies full ⎯ therefore likely drunk. You roll your eyes as the bartender refills your glass without a word.

Now with an entirely new bit of determination, you down that glass even faster. Another refill. Another singular gulp. Another refill. Another gulp. Another. Another. Another.

You're now swaying a bit atop your stool, feeling pretty good all things considered. The men continue to gossip among themselves, pointing at your ass. You feel disgusted ⎯ not at yourself, but at them for their fucking audacity. Part of you wants to knock their teeth out. But you're not that drunk.

So, instead, you take the mature approach and simply pick up your glass and exit the scene. As you walk away, you hear their chuckles increase and you suddenly regret not punching them.

Your heavy boots thud against the wooden flooring as you walk aimlessly around the bar. You push through an amass of bodies, everyone too drunk to care for your harsh shoving. Then, before you know it, you find yourself situated in the very front of the stage, glass of whiskey in hand.

The woman's voice is laced with a slight country drawl, her boot tapping against the leg of her stool to count the beats of the song. She nods her head as she sings, a small grin lighting her features.

The dim lighting of the bar doesn't do her justice. But you still manage to notice the freckles that dot her face, the cupids bow to her upper lip, the small scar on her right eyebrow. Or maybe you're just drunk and enamored by her. God, what if she finds you creepy? What if she thinks you're some fucking creep? What if she⎯

She looks at you and you swear your heart gives out right then and there. And, if that weren't enough, she winks. You feel your cheeks heat up and you blame it on the alcohol. You down the rest of your whiskey, suddenly feeling very hot. A light chuckle shakes her chest, ringing throughout the space. Nobody else thinks anything of it, of course, all too drunk and preoccupied to give a shit. But you find yourself fantasizing about all the other ways you could make this woman laugh like that again. Oh fuck you are a creep.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the residual bits of dignity you have left, you pull twenty bucks from your back pocket and step forward to drop it into her open guitar case.

She raises a brow, tipping her cowgirl hat in your direction with a smirk. "Thank ya kindly, darlin'."

Somehow, she'd managed to thank you in tune with the song, keeping the beat going without missing a second. It's almost impressive. Okay, it's super impressive. In fact, you feel your heart speeding up again, mind playing on loop the sound of her addressing you. Her country drawl, her smirk, her long fingers grabbing the bridge of her hat. Fuck.

Impulsively, you end up turning on your heel and heading right back to that damn bar. The bartender just grins as he pours you another serving, likely having noticed the flush to your cheeks and the desperation of which you placed the glass down.

"Mind if I give y' some advice?" He asks, leaning forward a bit.

In an act of self pity, you don't have the energy to deny him. "Why the hell not?"

"I ain't gotta clue who you're blushin' over, but my advice is that." He nods toward something behind you. You cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes landing on the bucking machine. You almost laugh, turning back to him with an unimpressed expression. "Listen, y' ain't gotta be good. Y' jus' gotta move your hips right n' I swear he's all yours. Trust me. I've seen it work hundreds of times."

You don't dare to correct him on the gender of your current infatuation, instead deciding to take a few more drinks for a bit of liquid courage. I mean, seriously. How else will you get this woman's attention? Plus, what do you have to lose? You'll never see her again after tonight. The least you could do is try.

After another few drinks, you're staggering over to the mechanical bull with a few coins clutched tight in the palm of your hand. The wait for the stupid thing is way longer than necessary, everyone competing for the longest time lasted on the machine.

You lean your empty hand on the frame of the wooden fence that encircles the rider, watching with reddened eyes as yet another person is flung onto the ground with a heavy thud. He rubs his head with a groan, though his sounds of pain quickly fade into laughter as he brushes off his jeans and stands upright, returning to his boisterous friends with a crooked grin.

Unease begins to lick up your spine, the logical part of your brain wondering why the fuck you're doing this for some country chick you don't even know the name of. You're strong, sure, but your luck would lead you to breaking your neck.

You look over your shoulder casting a glance in the direction of the bar. The bartender gives you two thumbs up, flashing you a grin with missing teeth. As encouraging as that is, what really pushes you to continue is seeing those two old men. They're sitting side-by-side, lustrous smirks on their face as they stare at you, leaning over every few seconds to mutter something in the other's ear. Yeah. Fuck them. You're doing this.

As you make it to the front of the line, you're overcome with naught but confidence. Whether that be due to the sound of the woman's singing growing nearer or the sight of the gross old men, you don't know. Though, honestly, it's likely because of the sheer amount of whiskey you've downed in the past hour.

"Coins." The blonde woman demands, palm of her hand facing you like a bill you've been avoiding. You place the coins into her hand and she opens the gate, hinges squealing as the prior rider stumbles out with a streak of dirt under her eye.

You walk into the ring, feet staggering a bit already from your drunkenness. You hoist yourself onto the bull, situating yourself until you feel a bit less awkward atop the back of the metal animal.

It begins rocking slowly back and forth. You find it easy at first, not really needing to use your hands. You still do, though, not much trusting the machine to not throw you off the moment you let your guard down. It picks up the speed, more. More. More. More. And, before you know it, it's thrashing back and forth. You hold onto the saddle, a dazed smile spreading across your face as you find yourself having fun.

It spins in a circle, your eyes suddenly catching on the woman on stage. She has the perfect view of you from her pedestal, her stool bringing her higher than the crowd just as the bull brings you.

She's still singing into the mic, her voice drowned out by the sound of chatter and cheers ⎯ though you're not sure if they're directed toward you or her at this point.

You've stayed on longer than you anticipated, the ache in your back returning as the bull yanks and dives under you. But you hold on, suddenly remembering the bartender's advice. You don't want to switch up whatever tactic you accidentally built into habit, but the point of this is to get the woman's attention.

So you wait until it spins back around. Then, while her eyes are pinned to yours, you shift a bit, back moving more fluidly as you roll your hips against it. Nobody else would think anything of it, the act so subtle that you simply appear to have altered your position. But she noticed. You know she did. Because her voice caught in her throat, causing her to have to take a sip from her water and apologize into the mic before resuming.

Your confidence spikes at this, suddenly feeling much more egoistical than you did when she was a complete stranger you made eye contact with once. Now you know you have an effect on her.

So you do it again, maintaining eye contact as you roll your hips against the bull suggestively.

Just as before, nobody else pays any mind, far too focused on the fact that you're stayed on for so long to give a fuck about technique. Honestly, if anyone were to notice, it'd be those creepy old men. And, hopefully, they're aware that it's pointed at this woman and now them. Though you doubt they'd care. Creeps like them rarely do.

The singer, with her eyes now pinned to you ⎯ though, everyone's now are ⎯ switches her tone a bit. Her song alters from an upbeat bar tempo with little meaning to having more directed lyrics to a girl with mesmerizing eyes. Again, nobody else picks up on this. She sings about a random girl with stunning eyes, never digressing past that.

But you know; and she knows. And that's all that matters.

She sings a certain line, something more lustful about the way you look at her. Something suggestive about the way she's imagining you. You instantly falter, your grip slipping.

You fall to the ground with a thud, the entire bar making a sound of disappointment and empathy. You don't care, though, not giving a single damn about the bull riding. All you care for is that fucking singer.

You hit the ground, breath knocked from your lungs. You cough, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. Your head spins, the alcohol finally catching up to you. Another cough is yanked from your heaving chest as you groan.

The blonde coin-collecting woman allows the next person into the ring, not waiting for you to give your say. As the next man enters, he offers you his hand. You, desperate for assistance, take it with a grateful smile. He hauls you to your feet, muttering quick compliments on your performance on the bull. You thank him before brushing past him and exiting the ring with staggering steps.

A few people from the crowd compliment you, offering words of encouragement for the 'next time you go up'. You give them half-hearted smiles, chest still aching slightly from your fall.

You shove through the crowd, nearing the restrooms you'd seen at the entrance. You push the doors open and head into the women's side.

You brace your hands on the edge of the sink, glancing in the mirror for a brief moment ⎯ examining the small cut on your cheekbone and the bruises that are beginning to form on your shoulder and hip. You then lean down, positioning your mouth under the faucet before turning on the water. You drink it, relishing in the taste of cool liquid rather than burning alcohol.

"Mm, look who it is."

You smack your head on the faucet with how quickly you straighten. You groan, rubbing your temple as you turn to face the person standing behind you. The singer. Well fuck, that makes the head smack twenty times more embarrassing.

Somehow, she's even more alluring up close. Her pale green eyes bore into you, lashes lidding them slightly. Her skin is lightly tanned, freckles likely produced from a life spent under the sun. Her forearm has a tattoo covering the rippled skin there, lean muscles adorning the rest of said arm.

You play off your staring by narrowing your eyes at her, "Followin' me, are ya?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, stepping forward to wash her hands in the sink beside yours. She tips her head down, looking at her hands as she scrubs, hat coming to block her face from your view. Unfortunate. "Jus' comin' t' wash the filth off my hands. I wouldn't worry, though, darlin', I'm sure that Smilton boy'll check up on ya."

Your brows furrow at this. "Smillin boy?"

"Smilton." She corrects you rather harshly, looking up to meet your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "Farmer's boy. Rich. Brunette. Helped y' up after the bull."

Realization hits you like a brick. She's jealous. This woman that you've never met, this woman that you stressed over impressing, this woman that you bruised yourself to get the attention of. She's jealous because some farmer's boy helped you stand up. A smirk tugs at your lips, an idea lighting your mind.

"Hmm," You hum lowly, brushing past her to dry your hands on one of the scratchy white towelettes. "He is quite handsome, ain't he?"

"Suppose." She replies shortly.

Your smirk only deepens, drying your hands achingly slow. Because you know she's aware that she has no right to be jealous. And that only serves to make her more pissed off. How interesting.

"What's his first name, if y' don't mind me askin'?" You speak casually, talking with her as though everything that passed between you two prior to this hadn't happened at all. It's driving her insane and you can tell.

"I dunno." She says, turning the faucet off to dry her hands beside you. "Somethin' with a J?"

"Oh, c'mon," you coo, turning to her with those eyes you know she adores. "I know y' know more than jus' his last name."

She looks away, clearing her throat with a set jaw, "you're right. Know his first initial too. It's a J."

You chuckle lightly, releasing the towelette to trace your fingertips along the soft skin of her bicep. "Yeah? And what's your first initial?"

Her entire body seems to tense, breath hitching in reaction to your touch. She looks at you from under the bridge of her hat, green eyes glinting with something informal. Something unfit for a casual conversation between two strangers in the women's rest room. You feel your heart stutter at the sight, having to make an effort not to fall to your knees before her in this very moment.

"E," is all she whispers.

"Last name?" You whisper back, matching her for quietude.

"Williams." She manages.

You hum, eyes following the movements of your hand. Had you not been so drunk, you'd likely never have the balls to be so flirty to her. But, as it turns out, your intoxication is good for something. Well, something aside from staying on some metal bull.

"How pretty," you whisper, leaning forward so your mouth is now right beside her ear. Your breath fans across her skin as you continue. "Now tell me your full name, will ya?"

Her eyes are pinned to your face, pupils tracing your features as your hand traces her arm. She finds herself mesmerized by you, entranced by your every detail ⎯ the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the height of your cheekbones, the line of your jaw. She imagines running her tongue along each of these points, imagines committing your to memory using naught but her mouth.

"Ellie." She replies finally, watching closely as your eyes raise to meet hers. Her heart stutters in her chest at that, as it always does when you make eye contact.

Your gaze flicks between her eyes and lips, hand slowly inching up her arm. "Ellie?"

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a spark of heat to her core. That paired with the way your fingers are lightly tracing up, up, up. You move your hand over her shoulder, along her collarbone, up the side of her neck, and finally rests to cup her cheek in your palm. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering.

"You're such a fuckin' tease," she mutters, voice low as it's weighed down by desire and a deep need to feel your skin on hers.

You ignore her words and move to lean in close enough that your noses brush. Then, with your breath fanning across her skin, you ask, "this okay?"

She doesn't say anything, instead abandoning the towelette completely and grabbing your face in both her hands. With a sudden sense of ferocity, she presses her lips to yours, pulling your body flush against hers.

"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle between kisses.

"Quiet," she murmurs, too needy for your touch to have time for conversation. As much as she loves hearing you talk, shed much rather talk via action rather than actual words.

You giggle against her lips, your arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She hums, hat falling to the tiled floor with a light brush. With each passing second, her actions become more and more desirous, suddenly pushing your back against the nearest wall. You let out a huff of air from the impact, your lips quirking up to form a small smile, regaled by Ellie's sudden desperation for you.

She tilts her head, peppering kisses down your chin and along your jaw. They're harsh and hungry, nipping your skin in some places purely to see your brow furrow at the feel of her teeth.

As she trails down to your neck, you tip your head back against the wall and open your eyes to blink up at the wooden ceiling. Your hands fist Ellie's hair as she leaves bruises down the column of your throat.

Still well and drunk, the room swirls around you. The lights seem to shift with each blink, making this all so much more intoxicating. Your nerves are already on edge due to the alcohol, so the feel of Ellie kissing them is absolutely maddening.

You feel as she presses kisses along your collarbone, tongue grazing the taut skin there. You shift, legs pressing together as she grows more sensual in her act of quick intimacy. This movement doesn't go unnoticed by her, however, her lips quirking into a small smile against your skin as she feels rather proud of how quick she's turned you to putty under her.

She moves across the bare skin of your chest, plump lips taking time to memorize each detail that adorns you. You move again, the heat between your legs growing harder to ignore.

"Patience, darlin'." She instructs. "I'll get there when I get there."

You frown at this, "well get there faster."

Her kisses suddenly cease, looking up at you through her lashes. She tilts her head at you innocently, blinking as she waits for you to correct yourself. To reword your restive demand. "Don't be rude, now."

You can feel your dignity push at the back of your throat, pride yearning for a moment to speak. Seeing as you're normally the one making orders, this feels quite stranger. But, after the long journey you've taken, you suppose you've earned a bit of time to sit back and let someone else take the lead.

Ellie draws a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, kneeling before you as her head comes to situate itself in front of your waistband. You can't help but admire how she looks from here, hair in your hands as her eyes are pinned to your denim jeans as though it's a buffet and she's a man starved. After a moment, she lifts her head to look at you.

Eye contact. Sparks shoot through your body. Somehow, something as simplistic as meeting Ellie's gaze can make you feel indescribably nervous. Pale green irises bore into you, waiting for you to utter words of consent. You do so, giving her the go-ahead.

As soon as you do, Ellie wastes no time hooking her fingers through your belt loops and pulling your jeans to your knees. She leans forward, eyes lidded.

"Wait." You pant, tugging on her hair to halt her movements. She seems rather annoyed by your sudden interruption, but looks up at you kindly despite her own irritation. You rolls your eyes at her evident pique. "What if someone walks in?"

She sighs heavily at that. "I locked the door."

"Oh, okay." You nod. Though, just as she's about to lean forward again, you stop her once more. "Wait. How did you know to lock it? You were all pissy when you first came in here."

"I didn't know." She explains hastily. "I simply hoped."

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head fondly at her admittance. Then, finally, you don't stop her when she leans forward.

She traces her tongue along the outside of your underwear, the fabric between you only adding to the pulsing in your pussy. A shiver wracks through you, causing Ellie to grab you by the hips to hold you still. She traces circles into your hips with her thumbs, a gentle motion when compared to the needy movements of her tongue as she draws small circles into your clit.

You tighten your grip on her hair, drawing a grunt from the back of her throat. The vibrations from her mouth against your pussy makes it hard to keep back your own noises.

When she finally shifts your panties to the side, you nearly collapse at the feel of her mouth against you. She licks a long stripe up your vulva, a shaky breath yanking from you. The sound only urges her further, taking one hand and drags her middle finger up your center. You shift, leaning heavily against the wooden walls as standing upright suddenly seems impossible. Then, without warning, two fingers shove right into your hole.

Your hips jolt, moving far more than initially seeing as Ellie is now only holding on with one hand. Whilst thrusting her fingers in and out of your needy pussy, her tongue circles your clit with that same neediness, mirroring you for desperation.

Your head falls back, thudding lightly against then wall. At the sound, Ellie ceases. You almost whine at her sudden stopping.

"My eyes are down here, darlin'." She says lowly. "Let me see you."

Begrudgingly, you oblige, lowering your head to make eye contact with Ellie. She's on her knees, legs folded against tiled flooring as she resumes her lapping. You huff out an airy moan as you have to actively stop yourself from tipping your head back again. She holds your gaze the entire time, adding to the intensity of the feel. Her eyes are lidded, shoulder moving as her fingers recommence.

This all paired with your dizzy head and swimming vision makes for quite the climax, core knotting progressively as Ellie doesn't dare to stop. "Fuck," you pant as you buck your hips against her face, forced to watch as you do so. With another heavy breath and an arching back, you utter, "I'm⎯"

She seems exponentially proud as she hears you say this, regardless of if you finish your sentence or not. She pauses only for a moment to say, "yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, though it comes out more of a moan than anything.

"Do it, darlin'."

And you do, coming undone right atop her face. She, admittedly, relishes in it, hydrated only by what you're able to provide her with. You see stars and they're swimming too, circling your head in a celestial body of pleasure. And Ellie watches, for once allowing your head to fall back as she deems this a one time exception. Because there will be a next time.

You're panting as you lower your head to face her once more, her gaze never having left your expression. She makes out with your pussy sensually as to bring you down from your high. Then, as gently as she can, she situates your panties back on correctly and pulls your jeans to rest as your hips, remaining knelt in front of you as she zips and buttons them just as she'd found them.

You watch with a twinkle of fondness behind your irises, unable to look away from the expression of adoring concentration she wears. She then uses your hips as a support system to haul herself back to her feet, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You can nigh taste yourself on her.

"Not bad for a stranger at a sketchy bar." You muse, picking her hat from the floor and situating it atop her auburn tufts of hair. She watches you, analyzing your every move.

"I'm not just a stranger." She reminds you as your eyes find hers, your hands coming to drape around her shoulders. "I'm a stranger who wrote a song about you."

"Mm," you hum, "so you're a stalkers stranger?"

"I prefer the term passionate." She says, shooting you a playful scowl.

You chuckle, "passionate for what? Stalking and preying on drunken women?"

"Pfft-" She scoffs. "You're not drunk."

For a moment, you consider agreeing with her. To save her the pain of realizing you hadn't been sober for this. But you know better than to lie to her. So, through lidded eyes ⎯ ones that should have been a rather telltale sign of your intoxication ⎯ you give her a look, not even needing to voice the truth aloud for her to understand.

"Well fuck." She groans, taking a step backward and causing your arms to fall to your sides.

Frankly, you'd expected her to be much more angered than that. Because you know you would be. After writing a song, chasing down, then tongue-fucking someone in the bathroom, the worst news to receive would be that they'd been wasted the entire time.

"I'm sorry," you're quick to apologize, for some reason feeling the need to earn her forgiveness.

"How're you planning to get home?" She asks.

"I hadn't thought about that." You admit.

"How about this," she suggests, "I give you a place to stay to apologize for fucking you while drunk and you let me take you to dinner tomorrow to apologize for not telling me beforehand. Deal?"

A smirk works its way to your mouth, "deal."

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aeralux · 3 days ago

Text

"Mine" - Aemond Targaryen

Summary: You find Aemond in the Keep's library one evening. You thought that maybe reading a few history books might bore you to sleep. Aemond knew another way to tire you out...

Words: 6.5k

Warnings: SMUT! but more specifically: targcest; degradation; name calling (slut, cocksleeve etc); he uses the term "princess" a lot; rough sex; possibly breeding kink (he does cum inside); mention of Jace and the word "bastard" (by Aemond ofc); fingering; squirting; dirty talk; just straight up filth yknow?

Other notes: Reader has long white hair in this story (reader is Targaryen) but no other physically descriptive words are included. English is not my first language so it may seem like I'm trying too hard at times to sound "real". If you wish you could always leave me a comment <3

-- aera xx

In the quiet library of the Red Keep, evening light poured through tall, narrow windows, casting an amber glow on the shelves filled with dusty books. The scent of old parchment filled the air, creating a nostalgic feeling of ancient knowledge. The soft rustle of turning pages added a gentle rhythm to the library, which was filled with whispered stories.

Aemond Targaryen, exuding a regal presence, sat in this historic space. His silver hair shimmered in the soft light as he read a thick book about the ancient history of House Targaryen. His sharp violet eye was focused on the tales within the pages.

When the door creaked open, it interrupted the library's silence. Aemond lifted his gaze from the book, recognizing your entrance. He closed the heavy tome with a soft thud, changing the atmosphere as he acknowledged you.

You stepped into the peaceful library, bathed in the evening glow, with a quiet energy surrounding you. Aemond nodded, a gesture that was both formal and restrained, before asking, "What are you doing here?" His voice was low and deliberate, breaking the silence. Each word carried authority and thoughtfulness. His one visible violet eye—his other hidden by a black leather eyepatch—lingered on you, silently prompting you to explain.

"I beg your pardon, my prince. I was unaware that visiting the Keep's library was not permitted for someone of my stature," you respond with a playful curtsy, gracefully toward the venerable history section. Your long, flowing white hair cascades behind you like a silken waterfall. While your floor-length night dress, rich with elegance, glides softly with each step. A delicate, deep blue shawl adorns your shoulders, offering a subtle shield against the evening breeze that whispers through the grand hallways. You gaze at the ancient tomes that line the shelves, for knowledge is a treasure worth pursuing, as said by your father many times.

Aemond's gaze followed your graceful movements, his one visible eye tracking you as you glide through the hallowed halls of the library. The sway of your silken garments and the shimmer of your hair caught the dim light, creating an almost ethereal aura around you. His lips curled into a slight smirk, intrigue and amusement playing across his features.

"A library, you say?" His voice, low and rich, echoed in the quiet space. "Since when has the Red Keep's library been open to anyone?" He rose from his seat, his tall frame unfolding with a fluid grace that belied his martial prowess. The click of his boots against the stone floor marked his approach, each step measured and deliberate. "Or perhaps," he continued, his tone taking on a teasing edge, "you've been granted special privileges that I'm not aware of?"

As he drew closer, the scent of leather and a hint of smoke clung to him, a reminder of his time spent training or perhaps riding his majestic dragon, Vhagar. His hand reached out, fingers grazing the spine of a nearby tome, the touch light yet purposeful. "Tell me, princess," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "what brings you to these hallowed halls? Surely not just idle curiosity." His one visible eye locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze palpable. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension. Aemond's presence filled the space, commanding and alluring, a blend of danger and magnetism that was unmistakably Targaryen.

You let out a soft huff, your lips curving into an incredulous smile as you surveyed the rows of books above you. The scent of aged parchment and leather filled the air, mingling with an undeniable sense of history. "Surely, I assumed this esteemed library would be accessible to all residents, particularly those of Targaryen lineage," you stated with poise. Your voice carried a subtle lilt of defiance, a challenge lacing your words as you turned to face the prince. "I fail to see why I should require written permission from the King to peruse the tomes housed within these walls. A noble mind seeks knowledge freely, after all." Your demeanour was resolute, fully aware that your words were a test of the prince's patience and authority.

A soft chuckle escaped Aemond's lips, the sound rich and warm, like aged wine. He closed the distance between you, his towering frame looming over you as you perused the bookshelves. The scent of leather and smoke intensified, mingling with the dusty aroma of ancient tomes.

"Ah, but there's a difference between being allowed and being… expected," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. His hand reached past you, fingers grazing the spine of a particularly old-looking book as he pulled it from the shelf. "Some things in life require… invitation, princess."

He turned the book in his hands, tracing the embossed title with a calloused thumb.

Aemond's gaze drifted from the book to you, his one visible eye roaming over your form with an almost palpable hunger. The air between you seemed to crackle with tension, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken desires that simmered just beneath the surface.

"Tell me," he purred, leaning in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, "what secrets are you hoping to uncover in these dusty tomes?" With a deliberate grace, you turned to face him, your eyes sparkling with a mixture of challenge and defiance. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and your voice, steady and composed, cut through it like a blade. "You dare to insult me, my prince. Do you truly believe that merely because I am a woman, I am devoid of the intellect to read and comprehend?"

You took a moment to let your words sink in, the candlelight casting flickering shadows around you. "For your information," you continued, your tone both firm and elegant, "I immerse myself in the written word far more than you may presume. Through hours spent in the quiet company of books, I have delved into the intricacies of the ancient language of High Valyrian."

With that, you leaned back gracefully against the towering bookshelf, the scent of aged parchment enveloping you, further emphasizing your knowledge and poise. Your stance was not just defensive; it was a proclamation of your strength and determination to be seen as more than just a princess.

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk, a dangerous glint in his eye. He leaned in closer, invading your personal space, his tall frame towering over you. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that stirred something deep within.

"Is that so?" he purred, his voice low and rich, like honey dripping from a spoon. "The ancient tongue of High Valyria, hmm? Impressive for a woman."

His hand reached out, fingers grazing your cheek with a feather-light touch. The calloused pad of his thumb traced the delicate curve of your jaw, a gentle caress that belied the intensity of his gaze. "But tell me, princess," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear, sending shivers down your spine, "what good is knowledge without the wisdom to wield it?"

Aemond's body pressed against yours, the hard planes of his chest a stark contrast to the soft curves of your form. The heat of his skin seeped through the layers of your clothing, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

As you linger in the hushed confines of the library, the air is thick with an almost palpable tension. Dust motes dance lazily in the moonlight that filters through the tall, arched windows, casting delicate patterns on the polished wooden floor. Your lips part ever so gently, the subtle movement accompanied by a playful flick of your tongue against your cheek—a gesture that hints at the complexities of your thoughts swirling within.

“What makes you say that? I believe you do not know me well enough to make such harsh accusations,” you murmur, your voice a silken whisper that cuts through the silence like a soft breeze. The starkness of the cold seems to conspire with the palpable tension in the room, causing your body to respond instinctively. You can feel a faint shiver suffusing your frame, and you —betrayed by your undeniable vulnerability—your soft nipples perk up in reaction. In a bid to maintain your composed facade, you fleetingly draw your thin shawl closer, attempting to shield yourself from the wintry draft and Aemond's intense gaze.

Your gaze, steady and unwavering, locks onto the source of the accusation. A lingering silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

Aemond's gaze dropped to your chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he noticed the way your nipples strained against the fabric of your dress. The air grew thick with tension, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of pages and the pounding of your heart.

"Oh, I believe I know you well enough, princess," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Well enough to see the hunger in your eyes, the desire that lurks beneath the surface."

His hand moved from your cheek to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your slender neck in a gentle but firm grip. The warmth of his skin seeped through your flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"You may hide behind your books and your knowledge, but I see the truth of who you are," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your ear. "A woman with needs, with desires that cannot be satiated by mere words on a page."

Aemond's lips brushed against your earlobe, a feather-light touch that set your nerves ablaze. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate shell of your ear, a teasing promise of the pleasures that awaited you.

"You seem to have lost track of yourself… my prince," you say, your voice flowing like velvet, rich with an alluring undertone that dances in the air between you. The candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows on the towering shelves laden with bound volumes. He arches an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Every woman has her needs and desires; I don’t believe I’ve ever denied that," you reply, your tone teasing.

You take a step closer, the scent of aged paper and polished wood swirling around you. "I truly came to the library seeking a few books," you assert, letting the words linger like a sweet melody as you survey the vast collection that surrounds you. "Yet, it seems fate has intertwined our paths, for it is you, who cannot seem to find satisfaction among the pages."

Your gaze locks onto his, and the air between you crackles with unspoken tension. The deep hue of his eye mirrors the mystery and allure of the old library, pulling you in like an enchanting tale begging to be read. You stand defiant, fearless in your challenge, as the study envelops you both in its quiet embrace, the world outside forgotten in the presence of such undeniable chemistry.

Aemond's lips curled into a wicked grin, his eye gleaming with a dangerous light. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of your clothing. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that made your head spin and your heart race.

"You're right, princess," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "I am a man with… insatiable appetites." His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, his fingers toying with the edge of your bodice. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins.

"And you, my dear girl," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips, "are a feast I am eager to devour." You observed his hand gliding gracefully across my body, each deliberate movement igniting a fire within you, while you struggled to maintain a steady breath. The air was thick with tension, a blend of desire and playful banter. "Do you truly see yourself as a dragon?" You teased him, your voice soft but laced with challenge. In the world of the Targaryens, such a title was often worn like a badge of honour, and most of them, like Aemond and you, embraced this fierce identity. There was a certain magic in declaring oneself a dragon, a symbol of strength and majesty.

As you gazed into his eyes, you could sense the latent power and pride he carried within him. At this moment, the noble essence of our lineage intertwined with the unmistakable charge of tension. Aemond's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his lips curling into a wicked grin. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of your clothing. The scent of leather and smoke enveloped you, a heady mix that made your head spin and your heart race.

"A dragon?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Oh, I am much more than that, my dear." The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast again, making heat pool between your thighs and your breath stutter. He murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. "And you are the prey I am eager to hunt."

Your breath catches in your throat as Aemond's fingers graze over the sensitive peaks of your breasts, sending electric sparks racing through your body. You can scarcely believe the words tumbling from his lips, the raw hunger in his voice as he confesses his forbidden desires. "Aemond…" You breathe, your own need rising to match his. "If you've already caught me, then what's left to hunt?"

You lean into his touch, revelling in the feel of his calloused hands on my bare skin. At this moment, nothing else matters - not your duty, not your honour. There is only the heat building between you, the promise of pleasure and passion. "Prove it then," you challenge him, your eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. "Show me the depths of your obsession, the lengths you'll go to claim me as yours."

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body aching for his touch. You know you should resist, should push him away and cling to the tattered remains of your virtue. But Aemond has awakened something in you, a hunger you never knew existed. And now that you have had a taste, you fear you'll never be satisfied again. "Oh, my sweet girl," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "The hunt is just beginning."

With a swift motion, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you towards the nearby table. The books and scrolls scattered to the floor as he set you down on the polished wood, his body pressing against yours, pinning you in place.

His lips trailed along your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your throat. One hand slid between your legs, his fingers pressing against the damp heat of your core. "And I always catch my prey," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. "No matter how hard they try to escape." You yelp as Aemond suddenly picks you up, laying you on the wooden table. His sapphire eye glints with a predatory hunger as he realizes your lack of small clothes, his fingers grazing over your slick, aching core.

A whimper escapes your lips, but you quickly clamp your hand over your mouth, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at how much you are enjoying his rough touch. Your body trembles beneath him, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he looms over you, his presence overwhelming, his desire palpable. You have never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, and yet so eager for whatever comes next. Aemond's hands are everywhere, roughly skimming over your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Please," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Please, Aemond, I need… I need you" You gasped and moaned as Aemond's fingers plunged deeper into your sopping wet cunt, your tight hole clenching and fluttering uncontrollably around his thick digits. Clear juices oozed out, dripping onto the table below. You weren't a maiden, having occasionally "relieved stress" with your cousin Jacaerys, but you had never felt pleasure this intense before.

Your hips bucked and writhed shamelessly against Aemond's hand, lewd whimpers and whines spilling from your lips as he finger-fucked you roughly. You threw your head back, eyes squeezing shut, your mind going blank from the overwhelming sensations. "Ahh! M-my prince!" You cried out as Aemond's teeth closed around your sensitive nipple, biting and sucking the tender bud. Electric jolts of pleasure shot straight to your core, making your pussy clench even tighter. You were losing control, surrendering completely to Aemond's dominant touch.

Aemond's lips curled into a wicked grin as he felt your tight heat clench around his fingers, your wetness coating his skin. He could tell that you were no maiden, but the way you responded to his touch was intoxicating nonetheless.

"That's it, my little minx," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Let go and give yourself to me completely." He bit down harder on your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. You cried out, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. Aemond could feel your body trembling beneath him, your thighs quivering as you teetered on the brink of release. He added a third finger, stretching you further, his thumb circling your clit in maddening strokes. Your moans echoed through the library, the sound of your pleasure filling the air.

"Come for me," he commanded, his lips moving to your neck. "Let me feel you come undone on my fingers."

You sat up on your elbows, your breath quickening as you watched Aemond's skilled fingers playing between your thighs. The scene was so erotic that you couldn't help but let out a loud, wanton moan. "W-wait, this feels… weird," you stuttered, your voice shaking as he continued his relentless ministrations. The pleasure was unlike anything you had ever experienced, building in intensity with each thrust of his fingers. A strange tension coiled in your stomach, unfamiliar yet tantalizingly close to release.

Your head fell back, your long white hair cascading down your back as you arched into his touch. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the whimpers and gasps that escaped you. "Aemond, please," you breathed, your hips rocking against his hand. "I've never felt anything like this before. It's too much…" But even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie. It wasn't too much, and Gods, you didn't want him to stop.

Aemond's eyes darkened with lust as he watched you sit up, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. The sight of you spread out before him, your skin flushed with arousal, was almost too much to bear. "Weird?" he chuckled, his fingers never ceasing their relentless pace. "Oh, my sweet girl, this is just the beginning."

He could feel the tension building in your body, the way your muscles tensed and quivered beneath his touch. He knew you were close, teetering on the edge of something profound and all-consuming. "Embrace it," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. You cried out loudly, your moans escaping in broken sobs as the intense pleasure overtook you. "N-no! S-stop!" You pleaded, but it was too late. Your climax hit you like a massive wave, washing over you with a force that left you gasping and trembling.

Your body convulsed with the sheer force of your release, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. Clear, sticky essence gushed out of you, coating his hand and splattering onto the table below. The sensation was overwhelming, leaving you drenched and shaking.

As the final waves of ecstasy subsided, your arms gave out, and you collapsed back onto the table, limp and spent. Your core continued to twitch and spasm, empty and aching for more. You panted heavily, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch my breath.

At that moment, you felt utterly vulnerable, exposed, and at his mercy. The intensity of my orgasm had left you raw, your defences stripped away. You lay there, trembling and gasping, your body still humming with residual pleasure. You couldn't help but wonder what he would do next, how far he would push you. But one thing was certain - you had never felt anything quite like that before. Aemond watched with rapt attention as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your cries of pleasure echoing through the library. He felt your essence coat his fingers, your release dripping down his wrist and onto the table below.

He continued to work his fingers inside you, prolonging your climax until you were nothing more than a quivering mess beneath him. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, your skin slick with sweat, and your hair plastered to your face. "Look at you," he purred, his eyes roaming over your trembling form. "So responsive, so eager for my touch."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "And we've only just begun, my love. There is so much more I want to show you, so many ways I want to make you come undone." "W-wait", you cried out as Aemond's fingers began to slip free from your sensitive, cum-soaked pussy. Your release dripping down your thighs, the table below you slick with your wetness. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the aftershocks of your intense orgasm still ripping through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks at the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

Your pussy continued to pulse and flutter around nothing, still recovering from your intense climax. But you knew you couldn't take anymore, not yet. You needed a moment to catch your breath, to gather your scattered wits.

"Please, Aemond," you gasped, your voice hoarse and desperate. "I need a moment. You've undone me completely." Aemond smirked at the sight of your tears, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. He knew that he had pushed you to the brink, that he had taken you to a place of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

But he also knew that it was too soon to stop, that he had to continue to push you, to mould you into the perfect lover for him. "Shh, my love," he murmured, his fingers gently wiping away your tears. "I know it's overwhelming, but you must trust me. I would never hurt you."

He leaned down, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline and down your neck. His fingers continued their gentle ministrations, his thumb circling your clit with a feather-light touch.

"Just breathe, my darling. Let yourself feel everything." You whimpered as you felt his fingers brush against your over-sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You couldn't help but moan softly, your hips arching into his touch, seeking more, craving more.

"It never felt like this with Jacaerys…" You whined absentmindedly. You had never been so wanton, so desperate for another's touch. But with Aemond, you couldn't help myself. He brought out a side of you that you had never known existed, a side that craved pleasure and passion and the sweet oblivion of surrender. A low growl rumbled in Aemond's chest at the mention of your former lover's name. The thought of Jacaerys touching you, pleasuring you, filled him with a jealous rage that he could scarcely contain.

"Forget him," he snarled, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "He is nothing compared to me. I am the only one who can truly satisfy you, the only one who can make you feel like this." He leaned down, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. He poured all of his passion, all of his desire, into that single moment, claiming you as his own.

His hand moved lower, his fingers delving into your slick folds once more. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, still sensitive from your previous climax. "I will make you forget his name, my love. I will make you scream mine until the very walls of this library shake."

You whimpered as you felt Aemond's fingers delve into your sensitive folds once more, the obscene wet sounds of his ministrations filling the room. Your hips bucked involuntarily, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations even as your body craved more. "Aemond, please…" you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. "I need… I need you inside me."

Your mind was hazy with lust, coherent thoughts slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers. All you could focus on was the heat building between your legs, the ache of emptiness that only Aemond's cock could fill.

"Please, my prince," you begged, your hips rolling shamelessly against his hand. "Does that mean I can't fuck Jace anymore?" You whined, biting your lip, your words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Aemond's eyes narrowed at your question, his grip on your wrist tightening to the point of pain. "No, you cannot fuck him anymore," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to me now, body and soul. I will not share you with anyone, least of all that pathetic bastard."

He thrust his fingers deeper into your cunt, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit. He could feel your walls clenching around him, trying to push him out, but he refused to relent. "You are mine. Mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to ruin."

He leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "And I will ruin you, my love. I will break you apart and put you back together again, moulding you into the perfect lover for me." You let out a broken whimper, your body trembling from Aemond's touch. His hands roamed over your naked form, igniting a fire deep within you. You had never felt such desire, such raw, primal need. "Please, Aemond," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you inside me. I need you."

You reached out, your fingers tangling with his, guiding his hand to the slick folds of your sex. He groaned at the contact, his eye darkening with lust and longing. Aemond's eyes darkened with lust at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"As you wish, my love," he purred, his voice low and seductive. He withdrew his fingers from your dripping cunt, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, savouring the taste of your arousal. "Delicious," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

He stood up, quickly shedding his clothes until he was completely naked. His cock sprang free, hard and ready for you. He pushed you down onto the table, spreading your legs wide. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Beg for me to fuck you, to claim you as mine." You whimpered as you felt Aemond's hard, leaking tip tease your slick folds. Your body ached for him and craved his touch like nothing you had ever known before. "Please, Aemond," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "I need you. I've wanted you for so long, dreamed of you claiming me as yours."

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with desire, your lips swollen from his kisses. "I've touched myself thinking of you," you confessed, your cheeks flushing with shame and arousal. "Imagined you taking me, using me for your pleasure. Treating me like your personal slut." Your heart raced, your body trembling with anticipation. You had never wanted anything so badly, never needed anyone so desperately. Aemond was the only one who could satisfy the hunger that consumed you, the only one who could make you whole. Aemond's eyes darkened with lust at your confession, a feral grin spreading across his face.

"Such a naughty girl," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Touching yourself while thinking of me… I love it." He thrust his hips forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your slick heat. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips. "I'm going to ruin this sweet little cunt of yours." He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with reckless abandon. The table shook with each powerful thrust, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room.

"Take it, you filthy slut," he snarled, his eyes boring into yours. "Take my cock like the whore you are." Aemond's hips pistoned faster, harder, driving his thick cock deeper into your aching cunt with every powerful thrust. "Ah!" You cried out, your inner walls clenching around his throbbing shaft, the delicious stretch and burn of his girth filling you completely. The broad head of his cock battered my inner barrier, striking that secret place deep inside that made sparks of pleasure explode.

"Hngh! Oh gods, Aemond!" You moaned wantonly, your body quivering like a leaf in a storm. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on his sweat-slicked shoulders as he pounded into you relentlessly, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the chamber. "Have you ever… mph!… ever thought of me like this?" I managed to gasp out between his brutal thrusts, your eyes glazed with lust. "Thought of me while you touched yourself?"

You gazed up at him with hooded eyes, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, silently begging for more, for everything he had to give me. At that moment, you were his completely - mind, body and soul. Nothing else mattered except the feel of him moving inside you, claiming you, branding you as his own.

Aemond let out a dark chuckle at your question, his hips never ceasing their brutal rhythm. "Oh, I've thought of you plenty, my sweet," he purred, his voice dripping with sin. "Late at night, alone in my chambers, with my cock in my hand and your name on my lips."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, claiming every inch of you. "I've imagined bending you over every surface in this keep, fucking you until you scream," he growled against your lips. "I've pictured you on your knees, choking on my cock, begging for more." He sat back up, gripping your thighs and spreading your legs even wider. He pounded into you with renewed vigour, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.

"And now here you are, my filthy little fantasy come to life," he snarled, his eyes wild with lust. "And I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

You bite my lip, hearing his words, whimpers of pleasure spilling out. "Yeah?" You breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you thought about using me in front of everyone, just to show them who I belong to? Who's the only one who gets to fuck me?"

Aemond's eyes darken, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully. "Poor you," you murmur, a wicked smile curving my lips. "You must have been so jealous of Jace…" You can hardly think, hardly speak, as Aemond's thrusts grow more brutal, more demanding. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Aemond's eyes flashed with rage at the mention of Jace, his thrusts becoming even more punishing. "That bastard doesn't deserve you," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You're mine, do you understand? No one else can have you."

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over onto your stomach. He kicked your legs apart, mounting you from behind. "I should take you in front of the whole court. Let them all see who you belong to," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair. "I should fuck you in front of that smug bastard. Make him watch as I claim what's mine."

He slammed back into you, his cock hitting that spot deep inside that made you see stars. "Yes, my prince," you moaned, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Parade me around the castle like the fucktoy I am. Let everyone see how you've claimed me, body and soul."

"This cunt belongs to me," he snarled, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to fuck you. You're mine."

You let out a sharp gasp as Aemond thrust into you from behind, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix. The pain mixed with pleasure, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your body. "Fuck, Aemond!" You cried out, your voice high and breathy. "Harder, please! Use me, ruin me! I'm yours, all yours!"

You had never spoken like this before, had never even imagined yourself capable of such lewd, wanton behaviour. But Aemond's cock was driving you mad with lust, turning you into a creature of pure, unadulterated desire.

You couldn't believe the filthy words spilling from your lips, the depraved fantasies unfolding in your mind. But you were too far gone to care, lost in the throes of passion, the heat of Aemond's body against yours.

"I'm yours," you gasped, my nails gripping the wooden table as he pounded into me. "Now and forever, I belong to you. Use me as you see fit, my love. My body is your plaything, your toy to break and remake as you please."

Aemond grunted in approval at your filthy words, his hips snapping forward even harder. "That's right, you're my fucktoy," he growled, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass. "My personal cocksleeve to use as I please." He reached around, his hand finding your clit and rubbing it roughly. Your back arched, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you.

"That's it, cum on my cock like a good little whore," he snarled, his fingers working you through your climax. Your pussy clenched around him, milking his length. With a roar, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he filled you with his seed.

"Fuck, I love you," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade. "I love you so much it hurts." You creamed all over his cock, painting it white with your releases. You came with a loud scream of pleasure, your eyes wide with disbelief. You looked up at Aemond, your gaze searching his face, trying to read the truth behind his words.

"Do you actually mean that?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of shock and excitement.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the memory of your passionate coupling still fresh in your mind. You could feel the sticky residue of your combined releases on your thighs, the slight soreness between your legs a testament to your intense lovemaking.

But to hear Aemond say it out loud, to put words to the deed, made it feel somehow more real, more tangible. More forbidden. Part of you wanted to deny it, to pretend that it hadn't happened, that you hadn't surrendered to the taboo desires that burned within you.

But another part of you, the part that had been awakened by Aemond's touch, his passion, his love, couldn't deny the truth.

And as you lay there, naked and vulnerable before him, you knew that you would do it again in a heartbeat. Aemond pulled out of you slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. He turned you over, his lilac eye intense as it met your gaze.

"More than anything," he said seriously, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "You're the only one who understands me, the only one who sees the real me beneath the arrogant prick everyone else knows."

He cupped your face, his expression softening. "I love you. I've loved you since we were children, playing in the gardens of the Red Keep. You were always my favourite cousin, the one I felt most connected to."

His thumb brushed away a tear you didn't realize had fallen. "I know I'm not good enough for you, not with my temper and rage. But I promise you, I'll spend every day trying to be the man you deserve. The man who can give you the life you want." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

You smiled gently at the memory he conjured from your childhood, a soft glow lighting up your eyes. “You were such a sweet boy,” you said, your voice warm and reminiscent. With a tender touch, you caressed his hair, your fingers brushing lightly through the strands, evoking a sense of familiarity and affection.

Leaning closer, you continued, “I liked you from the very moment you helped me when Aegon tripped me.” The scene played in your mind like an old tapestry, vibrant and full of life—the laughter of children mingling with the rustle of leaves, the way he had reached out with such kindness.

A long-forgotten warmth filled your heart as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the heaviness of sleep gradually overcoming you, your eyelids fluttering as you struggled to stay present in the moment. With a soft sigh, you smiled at him, cherishing the connection that transcended the years—an unspoken bond woven through shared memories and gentle gestures, a bond that still felt as rich and regal as the day it was born.

Aemond chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound that resonated in the quiet room, his hand instinctively covering yours as it rested in his hair. "I was a boy who found trouble at every turn," he corrected with a charming grin, his violet eyes glinting with mischief. "Yet, despite my flaws, I always sought to extend kindness to you, even when my temperament faltered with others."

With a graceful sweep, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and carried you toward the grand sofa nestled between the ornate cupboards. As he laid you down with the utmost care, he settled beside you, repositioning himself to envelop you in his warmth. His arm encircled your waist possessively, drawing you close so your head rested upon his broad chest, the steady rhythm of his heart echoing a soothing lullaby. "I shall always protect you," he murmured, his breath a gentle caress against your skin as his fingers traced intricate patterns along your back, each stroke imbued with affection. "No matter what trials may arise or who dares to come between us, I vow to remain steadfast by your side." With tender reverence, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a promise sealed in that delicate gesture. His breathing began to slow, a tranquil cadence as he held you close, a knight sworn to guard his cherished queen against the world.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

Text

Let's Make a Deal

Inspired by this post; in the same universe as this and this and this

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: desperate times bring you to desperate measures.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Is it self-pity or self-loathing that has your skin crawling? You can’t quite discern between the emotions rotting in your stomach. All you know, is you can’t stand yourself.

You’re here and you’re not turning back now. You might not have a choice but it’s still a choice. This is what you’ve resorted to. You shudder as you stand at the door of the townhouse. You stare at the doorbell above the little speaker box and every doubt rattles in your head.

‘Seeking companionship. Women without prior experience preferred’.

You always laughed at the desperate, if not trollish, postings. How ridiculous. You always just scrolled on by, assuming them to be no more than a pathetic attempt at phishing. And if they were real, well, that’s even more pathetic.

Even standing there, you can’t be sure it isn’t some scheme. Yeah, you emailed the man behind the ad. You even spoke on the phone. Several times. Trying to be sure but you’re still not.

No one else knows you’re there. You’re too embarrassed for that. It’s foolish too. You could be murdered and no one would know. You’re trying not to think of that. You focus instead on what you stand to gain.

You reach and press the button before common sense gets the best of you. As you wait, you look down at yourself. It’s just what he wanted. ‘Wear a red dress. That way I know it’s really you’. You grit back another wave of disgust.

The door opens and you’re not ready. How can you be? It’s the first time you’re seeing him but not the first time he’s seen you. You can’t even hope that he’ll be repulsed.

You’re silent. Both of you. You gape at him and he stares back. It turns to a leer as his throat bobs and he pushes his shoulders back. He’s bigger than you expect. At least he isn’t the slobbish, greasy man you expected. Not on the outside at least.

“Hi, sweetie,” it’s the same voice from the call. His name is Steve. “You look...” his eyes skim up and down your figure, “well, I can’t really see. You got this coat on.”

You force a smile. Your cheeks feel tight. You can’t speak.

“No need to be nervous,” he grips the door as he holds it open, “hey, why don’t you come inside? You must be freezing out there?”

You nod and step through the door as he stands back. The warmth feels even more stolid as heat roils within you. You look around the entryway. The subtle ripple of the dark hardwood paneling and the old-style banisters. You feel smaller standing inside.

“Let me take your coat,” he tugs on the sleeve.

You don’t stop him. You shrug it off as he strips it away. He turns to hang it in the closet behind the front door and you hug yourself as you take it all in. Not just your surroundings, but your situation. He is a stranger but you’re going to do what you have to do.

“I like that dress,” he startles you as he comes up next to you. “It’s cute.”

You glance down. It’s the only red dress you have. It’s not even yours, actually. You borrowed it from a friend and never wore it.

“Thanks,” you finally find your voice.

“Mm, you sound sweet,” he rests his hand lightly on your back and you feel like melting as heat radiates off of him. “Let me show you around.”

You can only nod. Once more, all sound has evaporated from you. You let him lead you into the next room. A living room just as nice as the front hallway. There’s a fireplace and antique fixtures and the furniture is a cozy shade of cream. There’s exposed brick above the mantel as fire burns behind and iron grate.

You rub your arms, shivering despite the stuffy air. He takes you into the dining room, open to a kitchen with dusty blue counters and deep oak finishes. This place is nice. Big. Much better than the loft you’ve been curled up in for the last two weeks.

“We can check out upstairs later if you just wanna get settled,” he offers.

You look at him, cheeks pinching as your throat constricts. He’s tall. His hair is blond but his beard is dark. His shoulders are broad, even beneath his brown jacket, and his grey tee is stretched across his thick chest. You’re entirely outmatched, more than physically.

“It must be tough. Too bad about the job.” He says.

You draw away, turning your face down as you crumple in shame. Fired, almost homeless, this is your one way out. He’s nice enough. The place is clean. He is too. But it’s just too much. It can’t be real.

You did everything right. You graduated high school. Got your degree. All on time. You worked your butt off through both of those yet you could never break through to more than temp work. Now it’s all dried up, just like your contract. They promised you full-time but it never came.

“Sorry, I know you probably don’t want to talk about that,” he says.

You shuffle around and go to the mantle. You stare at the flames. You don’t think they’re hot enough to thaw the ice creeping over your heart. This isn’t fair.

He might be polite, he might be generous, but he’s still some guy looking for a ‘situationship’ on the internet. And you answered.

You hear him behind you. The floor groans with his weight. You lift your chin and admire the wooden clock on the ledge. You suppose having money can’t help the loneliness. Silence wraps around you, building a shell.

“Come here,” he says, shaking you from your trance.

You blink and turn to him slowly. You drop your arms. You push away the chagrin needling your forehead and face him completely. He sits on the couch, legs wide, arm across the back.

You’re jarred at the sight of him. His chin is down and his eyes are pinpointed on you. You hesitate, fingers fluttering, and make yourself move. One foot, the other, then the first again.

The glean in his blue eyes chills you. His gaze follows you like an animal. You stop only an inch away.

“It’s a nice house,” you say. “I don’t mean to be quiet--”

“I get it. You’re nervous,” he reaches to grab your hand then sits back, tugging you closer. “But you don’t need to play shy.”

He moves you towards him. He brings his arm off the couch and shifts your hip around as he leads you between his legs. He pushes until you fold, sitting on his leg, teetering on it uneasily. He lets out a gritty hum and urges you to lean against him.

He curls his arm around your back to keep you in place and brings his other hand up to stroke your cheek. His eyes bore into you. He presses his knuckles to your cheek and brushes his thumb along your lower lip.

“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he rasps.

“Thank you,” you utter, lip trembling against his thumb.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he toys with your mouth, tracing it as his fingers dig into your hip. “I can take care of you. You like the place, right? You’ll be comfortable here.”

“Sure,” you gulp.

He purrs and pushes his thumb through your lips. You flinch in surprise. He prods at your tongue at he turns his hand to grip your chin, keeping his finger hook in your mouth.

Your gaze meets his. His eyes search your face as they darken. He takes a deep breath and pulls you closer. He shudders in excitement.

“I always wanted someone like you, sweetie,” he drags his thumb out of your mouth and wipes the moisture down your chin. He tickles along our throat as you shiver. “So pretty, so pure.” He plays with the collar of your dress, trailing along the vee as he gives a hum. “Are you nervous for your first time?”

You hold back a whimper. Him saying it out loud makes it real. Coming here, walking through this house, sitting on his lap, those should be enough but those worse are more vivid than anything. You blink and nod.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” his hand travels down the front of your dress. “I’ll be gentle... until you can take all of me.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #au #drabble #one shot #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america

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cutielando · 2 days ago

Text

a special day | l.n.

synopsis: in which you made sure to make Lando’s birthday a special day for him

a/n: i know this is a day late, but, for some reason, tumblr decided to delete my entire fic before i could hit post and i had to rewrite it :]]]]]

my masterlist

The evening was alive with a golden sunset casting warm light across Monaco’s harbor. The luxurious apartment you shared with Lando was transformed into a cozy, intimate space, complete with soft string lights and the subtle scent of his favorite candles. You had spent the entire day preparing for this moment—his birthday celebration, just the two of you.

Lando was out, finishing up a last-minute appearance at an event, which gave you just enough time to finalize every detail. The table was set with his favorite foods, and a small, personalized birthday cake sat in the center, decorated with checkered flags and the number “25” written boldly in icing.

You heard the familiar rumble of an engine approaching. Peering out the window, you saw Lando’s sleek car pull into the driveway. A smile spread across your face as you adjusted your dress and took a deep breath, anticipation bubbling up inside you.

The door opened, and there he stood, slightly tired but with a mischievous glint in his eyes. His hair was tousled from a day of events, but when his gaze landed on you, a look of surprise and adoration replaced any trace of fatigue.

“Happy birthday, Lando,” you said, stepping toward him with a playful grin.

His eyes softened as he walked over and wrapped you in a warm embrace.

“You did all this?” he whispered, his voice full of appreciation as he glanced around at the glowing room.

“Of course,” you replied, pulling back to see his face. “You only turn 25 once, and I wanted to make sure it was special.”

Lando’s smile was genuine, and a hint of emotion glistened in his blue eyes.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

The two of you sat down to eat, laughter and stories filling the room as you recounted memories from the past year—his race wins, the spontaneous road trips, and the quiet, lazy mornings spent together. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, completely engrossed in listening to you speak, a look of pure happiness radiating from him.

When the cake came out, Lando’s expression lit up like a kid’s. You sang a playful rendition of “Happy Birthday,” earning a light blush on his cheeks. He blew out the candles with a wish he kept secret, though the way he looked at you suggested it had something to do with the future you were building together.

After dinner, you led him out to the balcony, where a pair of plush chairs awaited. The night was cool, and the stars above sparkled like diamonds scattered across velvet. Lando pulled you close as the two of you sat down, the city below humming with distant life.

“Best birthday ever,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. The warmth of his words, paired with the contented silence that followed, made the moment feel infinite.

Wrapped up in Lando’s embrace, you felt the world around you fade as if it was just the two of you against the backdrop of the glittering sky.

“So,” you said softly, tilting your head up to look at him, “what was your wish?”

A playful smirk curved on his lips as he looked down at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true, right?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes with a light laugh, the sound making his smile broaden.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” you said, poking his side, earning a soft chuckle from him.

The sound of his laughter was warm and rich, something you could never get enough of.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded after a moment, brushing a stray hair away from your face. “I wished for more moments like this. More nights with you, more… us.”

The sincerity in his voice melted your heart. The normally lighthearted and playful Lando had a deeper, more thoughtful side that he shared only with you. It was in these moments that you felt the full weight of what your relationship meant.

“I think that’s a wish I can make come true,” you whispered, leaning in until your noses brushed.

He closed the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that spoke volumes. The world seemed to stop as you felt the warmth of his hand cupping your cheek and the soft press of his mouth against yours. It was as if he was savoring every second, making a memory of it.

When you broke apart, you both sat there for a while, talking about dreams and plans for the future. He spoke about his racing goals, the adventures he wanted to have, and even mentioned places he wanted to visit with you—places neither of you had been before. The idea of seeing the world together, one race and road trip at a time, filled you both with excitement.

“Let’s make a promise,” Lando said suddenly, his eyes gleaming with that determined spark he often wore on race day. “No matter where life takes us, we’ll always make time for this—time for us.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of affection wash over you. “Deal,” you agreed, linking your pinky with his. The gesture was light, almost silly, but in that moment, it felt like an unbreakable bond.

When the night deepened and the city grew quieter, Lando pulled you inside. The warmth of the apartment embraced you as you settled on the couch, a playlist of his favorite songs humming in the background. You sat curled up together, your head resting on his chest as his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your arm.

“This has been perfect,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“It’s not over yet,” you said, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“Oh? What more do you have planned?” he asked with mock surprise, though his eyes lit up with curiosity.

You reached behind the couch and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped gift. His eyebrows rose as he took it from you, the corners of his mouth turning up in anticipation. Carefully, he unwrapped it to reveal a framed picture of the two of you at his most recent race win, your arms wrapped around each other and wide smiles on both your faces.

“I wanted you to have this,” you said. “A reminder that I’m always going to be your biggest fan, on and off the track.”

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at the picture, then back at you. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you again, this time with a mixture of gratitude and love that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “For everything.”

♡♡♡♡♡

As the night stretched on, the conversation shifted from lighthearted memories to dreams and ambitions, filling the room with a sense of hope and excitement. Lando leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if picturing the future he was about to describe.

“I know racing will always be a huge part of my life,” he started, his voice thoughtful. “But sometimes I think about what comes after that, you know? When the cheers die down, and it’s just me… and hopefully, you,” he added with a grin that made your heart flutter.

“I’d love to travel more,” he continued. “Not just for races, but to explore places at our own pace—renting a camper van and driving through New Zealand or hiking the trails in Patagonia. Just us, no pressure, no schedules. What do you think?” His eyes flickered with excitement as he turned to you.

“I think that sounds perfect,” you said, smiling at the thought.

The idea of adventure with Lando, where you’d trade high-speed circuits for winding roads and campfires, felt like a dream. “And when we’re tired of wandering, maybe we find a quiet spot to call home.”

Lando’s gaze softened.

“Exactly. I imagine a house overlooking the water, maybe here or somewhere new. We’d have a big garage filled with old project cars we’d work on together. And a cozy kitchen where you’d try out recipes and I’d ‘help’ by taste-testing everything,” he added, laughter in his voice.

“Only if you promise not to distract me too much,” you joked, nudging him playfully.

“Deal,” he said, squeezing your hand. “And… if we’re talking long-term, I wouldn’t mind the idea of a family someday.” His tone grew quieter, more serious, as if testing the waters of this shared dream.

The thought sent a warm shiver through you, an image forming of little feet running through the house, laughter echoing in sunlit rooms.

You felt your breath catch at the idea.

“Really?” you asked, eyes searching his face.

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made you believe every word. “Not right away, of course. But down the line, when we’re ready… it feels right. I want the whole package: the chaos, the little moments, teaching them to race on tiny go-karts in the backyard,” he said, the vision making him chuckle.

The two of you fell into an easy silence, the future rolling out before you like a road just waiting to be driven. It was exhilarating and comforting at the same time.

“And when we’re not busy being the coolest parents around,” you added, resting your head on his shoulder, “we’ll still find time for things like this. Just us, under the stars, no matter where we are.”

Lando kissed the top of your head, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

“That’s all I need, really. Racing might be my first love, but you’re my forever one.”

The words hung between you, heavy with promise. You tilted your head up, your eyes locking onto his with a smile that mirrored his own. It was in moments like this that you knew, without a doubt, that your paths were intertwined—not just for now but for every tomorrow that followed.

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byechristopher · 24 hours ago

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hellooo can you write a fic where reader and chris have a pregnancy scare?

what could be.

Author's note: thank you for the request, and sorry for being so late, pft. I hope you like it anon, here is an angsty/fluffy fic with Chris. Him and babies make me giddy fr. Don't copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: uhm, none. But y'all.. use protection always. Didn't proofread!

⠀

It started with a simple sentence, one that hung in the air like a grenade waiting to go off.

"My period’s a week late."

Chris froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. The casual dinner we were having, sitting on the couch like we always did, suddenly felt like something fragile, ready to shatter. His face went pale as he put his fork down, staring at me like he hadn’t quite understood what I’d just said.

"What?" His voice was flat, cold.

I shifted uncomfortably, already regretting saying anything. "I’m late, Chris. A week late."

He sat back, his eyes narrowing as if he could will this entire conversation out of existence. "Are you serious?"

I nodded. "I thought it was just stress at first, but…"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, the frustration already palpable. "How could this happen?"

The way he said it — like it was some personal failure, like this was my fault, made my blood run cold.

"Uhm, now I don't mean to break it to you.." I snapped, my voice rising defensively, "but we were both there, remember?"

"Yeah, well, you’re the one who keeps track of this stuff, right? Shouldn’t you have known?" His voice was sharp, accusatory, and it stung.

I stood up from the couch, the tension in my body rising like a tidal wave, "what the actual fuck are you even saying? You think I want this to be happening? You think this is something I wanted to deal with right now?"

Chris got up too, pacing in the small living room, his hands clenched at his sides, "no, I don’t know what the hell you want! All I know is, we’re not ready for this. We can’t be dealing with a fucking baby right now."

I felt the familiar lump forming in my throat, but I swallowed it down, refusing to let him see how much his words hurt. "Chris, we’re in this together, okay? Why are you acting like I did something wrong?"

"Because this is—" He stopped, running his hands over his face. "This changes everything, okay? Everything we’ve been working for. All our plans, all our.. us!"

"What, and a baby ruins all that?" I cut him off, my voice shaking with anger. "Is that what you think? That this would ruin everything?"

He didn’t answer right away, and the silence that followed was louder than any argument we’d ever had. He just stood there, staring at the floor, and I couldn’t tell if he was thinking or trying to come up with a way to end this conversation without making it worse.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "Yeah. I think it would."

I blinked, feeling like I’d been slapped. I could feel my heart racing, the adrenaline pushing through me, making me feel sick. "Wow," I whispered, stepping back like I needed space from him, like I couldn’t stand being near him right now. "That’s really how you fucking feel?"

He looked up, his face tight with frustration. "We’re not ready for this. You know that. You’ve got your career just starting to take off, I’m still figuring things out. It’s not the right time."

"You don’t get to decide that for both of us," I shot back, my voice cracking under the weight of the argument. "This is happening, whether you like it or not. What are you going to do if I am pregnant? Walk away?"

Chris’s eyes flashed with something—maybe guilt, maybe regret, I couldn’t tell. "I’m not walking away," he said through gritted teeth, "but I’m not going to pretend like I’m okay with this either."

I didn’t say anything else. I couldn’t. The hurt and anger tangled up inside me was too much, and if I opened my mouth again, I didn’t trust what would come out. Instead, I turned and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, his silence chasing me as I went.

For the next day and a half, we barely spoke. Every interaction was charged, electric with the weight of what had been said and left unsaid. He slept on the couch that night, and I didn’t bother asking him to come back to bed. I wasn’t sure I wanted him there.

The test sat on the bathroom counter, waiting for me, taunting me with the unknown. I couldn’t bring myself to take it, not when things between us felt so raw, so fragile. But after another restless night of tossing and turning, I couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore. I had to know.

When I walked into the living room that morning, Chris was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at his phone. He looked up when I entered, and for a second, there was something in his eyes—regret, maybe. Or guilt. I couldn’t tell.

"I’m taking the test," I said, my voice flat.

He stood up, nodding stiffly. "I’ll come with you."

"Yeah, you don't fucking have to." I said, but he followed me either way.

We walked to the bathroom in silence, and I grabbed the box off the counter with shaking hands. Chris stood by the door, watching me, his expression unreadable. I couldn’t even look at him as I went through the motions, my stomach twisting into knots.

When it was done, we sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the result. The timer on my phone ticked down, each second stretching out longer than the last.

"I’ve been thinking," Chris said suddenly, his voice softer than it had been in days. I glanced at him, unsure of what to expect.

"About what?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "About everything. About what I said… how I reacted."

I remained silent.

He hesitated before continuing, "I was scared, okay? I still am. I’m terrified, actually. But… I’ve been thinking. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing."

I blinked, surprised. "What?"

He looked at me, his expression softer now, more open. "I’m not saying it’d be easy. But if you are pregnant, I mean… we’d figure it out, right? We’d get through it."

For the first time in days, I felt a tiny flicker of hope. "You really think so?"

He nodded, his gaze steady on mine. "Yeah. I don’t want to be that guy who just freaks out and runs away. If it happens, I want to be there for you. For both of you."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. Maybe we’d been fighting, maybe we were scared, but hearing him say that made me feel like we could actually do this, if we had to.

"And if I really think about it.." he continued, his thumb on my cheek caressing the skin so gently, as if I was a porcelain doll, "the idea of having a little baby with you that looks just like their mom.. yeah, I think I'm fine with that." he teased with a little smile and that's all I needed to hear.

The timer went off, the sharp beep cutting through the air. We both froze, looking at each other.

"Do you want to…?" Chris asked, nodding toward the bathroom.

I shook my head. "You can look."

He stood up, walking over to the counter, his movements slow and hesitant. I watched him as he picked up the test, his face unreadable. For a moment, he just stared at it, not saying anything.

Finally, he looked up at me, his expression a mixture of relief and something else I couldn’t quite place. "It’s negative."

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. "Negative?"

He nodded, setting the test down and walking back over to me. "Yeah. You’re not pregnant."

Relief washed over me, but there was something else too. Something that felt almost like disappointment. I pushed it down, not wanting to think too much about it.

Chris sat down beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I’m sorry," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "For how I acted. I didn’t handle any of this well."

I leaned into him, closing my eyes as I let the warmth of his embrace chase away the last remnants of fear. "It’s okay," I murmured. "We’re okay."

"Is it crazy that I've started to warm up to the idea?" he whispered against my hair and even though I didn't want a baby, I still felt giddy hearing him say that.

"Your mood swings are acting up." I teased and buried my face into the crook of his neck, pressing a kiss there, "although.. so did I." I whispered.

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taeghi · 3 days ago

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𝘦𝘯𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦 : one shots

𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 ↳ the series

minors do NOT interact

last updated : november 13th, 2024

°✧ lee heeseung °

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°✧ JAKE SIM °

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— dangerous when wet | (m) neigbour!jake x y/n ↳ summary : you find out your next door neighbour loves shower sex.

°✧ PARK SUNGHOON °

— sweet n sour | (m) boxer!sunghoon x reader ↳ summary : sunghoon's in bad shape after a match... if only there was a way to make him feel better.

#enhypen smut #enhypen #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #sunghoon x reader #jake x reader #enhypen x reader smut #heeseung x reader smut #jake x reader smut #sunghoon x reader smut #enha hard hours #enhypen fanfic #masterlist #one shot #enhypen one shot #angst #enhypen angst #fluff #enhypen fluff

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qvinx · 23 hours ago

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~Bound by shadows~

Rafe Cameron x Fem/Reader

Summary: Rafe takes Y/n on a tense late-night drive, avoiding her questions about his mysterious activities. Despite his controlling moments, he softens, showing his affection and devotion. After a comforting yet intimate shower, they prepare to leave Tannyhill.

Warnings: A little violence

Word count: 2.1k

A/n: I wouldn´t really say theres violence but, Hard touches.

I was practically thrown into the passenger seat of Rafe's truck, my head spinning with questions. "Rafe, why do you even have this truck?" Confusion was written all over my face. Rafe always kept me out of his business, never mentioning anything about the gold, the deals, or any of the questionable things he was involved in. He was adamant about shielding me from all of it.

Sitting silently in the driver's seat, Rafe glanced at me, his gaze intense and unreadable. I could practically hear his heartbeat thudding, even from where I sat. He picked up his phone, dialing Rose's number, as he started the truck again.

"Excuse me, I asked you a question?" My patience was running thin. The phone connected, and I could faintly make out Rose's voice on the other end. They started discussing something about a Cross cryptic and intense. My mind filled with questions, thoughts tumbling over each other, but I held back, trying to piece together what little I could understand.

The call ended just as we rolled up to a red light. I turned to him, eyes searching for answers. "Rafe, what's going on?"

Without warning, he reached over, gripping my cheeks and tilting my face toward him. His eyes locked onto mine with an unsettling intensity. "Shut up," he said, his voice low and edged with something I couldn't quite place.

My hands moved up to his, trying to ease his grip on my face. His fingers softened under my touch, loosening enough for me to take a breath. But as the light turned green, he pulled away abruptly, returning his hands to the wheel. I felt the lingering sting on my cheeks, my fingers brushing over the tender spot as I steadied my breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in my head. I turned to the window, biting back the sting in my eyes, willing myself to stay composed.

Beside me, I heard him sigh. He reached over, placing a hand on my thigh, his fingers wrapping around it with a surprising gentleness. His thumb traced slow, calming circles, as if that small motion could erase the hurt from moments before. We pulled into Tannyhill's driveway, and he parked in front of the house, shutting off the engine. He turned to me, his gaze intense as his eyes flickered down my figure.

"Y/n," he murmured softly, his voice holding an unspoken apology, his eyes tugging at mine. But I stayed silent, my hands fidgeting in my lap, the words I wanted to say caught in my throat. He sighed again, then opened his door and stepped out, his boots hitting the gravel with a dull thud. In moments, he was at my side, opening my door. His eyes landed on me, studying the way I kept my gaze down, fixed on my hands.

Gently, he reached for me, tugging at my waist as he unbuckled my seatbelt. His grip tightened just enough to pull me out of the truck and onto my feet. With a soft click, he shut the door behind me and, before I could say anything, pulled me close, one hand resting on my waist, the other coming up to brush my cheek. My eyes stayed down, avoiding his gaze, my heart pounding under his touch.

His fingers slid under my chin, lifting it up so I couldn't look anywhere else. His eyes were steady, searching mine. "Love, look at me," he whispered, his voice low and tender, sending a shiver down my spine. Slowly, I met his gaze, getting lost in the intensity of his eyes.

His hand tangled into my hair, pulling me closer until his breath was warm against my ear. "I'm sorry, you know that," he murmured softly, his voice brushing against my skin. He placed a gentle kiss on my earlobe, trailing down my neck with slow, lingering kisses that left my skin tingling. Moving up, his lips found my jaw, then grazed over the spot on my cheek where he'd held me too firmly earlier, almost as if he could erase the memory with every soft touch. My fingers fidgeted at the hem of his shirt, grounding myself as his face pulled back just enough to take me in.

I looked up, my eyes wide, cheeks tinged with a soft pink, my lower lip trembling slightly as I took a shaky breath. He seemed to drink in the sight of me, then closed the space between us, pulling me into a deep, consuming kiss. His lips were soft but hungry, and I melted into him, my arms winding around his neck as his hands wrapped around my waist, tugging me impossibly closer. One of his hands slipped under my shirt, his fingers exploring my skin, sending shivers down my spine. He pinched lightly, drawing a soft moan from my lips, and took the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss.

Our tongues danced together, a passionate, unspoken battle for dominance as we lost ourselves in each other. When we finally broke away, breathless, he looked at me with an intensity that made my heart race. "You know I love you," he whispered, his words barely audible but full of meaning. I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips.

With a gentle smile, he locked the truck, guiding me inside the quiet house. "Come on," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that filled the silence. "Let's take a shower."

In the bathroom, I undressed slowly, feeling his gaze on me the entire time. Stepping into the warm stream of water, I felt the heat surround me, but the warmth of his eyes on me was even stronger. Soon, he was there too, his hands gliding over my body, grounding me, his lips leaving tender kisses along my shoulder, my collarbone, and anywhere else they could reach. Each touch and kiss felt like a silent promise, as though he was engraving himself into my very skin, washing away every worry with his presence.

The warm water cascaded over both of us, steam curling in the air and clinging to the glass walls of the shower. Rafe's hands moved with purpose, gliding over my wet skin, his touch soft yet deliberate. He reached for the body wash, pouring a small amount into his palm, and began lathering it over my shoulders and arms. His fingers worked gently, kneading the tension out of my muscles as the scent of fresh citrus filled the air.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and reverent. His hands trailed down my back, smoothing over every curve as if committing them to memory. My eyes fluttered closed, letting myself relax into his touch, the soothing combination of the warm water and his presence melting away my lingering tension.

Rafe stepped closer, his chest pressing lightly against my back. His lips found the curve of my neck, placing soft, lazy kisses as his hands slid down my sides, grazing my hips. I felt his breath on my skin as he whispered, "You're mine, you know that, right?" There was a possessiveness in his tone, but it was wrapped in tenderness, a need to remind me of his devotion.

Turning me gently to face him, Rafe brushed my wet hair out of my face, his thumb running over my cheekbone. The water streamed between us, but his eyes held mine, deep and unwavering. "Let me take care of you," he said softly, almost pleading, as if he needed me to let go and trust him.

I nodded, and he leaned in, kissing me softly, his lips lingering on mine before pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against mine. His hands moved again, this time washing my stomach, thighs, and legs with the same gentle care, his touch never faltering. He wasn't in a rush, this wasn't about passion or urgency but about grounding me, showing me through every movement how much I meant to him.

When he was done, he reached for the shampoo, working it into a lather in his hands before carefully running it through my hair. His fingers massaged my scalp, the sensation both soothing and intimate. "Relax, love," he said, his voice almost a whisper, as though afraid to break the moment. I leaned into his touch, letting out a soft sigh.

After rinsing my hair, he brushed a strand from my face, studying me as if I were the most important thing in the world. "There," he said with a small smile. "All clean." His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest as the water continued to fall around us.

Rafe stepped back slightly, grabbing the shampoo and quickly working it through his hair. The water ran over him, streams trailing down his toned chest and shoulders. His movements were efficient but unhurried, his eyes flickering to me every so often as if to make sure I was still there, still okay.

He reached for the body wash next, rubbing it over his skin with broad strokes, the scent mingling with the steam. As he rinsed off, droplets clung to his jawline and the curve of his collarbone, his damp hair slicked back. Despite the simplicity of his actions, there was an effortless grace in the way he moved, his focus steady and calm.

When he was done, Rafe turned off the water, the steam wrapping around us. I reached for a towel, wrapping it snugly around my body before stepping out of the shower. Rafe followed, tying a towel loosely around his hips.

Leaning into his chest, I let out a tired sigh. "Please don’t tell me we have somewhere to be," I mumbled, my voice heavy with sleepiness.

A low chuckle rumbled through him. “Sorry, my love, but—”

I groaned before he could finish, lifting my head from his chest and trudging out of the bathroom into his room. Flopping onto his bed, I sank into the soft pillows, my damp hair leaving faint marks on the fabric. Rafe emerged a moment later with another towel, rubbing it through his hair as he glanced at me sprawled across the bed.

“Y/n, just put on some clothes and get ready,” he said with a hint of amusement. “You can sleep in the car.”

I groaned again, turning my head into the pillow, unwilling to leave the cozy spot. Rafe, already used to my resistance, quickly got dressed. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by a light knock before the door creaked open, it was Wheezie. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw me.

“Y/n, I didn’t know you were here,” she said, her tone with a hint of panic before turning to Rafe. “Can you help me close my suitcase?”

Rafe let out an annoyed sigh, muttering something under his breath, but eventually followed her out, locking the door behind him. I took the opportunity to drag myself out of bed, begrudgingly pulling on clothes and brushing through my damp hair.

As I adjusted my long-sleeved shirt, I paused, hearing faint sounds of someone fiddling with the doorknob. My stomach knotted. “Rafe?” I called, but there was no answer. The sound stopped abruptly, followed by the faint creak of footsteps retreating down the stairs.

“Rafe?” I called again, louder this time. A moment later, the door unlocked with a soft click, and Rafe walked back in.

“What, love?” he asked casually, glancing up as he grabbed his bag and keys.

“Were you messing with the lock just now?” I asked, my voice quieter this time.

“No, my love,” he replied, distracted, as he continued packing.

A nervous pit formed in my stomach as I watched him, my thoughts spinning in different directions. Noticing my stillness, Rafe stopped and turned to me. He moved closer, one hand settling on my lower back pulling me into him while the other cupped my jaw, tilting my face toward him.

“It was probably nothing. You’re tired, remember?” His voice was gentle, reassuring, and he sealed his words with a kiss on my forehead.

“Probably,” I whispered under my breath, though the unease lingered. I nodded and refocused on packing, pushing the thought aside.

Once we were ready, we headed out to his truck. The cool night air hit my skin as I climbed into the passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt.

“Is Wheezie coming with us?” I asked, glancing back toward the house.

“No,” Rafe replied, starting the engine. “Rose will pick her up in the morning.”

I nodded, leaning back into the seat as he pulled out of Tannyhill’s driveway. The hum of the truck and the soothing rhythm of the road quickly lulled me into closing my eyes, sleep tugging at the edges of my consciousness.

A/n: This is based on S2.E9 "Trapped", i think that pretty obvious tho... Do not copy my work or claim it as yours!

#rafe cameron fluff #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #fluff #imagine #one shot #fem reader

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eroselless · 1 day ago

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yall don’t understand how perfect this is omg

Fade to nothing | CL¹⁶

𐙚 summary ──── Maybe the summer break on the French Riviera fried their brain cells, because they've finally decided to simply not care anymore if someone sees them together. But when she catches the wrong stares, she starts spiraling. Now, Charles has to switch her focus back on him.

𐙚 pairing ──── Charles Leclerc x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, secret relationship going public, fluff & smut, overusing French terms of endearment, descriptive language, mature/sexual content, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, lots of teasing, reader dealing with insecurities.

𐙚 word count ──── 5.5k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 10, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Foaming at the mouth, because I find it so very offensive that I don't have my own personal Charles Leclerc. Anyway 😤. As Daniel Ricciardo said, enjoy the filth. Wait, no. That's me 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THEIR DAY ON the French Riviera begun in a golden haze. Hand in hand, they strolled through picturesque streets, enjoying every moment together. In public. For the first time.

They walked across the town like they were the only two people left on Earth, passing by quiet art galleries and stylish boutiques. For the most part, all she focused on was the pure excitement of being with him, holding his hand had, taking pictures and making memories. But as the day went on, her awareness of the curious looks she caught grew stronger.

The sun is now slowly setting, painting the horizon in a warm orange glow just as they return to Charles' boat. As though nothing could possibly bother them here, Charles puts his arm around her and guides her on board. Then, he offers her a gentle smile, his gaze full of warmth while telling her he's heading over to make some drinks.

The girl watches him for a moment, allowing herself to take in the serene comfort he exudes, and wishing she could absorb even a small portion of it. She always feels it when she looks at him, and this time around, nothing is different. On the contrary, somehow, it's as if everything she feels for him comes together in a tiny, small point, a singularity so powerful that it makes her feelings collapse on top of each other.

She rushes to the cabin to change, but her hands start to shake halfway through, and she can feel the doubts weighing her down. She keeps thinking about the subtle judgment she saw in their eyes, which serves as a reminder that many people might believe they jumped into this too soon and that she is only a fling — a stand-in for his previous relationship.

Even though she tries to push the thought away, the sadness comes too quickly, and tears start to well up in her eyes. Suddenly, she feels small, so out of place, as though she’s a visitor in his life rather than someone who belongs beside him.

Which sucks, because she really, really likes him.

She was always confident; she thinks that was one of the reasons why Charles noticed her in the first place. But now, it is as if all her confidence has evaporated under the gaze of some random people she doesn't even know.

They both agreed to keep the relationship a secret in the beginning, just as they both agreed that today they won’t care if anyone sees them. They've stayed hidden from the world for far too long, but now she wonders if they should have waited just a little bit longer because, all of a sudden, she starts feeling too unprepared for the wave that is about to hit, which sends her spiraling.

Because it takes her too long to return, Charles comes to check on her, finding her in the cabin, sitting on the edge of the bed, half naked and clutching one of his shirts to her chest. Usually, he's not the type to intrude, but the soft sound of her quiet sobs fills the small room, piercing through him like a sharp, unexpected ache.

Without a second thought, Charles sprints over, kneeling down in front of her, his gaze steady, filled with raw concern, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She feels his hand on her thigh, which brings her back to the present moment, way too fast. Her breath is slightly shaky while her hands try to instinctively pull away from his gentle grip to wipe her cheeks, in order to hide any trace of her tears.

Looking down at him, she manages to let out a choked word that holds so much weight for her right now, “Us.”

“Us?” Charles raises an eyebrow. “What about us, mon cœur?”

She smiles, pressing the shirt closer to her chest, wiping the tears again with the back of her hand.

“I want you to have it all,” she admits, “And I'm starting to think that, maybe, I won't be able to give you what you need.”

He wants to immediately deny her statement, because in the four months they've been together, she gave him everything and more.

“What? What do you think you don't give me?” he asks, taking the same hand she wiped her tears in his palm.

She shrugs, “I just think… I sometimes think you deserve better.”

Better. The idea twists in his mind, disbelief and frustration tightening around his heart like a claw. He lets out a small scoff — not to mock her, but because it's hard for him to believe that she's doesn't think she's enough for him. It breaks his heart, because she cannot be further away from the truth.

“Where is this coming from?” asks Charles in a quiet, but firm tone.

She shakes her head, wishing she would've never opened her big mouth, “I was just thinking,” the girl repeats, letting out a dry chuckle. “It's nothing, really.”

Charles’ eyes travel across her face, taking in every micro expression, “You're crying, mon amour, so it's not nothing. Where is this coming from?” he asks again, “How much ‘better’ do you think I deserve?”

Her fingers start fidgeting in his grasp, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, “Everyone loves you, especially your fans. You deserve someone who matches that, someone who belongs in your world, without feeling so small next to you.” She pauses for a moment, the words weighing her down, “I saw people staring today,” she explains, “I know we’ve both agreed to not care about what they think or if someone gives a fuck about seeing us together, but I realized how out of place I must look beside you. That’s all.”

Charles needs superhuman powers to ignore the frustration that’s slowly creeping around his shoulders. His eyes are intent, fixed on her, desperate for her to see what he does. He knows that her feelings are valid and very real to her, but that doesn't mean that they tell her the whole truth. At the same time, he doesn't want to make it worse by explaining why people's opinions shouldn't affect her the way they do. Instead, he gently grabs her hips, pulling her down to sit on his lap, so she's now straddling him, their faces inches apart.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low, “You see me, beyond everything everyone else sees, and that’s why you are more than enough. You are the realest thing that has ever happened to me, do you understand? You're not just a phase, and I'm so sorry I didn't show you enough how important you are to me. Because you are, bébé.”

She bites her tongue in order to stop herself from contradicting her boyfriend. Deep down, she knows she’s flawed in ways she can’t easily mend, no matter how much Charles wants to reassure her. A part of her wants to believe him, but even now, wrapped in his warmth, she knows the doubts will find their way back.

Charles’ hands drop on her waist, resting there while holding her close on his lap. He feels her doubt, understanding that she's struggling with more than what she lets him to see — another dagger to his heart.

“I'm with you, love,” he adds, rubbing his thumbs in small circles on her bare skin, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not if I have any say in it, is that clear?”

His voice sounds far too bossy, which makes her flinch a little, recognizing too late that he is far too blunt for the situation they both find themselves in.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“No, don't apologize,” Charles rushes to say, pressing her head against his chest. “I’m glad you told me, but I want you to care about what I say, and not what people might say.”

He envelops her completely in his arms, and it’s like he’s just now realizing how small she feels against him, her body fitting perfectly against his. She feels that, too — the warmth and steadiness of his arms around her, the way he grounds her, making her feel safe.

“I never doubted you, you know,” she clarifies, “I was just thinking that, if I can't handle pressure, I don't think we should…”

He tightens his grip around her waist, refusing to let her finish her thought, his heart screaming in agony as she tries to move away. “Don’t go there, please,” he almost implores her.

“Why not?” she whispers.

“Because it’s not the case, I promise.”

“But—”

“Because you'd be so wrong. Because I love you,” he continues, as if it's the most casual thing ever. Like it is as obvious as tomorrow. As easy as breathing. As automatic as blinking. As if it's not the first time he ever says it to her face.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words are ricocheting against her skull like he just put a spell on her. Of course Charles loves her. He showed her this through every little gesture along the way, and she knows he means it, because for the first time since they got back, she realizes she doesn’t want to run from this, from him.

She was so blind, but the next time she looks at him, her fingers tracing his cheek, she simply knows. Charles lets out a small sigh, leaning into her touch, then taking her hand back in his, pressing a gentle kiss on top of her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Tell me you see it,” says Charles, exhaling a heavy breath.

His gesture makes her feel warm inside, “See what?”

“That you are everything to me,” he answers softly, caressing her hand with his thumb. “That I want you exactly as you are.”

For a moment, understanding dawns in her eyes — the realization that they are real, in spite of what she might think — like a light that is breaking through the doubts that had clouded her mind for so long.

“You are mine and I am yours, and I won't have it any other way.”

She exhales slowly, nodding in his direction. Even though he's able to see the relief washing over her face, he still needs a confirmation, so he can anchor himself to it.

“Say you understand.”

“I understand,” she parrots, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.

He sees the hesitation, closing his eyes for a moment. “You understand, but you don't believe me,” Charles concludes, his voice full of wonder. He sucks in a breath while freeing her lip, brushing his thumb against it. His eyes lock on hers, “You really think there is someone else out there who makes me feel the way you do, hm? Who else is going to be this responsive, baby?”

To show her what he means by that, he pushes his thumb inside her mouth, Charles' soft voice sending shivers down her spine. She opens up more, instantly, gazing back at him, realizing how right he is. Meanwhile, Charles is slowly pushing his thumb further, watching her lips closing around it.

His mouth curls up into a smile, “That's it, mon amour. Oui, see that? I don't think there is anyone else out there who can be this good for me, so eager to submit to everything I do,” he laughs, “Hell, I don't even have to tell you what to do, you just know, baby.”

She closes her eyes for a split second, sucking on Charles’ thumb, her hands gripping tightly on his forearm. It makes him feel in control more than usual, which awakens something primal in him. He ends up caressing the side of her face with his fingers as he pushes his thumb deeper, pulling it out with a soft pop, before shoving it back in.

“So fucking good for me, and you think I deserve better? What’s better than this, mon cœur?”

As a response, she moans slowly around his deliberate, slow movement. He finds it so satisfying to see how easily she listens, understanding exactly what she needs from him in return — patience, kindness, reassurance, and trust.

Charles pumps his thumb one more time before pulling out, using it to leave a wet trace down her neck. His hand tightens around it for a brief moment, bringing her back to him. She opens her eyes, still under the spell he put on her earlier with just three little words. Her eyes are dark as she looks up at him through her eyelashes, the desire in her eyes sparking like fireworks.

“You need this, don't you?” he asks curiously.

She nods, which makes Charles smirk. It’s easy to notice the subtle shift in her energy — the way she presses her body closer to his, and the way her breathing deepens. Charles sees the vulnerability in the way she looks at him, but he knows is different now; she’s not hesitating anymore.

Something flickers inside of him as her hand lightly but purposefully caresses his chest; she wants him to take the lead. She isn't seeking power or domination, but asking him to guide them both through this. And Charles understands she’s giving him the space to be the one to move them forward, because this is more than just a physical need. It's about how she decides, here and now, that she trusts him completely.

They stand inches apart, the air between them heated and taut with silent yearning. Every part of their bodies is tuned to each other in a way that feels so delicate yet urgent, and Charles can feel her heartbeat synchronize with his, both of them pounding in anticipation. Her lips are slightly parted as her eyes glide up to his, a silent invitation he cannot refuse. The outside world seems so far away, as if all that remains is this common understanding that neither of them is willing to let go of.

The kiss begins shyly and slowly. At first, his lips are gentle against hers, a slight touch that seems to carry the weight of all they have been resisting. She reacts swiftly, her hand slipping into his hair, drawing him in and intensifying the kiss.

Then everything changes — the pressure grows desperate, almost vital as the intensity increases. She melts into him, pressing every inch of her body against his as if she can't get close enough. It drives him wild, forcing him to tighten his grip on her.

Slowly but surely, their make out session turns into a silent cry for something more profound, as her fingers tighten in his hair to pull him closer. Their chests heave and their foreheads rest against one another until they eventually split apart, panting for one more breath of air.

“Forgive me, mon amour,” says Charles, trying his hardest to regain his composure.

“Forgive you?”

“Because I made you doubt us. Doubt me, and how I feel about you,” he clarifies, breathing wetly above her skin. “Will you let me show you how sure I am about this?”

She nods again, smiling, her hands still resting on his chest.

He gets up to lay her carefully on the bed, positioning himself between her legs as he unbuttons his white shirt. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes glide over her bare chest and the way her wavy hair spills over the pillows, making her look like an angel.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he leans over to kiss her neck, then going further down, sucking bruises all over her chest on his way to her stomach, claiming his girl with every flick of his tongue against her skin. He cups her breast in his palm, squeezing her enough to feel him all over her body, his lips reaching over her panties. “In case I wasn't dead fucking clear already,” Charles adds softly, almost like a promise, hooking his fingers on the lace material before pulling it down her legs, “I only want us. Like this. Always.”

She moans softly, anticipating his fingers to send her to another realm, far from any doubt. And her world does, indeed, change completely the moment she feels his tongue at her entrance instead. So hot and soft and warm against her, that her fingers curl instantly into his hair while his tongue slips between her folds, as if that is its rightful home.

“Charles,” his name comes out of her mouth in the form of a whine, sending little jolts towards his already hardened cock.

“Putain,” he chokes out, raising his head to look at her, “Nobody tastes like you do, baby. So sweet and wet for me.”

“Charles,” she whines again, her chest rising and falling with burning intensity. “Please…”

“Patience, bébé,” Charles chuckles, his voice vibrating hotly above her, “Let me worship you, so you won’t question me ever again, yes?”

He would have heard her agreeing with him, if Charles hadn't slipped his hands under her until his palms gripped her ass to pull her closer to his mouth. As a result, he hears her moan louder than before, smiling as he connects his lips back on her pussy, sucking on her clit with a newfound thirst.

His grip on her is so strong that even if she wants to push her hips further, she can't move an inch. Which drives her crazy, because his tongue works her with such frivolous movements, bringing her so close to the edge, but she still needs more.

“Baby,” she moans painfully, getting too agitated that it makes her get up, proppting herself on her elbows to watch him. “Fuck, Charles,” she adds, admiring how beautiful he looks between her legs, lapping at her with one goal in mind.

She tries to rock her hips back against the pressure again, which just reminds Charles of how good he makes her feel. The thought drives him mad and, even though it’s all about her right now, he can’t stop fucking his hips down so he can rub his aching cock against the bed, searching for any sort of friction.

“I feel you, baby. Don’t hold back,” says Charles, his voice sounding muffled between her legs.

His tongue is enough to make her come all over his face, he knows that, but he can't deprive her of his fingers when she needs him the most. So, he uses his hand to split her further under his mouth, making sure he touches her sweet spot again and again. And again, until a wave of pleasure hits her like a tsunami, shaking her to the core as she cums involuntarily. She tries to pull him out of her legs, because she knows how messy it gets when she comes that hard, but Charles drops his mouth back on her, driving her through her orgasm as his tongue finally stops at her entrance to catch the rest of her release. Then, he swallows her sweetness, letting his forehead drop on her thigh.

Their breathing is the only thing that can be heard in the entire cabin for a while, her palm resting on his cheek to caress him gently as they both recover slowly.

“So fucking hot, mon cœur.”

She sighs, still too sensitive from the pleasure that reverberates throughout her body, “Come up here,” says the girl, patting Charles’ head.

He pushes himself up, still half dressed and very much hard in his boxers. Charles lays his weight on her, exhausted, like he's came ten times by now. Gently, he rests his head on her chest while her arm wraps around him and his palm curves around her breast, pinching her nipple lazily between his fingers.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, enjoying the way she gets covered in goosebumps under his breath. “So perfect and so mine.”

She can't say anything to him without her voice shaking, so she gently grabs his chin, bringing Charles on top of her to kiss him. She feels her own taste as their tongues collide, causing her to moan softly into his mouth. Even if this kiss is much, much tamed than the previous one, just the thought that he was between her legs makes her pussy tighten, as if she's been set on fire from the inside out.

“Can I return the favor?” she finally asks in a breathy voice once their lips part.

Charles hums at the mental image of her mouth around his cock, but decides to push the thought deep into his mind, “Who said I’m done with you, mon amour?”

Charles' hand travels to her pussy once again, his middle finger gliding lightly over her wetness. Her eyes close in pleasure, while her arms wrap around his neck, before she realizes what he's actually doing. Her eyes snap at him as he reaches the letter 'R', Charles grinning proudly from above her.

Their faces are so close she can see the twinkle in his eyes, and their breaths blend together in a sweet warmth.

She laughs, “Did you just spell your name on my clit?”

His expression instantly lights up when he hears her. “Planned to do it with my tongue, but I didn't expect you to come that hard,” he admits, joining her in laughter.

She blushes at his statement, remembering how true it is. It's impossible for Charles not to notice that, but he loves it when her cheeks and chest become so rosy as a result. He also loves the sounds she makes when she's turned on, so he's not wasting any more time before teasing her wet entrance with his finger, pumping it slowly, until he feels her clenching around it. Just to make her forget the shyness, of course.

His flemish gaze sweeps over her entire body and, seeing her so vulnerable and willing beneath him, makes him want to run his tongue over every inch of her, to cover her in kisses and love marks until it's too much, so that he can come all over her pretty nipples just at the sight of her.

“Fuck, if you could see yourself right now,” says Charles, exhaling sharply. “You make me lose my mind, you know that? I almost forgot I still have to show you how mine you are. You want that, baby, don't you?”

“Yes,” she returns to whining, because apparently that's all she knows recently.

And she does it again, when his fingers pull out of her way too soon for her liking. She follows Charles, getting rid — fucking finally — of his shorts and boxers with a quick movement, poising himself again in his place, right between her legs.

She swallows hard at the sight of him, her mouth drying up in record time. She remembers the first time she saw Charles naked and how it didn't even occur to her that they would even fit. Of course, he made it work, because that's what a man with a huge cock does — it makes it fit.

The girl follows Charles as he wraps his dominant hand around the base, then runs his hand along its length, massaging the tip to spread the pre-cum. He made her feel so good, she didn't even take into consideration how torturous it must have been for him. But the little hums he lets out as he positions himself at her entrance are enough of a signal for her to push her hips against him.

Unfortunately, the man meant every word when he said he wasn't done, so he won't simply let her have it, just because she’s so willing to take him. She has to understand, once and for all, that this is it — she is it for him.

Slowly, Charles taps the head of his cock at her entrance, teasing mercilessly. It's almost like a punishment for thinking so low of herself, for doubting him, his feelings for her and what they've built together so far.

A lot can change in four months, especially feelings.

He lets out a shaky breath as he parts her folds with his tip, but instead of pushing inside, he fucks his cock up between the lips of her cunt. Once. Twice. Three times, until he's leaking on her clit, coated in her wetness. It is a sinful feeling that makes them both moan in unison, an ecstatic duet between two souls who found each other at the right time, no matter what people would say about it.

Fuck people. All of them.

She throbs against him, the feeling of skin on skin settings her atoms on fire. His hardness feels so good between her folds that she needs to anchor herself to something, and the sheets are far too fragile for her grip.

“Yeah, you feel that, ma vie?” asks Charles rhetorically when he sees her losing herself. “Of course you do. The question is, did you feel it before?”

“Charles…” she whimpers, pushing her hips against his length in order to find the sweet friction she craves. “Need you. Please.”

Her eyes are watering as she feels the knot in her stomach, waiting for a release that seems so far away — he’s not even inside, fuck's sake.

“So pretty,” hums Charles, ignoring her pleading. “You're gonna look so pretty taking me, ma belle. You always do.”

She raises her head only to let her eyes wander down Charles’ body, from his flushed face to his toned abs, down to where his cock rests hardened between her pussy lips. His eyes are locked on where they're making contact, the image so intimate and powerful it makes him want to scream. She realizes that this is a punishment for him as much as it is for her, but he enjoys it more since he's the one in charge.

She gasps in surprise when Charles grabs her thighs, her head falling back down on the pillows. He pulls her closer as he leans over to seal his lips with hers, having no intent to be soft this time, the passion that burns between them pushing him so close to the edge.

Charles’ tongue tastes her in a rush as he pushes forward, his cock pressing deliciously on her clit, making her break the kiss with a pathetic whine.

So predictable.

“Can you, please, fuck me already?” she says, frustration evident in every word she utters.

Her pleas are so close to get him, wanting nothing more than to bury himself so deep inside her, until he feels her coming on his cock all over again. But Charles groans loudly, hovering above her chest to take one of her nipples in his mouth, biting her gently.

At that, her frustration only grows bigger, forcing her back to arch against him.

“Charles,” her tone is demanding now, motivated to make him understand she's done playing.

“Don't worry, I’ll fuck you so good, baby. Turn over for me,” he replies, anticipation tugging at the edge of his patience.

She does as instructed without saying another word, feeling his hands grabbing at her waist to pull her against him. Then, Charles pushes his palm gently between her shoulder blades until her face is buried between the silky pillows. She lets a muffled moan while his knees are pressing down into the mattress on either side of her thighs, his cock resting hard against her ass.

“Did I mention how pretty you are?” he asks, not expecting an answer in return, while he finally guides himself toward her needy cunt. He pushes in, slowly at first. Deliberate and calculated, as if their initial contact is meant to gather as much data as possible, so he can choose the perfect setup for what's about to come — the position, the angle, the pace. “Such a pretty girl,” he adds with a tamed moan, “Opening right up for me. Every single time, baby. Taking me so well.”

She tries to get up by doing a weak push-up, but her head drops heavy between her shoulders as she fucks back against Charles' length, the pleasure overwhelming her.

The feeling of having him like this makes her squeal, failing to find a single thing worth more in this world than Charles thrusting from behind.

“Oui, have my cock, baby, like that,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss on her shoulder, managing to hit her deeper from this angle.

Charles' touch is still gentle, though, like he's testing the grip, desperately wanting to find the perfect balance as he eases into a rhythm made just for them. He takes every gasp and every shiver of her body as signals, relearning what makes her pulse race and using everything in their favor.

She turns her head to the side when Charles leans over to clasp the edge of the mattress, his knuckles whitening with the force he's putting into it. The veins on the back of his hand look like they're about to pop at any moment, bulging from his skin and snaking up his forearm, finally out of her view as they reach his elbow.

He's so hot and she is so turned on that she could come again just by looking at his arms.

Charles' pace begins to build, the intensity in his breathing growing more labored with every thrust of his hips. Each one is bolder than the last one, like he's reaching the apex of a corner, pressing into her just enough to feel the thrill without losing control. As a response to his movements, she starts breathing in short spasms, the world around them becoming a blur.

“That's it, bébé. You're so fucking good for me, I'm not… fuck,” his voice almost gives out, feeling how close he is to cum from fucking her like this, so he decides to pull out completely in order to prolong the feeling.

Charles learned from an early age that every race is unpredictable, so he has to adapt to any condition.

It makes her cry at the emptiness, her pussy clenching wetly around nothing while he looks down, curious too see how bad she needs him.

Her head falls back between the pillows for the hundred time, too exhausted to scold Charles any more. So, she guides her hand between her legs, firmly massaging her clit, feeling her thighs start to shake. However, the pressure is not nearly as good, which makes Charles chuckle at her weak attempts.

Patiently, he grabs both of her wrists to keep them pinned to her lower back as he uses his free hand to rub the head of his cock against her throbbing hole.

“Chaaarles,” she whines loudly, pressing her cheek deeper into the silky fabric under her, mind too numb to protest further more.

He buries himself back in with a strong thrust, making her gasp at the fullness. Somehow, it feels so much better than before, her body so sensitive in all the places they make contact.

With every shift in pressure and pace, Charles reads her reactions as if they are telemetry data on his steering wheel.

“Please don't... Don't stop again, please,” she lets out another cry, feeling her walls clenching so sweetly around him. “You feel so good, fuck, I… I'm so close.”

He knows that. That's why he stopped in the first place. But now he's ready to give her exactly what she needs, freeing her wrists as he watch them fall next to her body as if they're lifeless. Charles then grabs her waist with both hands, thrusting into her so hard that the sound of their bodies slapping together drowns out both of their moans.

“Want to fuck you for the rest of my life, amour. Please, let me fuck you for the rest of my life,” he implores, panting aggressively.

“Oh, yes,” she agrees, squeezing her eyes in pleasure.

Charles pulls out again, making her grunt at the loss. But before she gets the chance to protest, he flips her over, shoving his cock back in while searching for her eyes, a smug smile hanging from the corner of his mouth.

She moans in relief, pulling him closer, wrapping her hands around his neck to bury her fingers in his messy hair.

“I almost started barking at you,” she admits, rolling her hips with his.

“I know, baby. Just wanted to see your face,” he explains, finding his pace once more.

“Oh, yes. Yes, feels so good,” she begins to moan uncontrollably under his weight, just as Charles leans down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I know, I know. I've got you, my love,” he kisses her again but it doesn't last this time.

Their mouths remain parted, breathing heavily against each other as she comes around his cock, gazing into each other's eyes as if they could see what shape their soul have. Seeing her face changing in pleasure, makes Charles fucking into her faster, following so closely after her.

His moans sound so melodious in her ears while he rides their orgasms, that she starts believing honey is dripping from his lips, because he cannot be real.

Charles is about to pull out when she stops him with a hand on his lower back.

“I only want us, too. Like this. Always,” she repeats his words from earlier, more determined than ever. “And I think I love you a tiny bit more,” she continues, running her hand up his spine. “That's why I was so scared.”

Charles shivers under her gentle touch, “You still scared?”

“Terrified,” she replies, giggling, pulling him in to capture his lips in a loving kiss.

The kind that makes the rest of the world fade to nothing.

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 x reader #f1 x reader #x reader #cl16 #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #cl16 one shot #one shot #fic recs

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austinbutlerslovers · 12 hours ago

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Another Load

Label Mature 18+

Summary Seeing Hank doing a domesticated task of washing the laundry makes you eagerly give him a reward, but unable to keep his hands to himself as promised, he gives you two more loads instead. ❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Edging•dirty talk• BJ• cum eating •Rough P in V• pinning •clit play•orgasms•creampie 🔗Master List

Inspo that top right pic w his hands up 🤤 dedicated to @aust-een @umika @austinbutlerfly @feralgodmothers

-Tysm the way I delayed posting it bc it’s so 🦋

Another Load

Hank pushes the apartment door open, the burgundy laundry bag slung over one broad shoulder. The fabric is stretched to capacity, filled with neatly folded clothing, and he sets it down by the door with a quiet grunt.

He’s wearing his long-sleeved orange shirt, rolled up just past his forearms, revealing the veins on his hands as they flex against the strain of the load. His cargo pants are low on his hips, pockets weighed down as if he’s carried half the world in them.

You glance up from the couch, where you’ve been pretending not to wait for him, and can’t help but smile. He’s out of breath from hauling the bag from the laundromat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. There’s something about him in this moment—his ruggedness on full display, entirely and unmistakably Hank.

The simple task of doing laundry only amplifies his appeal, the sight of him, momentarily tamed by something so domestic, makes him look even hotter.

“You actually folded it all?” you ask, rising from your spot, a surprised tone in your voice.

He smirks, shrugging one shoulder. “Didn’t want to get yelled at for stuffing it in the bag like last time.”

His tone is light, but the way his eyes hold yours is anything but. There’s a warmth in his gaze, something deeper that lingers, and it pulls you in like it always does.

Kneeling by the bag, you loosen the drawstring and pull out a sweater you’d been worried about. Relief washes over you as you realize the fabric didn’t shrink and it’s perfectly intact. “You didn’t put this in the dryer?” you ask glancing up at him.

“I listen,” he replies simply leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. There’s an ease to his posture, but his gaze is sharp, lingering on you in a way that feels anything but casual.

You rise, placing the sweater on the bag as you approach him. “Maybe you deserve a reward,” you say, your voice soft but laced with playful intent.

His brow arches, a smirk tugging at his lips. “A reward? For doing laundry?”

“For doing it right,” you compliment stepping closer. Your fingers brushing the hem of his shirt, making his breath hitch just slightly. “But there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is,” he mutters, with a teasing grin.

You smile, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “If you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll make it worth your while.” You say letting your fingers trace a slow line down his chest. “Think you can manage that Hank?” you ask, your tone teasing.

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of amusement dancing in their depths. “Maybe,” he replies, as he lifts his arms, his waistline peeking out from beneath his shirt. The faintest glimpse of his toned waist draws your attention as he interlocks his fingers behind his head.

Hank has never been able to keep his hands to himself when you’re intimate, and the way his gaze darkens as you move closer tells you this time will be no different.

With a grin you take in the sight of him, arms raised above his head, fingers gripping the back of his neck.

You reach up and gently adjust his arms, ensuring his hands stay firmly clasped behind his neck.

You let your fingers trail over his forearms, tracing the veins that stand out under his skin, then over his firm biceps testing his resolve

“Stay just like this…” you whisper, your finger tips trailing down his orange shirt to the waist band of his cargos.

His chest rises and falls with anticipation, his sandy blonde hair falling forward as he looks down at you, framing his face just right.

Lowering yourself to your knees, you trail your hands down his thighs, fingers grazing over the fabric of his cargos, barely concealing his hard cock.

He pushes his hips forward as he smirks and you tsk at him already breaking the rule you set.

“What did I say about moving?” You ask and he grins barely containing himself as he answers “You told me to stay just like this” emphasizing the last word with a cocky tilt of his hips toward your face.

“Hank be good” you warn, looking up at him with a grin “Or you won’t get to enjoy your reward,” you add, running your finger down the length of his cock through the fabric of his cargos.

He flinches, but keeps his fingers interlaced, his jaw tightening as he fights the urge to move. “You’re so cruel,” he says with a grin, though there’s no real complaint in his tone.

You can feel the tension in his heavy cock as you begin to edge him, your palm pressing and rubbing his shaft slowly without giving him more. He’s straining almost painfully, his cock hard like a brick as he watches your every move, with dark hungry eyes.

“You’re doing so well, Hank,” you praise, your fingers rubbing the tip with deliberate slowness. “I didn’t think you could last this long.” you admit, your voice soft and teasing.

He lets out a shaky breath as you reach up to his waist, finally lowering his zipper.

You slide his cargos and boxers down together, the fabric gliding over his hips as his heavy cock sways free. His powerful thighs flex as he shifts his weight, stepping out of the clothing at his feet, leaving his lower half completely exposed before you.

Your eyes take in the sheer size of his cock as he steadies himself. His shaft is thick and long, flushed a deep shade of pink, as the veins pulse leading to the perfectly rounded tip.

His breath catches as you hover your lips above his cock, and instead of giving him what he wants, you wrap your hand around the shaft instead, slowly pulling your fist in firm teasing strokes enjoying the way his hips slightly jerk in response.

You lower your head and flick your tongue lightly against his tip, the delicate touch drawing a sharp intake of breath from him as you continue to edge him even more.

The way he groans, his head tipping back as he fights to keep his hands clasped behind his head is deeply satisfying, and you can’t help but smile as you savor the effect you have on him.

“Impatient already?” you ask, your voice soft and teasing, watching his eyes darken as he stares down at you, barely able to retrain himself.

“You —want me to lose control, don’t you?” he pants his tone thick with need.

You grin as your thumb swipes the forming bead of precum at the slit, smearing it in a slow circle that bring him right to the edge.

A deep, guttural groan escapes him, as he struggles, his breaths quick and uneven betraying just how tightly he’s holding back.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you whisper, your tone dangerously taunting. “I’ll give you everything you want ….when I’m ready.”

You give him a daring look as you let your tongue flick over the tip again, savoring the salty taste as he groans. His hips jerk as he fights to keep control, every muscle in his body wound tight.

Then, with agonizing slowness, you finally let him slide into your mouth, inch by inch. The low, guttural sound he makes is one of pure surrender and as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, his breath hitches sharply as he fights every instinct not to thrust.

But then, in an instant, all his control shatters.

His hands drop from behind his neck immediately tangling in your hair as he forces your eager mouth back and forth on his cock.

“You teased me too long, baby,” he rasps, his voice low and rough. “You wanted to play, didn’t you? Now you’re gonna take it—just like this.”

He tightens his grip in your hair as he thrusts in your mouth, the sudden force making you moan on his cock, the sound vibrating against his length, drawing a deep, shuddering groan from his lips.

“Don’t stop. Take all of it—show me you can handle what you’ve been teasing me with,” he instructs, his breathing growing heavier, his voice rough and commanding.

You whimper around him, the sound vibrating against his cock as you revel in the fact that he’s like this because of you. The wet, lewd squishing sounds fill the room with every thrust as your lips glide on his length, your saliva making each stroke slick and effortless as he gazes down at you.

“Taking this cock so good. You know how much I love that mouth, don’t you?” He praises his voice rough and breathless.

You moan from his words your tongue flicking along his shaft as your cheeks hollow making it impossible for him to hold back.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he grunts, his words spilling out between ragged breaths. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last. You feel too good, baby.”

The tension in his body builds as hips stutter, his head tilting back for a moment before his eyes return to you, dark and wild. “Don’t stop,” he groans, his voice breaking as he watches you “Take everything I give you.”

He comes hard in the back of your throat, his release hot and thick holding your head against him making you take every drop.

You moan reveling in the way he loses himself, sloppily thrusting into your mouth until he shudders and pulls out.

But he’s still hard, holding the base of his cock as he tosses throw pillows off the couch.

He pushes you back to lay down on it as he pulls his long-sleeve orange shirt up and over his head with one hand, tossing it aside carelessly.

The muscles of his chest and abs are on full display now, his skin flushed from exertion. His eyes rake over your body as you settle beneath him, his lips curling into a devilish grin.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly promise as he effortlessly tugs your panties off, tossing them aside.

He kneels between your legs, gripping himself at the base as he slides the swollen head of his cock up and down your slick entrance separating your inner lips just enough to feel the size of him.

“I’ve got one more for you,” he says, slowly inserting the head of his cock into you, stretching your outer lips and pushing into you inch by inch, until he’s as deep as you can take.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he praises, his voice rough and strained as you moan softly, beneath him.

He waits a moment savoring the way your body clenches around him, then he slowly withdraws, letting you feel the drag of every inch leaving your body. He stops just at the tip, making you ache for more, before thrusting back inside, deep and firm, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“Fuck,” he curses, his jaw tightening as he watches your body take his cock. “You love this, don’t you? The way I fill you up making you take every inch?”

“Y-yes” you moan your voice trembling with desperation and he pulls out even slower this time, the length of his shaft glistening as it’s revealed inch by inch. “Look at it,” he taunts, his gaze flicking between you and his cock. “You’re soaked, baby, dripping all over me. You want me to give it to you harder, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he plunges back in, the sudden force drawing a cry from your lips as he picks up the pace. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist to slow him down, but he smirks and easily pushes them aside, pinning them down with his hands as he drives into you harder, deeper.

“Nice try baby,” he breathes, his voice ragged as the couch creaks beneath you with each thrust. “You’re not gonna take me slow—Not when I know you love it just like this—hard and fast. You want me to ruin you, don’t you? Say it. Let me hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you moan, your voice trembling as your nails dig into his shoulders. “I love it—Hank—Please, don’t stop!”

The words spill out in a desperate rush, your body arching beneath him as the ecstasy consumes you.

He watches you intensely, knowing you’re well beyond your limits as moans spill uncontrollably from your lips with every thrust.

“Such a good girl taking me like this “ he says with an eager tone his rhythm growing relentless, his hips slamming against your body jolting you with every powerful thrust. You begin to make soft, desperate cries beneath him, completely overwhelmed.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, his voice strained with hunger. “Take it. Take every last inch. I’m not stopping until you can’t even think straight.”

He thrusts evenly, his cock head hitting your g-spot with perfect precision every time and his hand quickly slides between your legs. His thumb presses firmly against your clit, massaging it in time with his thrusts until the rhythm is maddening, every stroke driving you higher as the tension coils tighter inside you.

Then he pinches your clit between his fingers, sending a white-hot surge of pleasure shooting through you. Your body trembles, and his name spills from your lips in a breathless, desperate cry.

Your orgasm hits you hard, your body writhing beneath him as you come, your voice broken and trembling with bliss. He watches you, his eyes dark and fixed on your every move, his pace relentless as he rides you through the overwhelming ecstasy.

“F-fuck—just like that,” he groans, his voice rough and desperate, his thrusts growing sloppier as your walls flutter against him. “You feel so good, baby—so fucking perfect, squeezing me like this.” He praises.

His breaths quicken and his movements become erratic as he chases his own release.

“Gonna come baby,” he pants, his tone low and possessive. “Gonna give you every last drop. You want it, don’t you? Tell me you want it.”

“Y-yes,” you cry out, your voice trembling, and a guttural moan spills from his lips as his body tenses. You feel him push his deepest inside you, his cock pulsing as he loses himself completely.

“Take it all,” he groans, his voice rough and unrestrained. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he says as he comes and his hips press flush against you. His cock is throbbing with each powerful surge of release, his hands holding you firmly in place as he empties every last drop.

“You take me so fucking good,” he says softly his breaths spilling from exertion as he waits until the high the subsides.

You both remain in position on the couch as you catch your breaths, the room now warmer, filled with the scent of fresh detergent.

“Guess I’ll be doing the laundry more often,” he grins, his tone teasing as he affectionately strokes your jaw. “Didn’t think folding clothes could get me this kind of reward.” he admits.

You smile, your cheeks still flushed. “You should see what I’ll do if you iron for me” you say playfully.

He grins wickedly, his thumb brushing your neck as he murmurs, “Baby, I will press starch your clothing if it gets me this again.”

🧢 END 🧢

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carefreecoffee · 12 hours ago

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.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙Scars: Shoto Todoroki x reader*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

Word count: 774, Gender-Neutral reader

Being a hero was no easy feat. You and Shoto both knew that and with the responsibility came the sacrifices. Not only mentally but physically. Being a hero has done wonders for the both of you in your own respect. Coming home after knowing you did something good for hoards of civilians made your heart clench every time, but there was always a toll.

A hard one for you to come to terms with were your scars. Littered along your back, chest and legs, even some taking residence along your arms. After years of hero work, it had never gotten easier.

You arrive home, hero suit tattered and worn. With a sigh, you enter your and Shotos shared bedroom, stripping out of your clothing for a much needed shower. Shoto should arrive in a couple hours, leaving you plenty of time to unwind.

You stepped into the bathroom, turning the water on and letting it take you away. The droplets falling from your shoulders, down your chest and running past every indentation among your skin. Your hands ran along them gingerly, scrubbing off every spec of dirt and grime, ridding you from the day's work.

After a decent cleaning, you stepped out, wrapping the towel along your damp body and entering your shared bedroom. As you got dressed, you glanced at the scars in your full length mirror; the severity of them ranging from pink to a dark red.

You sighed, putting on your undergarments to align with your sleep sweats. However, at this moment, you didn't notice the pair of eyes lingering among your clean form. Shoto stood in the doorway casually in his own hero suit, drinking in the sight of you as if he’d never see you again, his heterochromatic eyes following your every move.

You turn a bit, moving to the closet for a shirt as you notice the lingering man. You jump, covering your arms slightly.

Now, have you and Shoto seen each other completely bare before? Yes, of course. Has he ever made you feel uncomfortable in the slightest? Absolutely not. But there have been many times where you just can't shake the feeling of vulnerability and maybe even insecurity when it comes to your scratched up appearance.

“Sho, you scared me”

He grins, walking up to you and wrapping his well-toned arms around your body as his eyes met yours. “Sorry love, I didn't mean to.” You can't help but smile at his admittance, “ ‘s okay, Sho, baby” You leaned up, pecking his soft lips before returning to your earlier endeavor.

As you looked through the closet, you felt his hand run up your sides, entangling around your hips and trailing your back. The action made you tense up, but nothing could top the emotions you felt when feeling his lips trailing your shoulder blades.

“Shoto? What’re you doing, love?” You try to peek at him, only seeing his half and half hair from your peripherals. He hums, “No ones ever kissed you better before”

The sentence takes you aback at first. ‘No ones ever kissed me better?’ In your haze of curiosity, you take notice of a pattern. His long fingers trailed over a relatively big scar along your spine before his lips met it, the cold of his lips meeting the warmth of your back almost agonizingly slow.

He was kissing your scars.

The one thing you intended to get rid of, to act as if they did not exist or even bother you as much as they did. He was actively kissing them as a means to make them better. You can't help the rate at which your heart picks up nor the tears that seem to prick your eyes.

He feels you tense up under his touch, his concern growing slightly.

“Everything okay, dear?” His head tried to meet yours as you nodded, pulling out a random shirt and slipping it on quickly. You turned around, his concerned eyes lingering along your features for longer than you had anticipated.

Without another word, you lean into his touch. He silently complies, wrapping his arms around you, his hands running under the shirt to feel the strewn scarring almost lovingly.

“Thank you, Sho” Your words come out more as a muffled mess in his uniform but he understood you clearly.

“Of course, my love. I’d gladly do it whenever you need, okay? You deserve to be appreciated; each and every part of you.” He leans in, pecking your forehead and with that comes another long silence- however there was no insecurity. No fear or concern. Just a comfortable silence cherished between the two of you.

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bongopowder · 1 day ago

Text

getting lucky! (higuruma)

⁺ . ✦ .　⁺ 　 . ✦ jujutsu kaisen (higuruma x reader) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺

content (18+): nsfw, female reader, gambling, casinos, drinking, smoking

word count: 5.0k

a tune for you: a little less conversation (elvis presley)

The blaring lights, flickering at every machine, send a colorful wave of illumination shooting across the stained and patterned carpets. The sweet smell of smoke and crisp bills mingle in the air, filling your nostrils with something seemingly toxic, but also intoxicating. And the sounds, sounds which flood every inch of the space, echoing off the wallpaper plastered on every surface of the room. It was a concoction, a collaboration between the loud, drunken chatter of patrons, the occasional clattering of a machine, and the constant ringing of a buzzer, now simply a hum in your brain. Ding! Ding! Ding!

Some might call it sensational. But to you, the feeling was none other than that of suffocation. Overstimulation. Drowning.

You take another sip of your martini, the intensity of the gin doing nothing to repress the anarchy of the casino atmosphere.

“You seem… distracted?”

Blinking a few times to regain your consciousness, you turn to your friend, who sits beside you at the bar, watching you with an inquisitive gaze.

“Something on your mind?” She probes, her stare wandering out to the casino, to find whatever had captivated my attention. “Or maybe… someone?” Her lips tug up into a sheepish smirk, an almost teasing look.

“What… no,” you shake your head quickly, extinguishing any assumptions she might be making. “I was just, spacing out is all.”

She hums quietly in response, scanning the casino floor as if looking for something specific, her eyes narrowing predatorially. Once she spots whatever target she was searching for, she peers back to you, giving you a knowing look.

“What is it?” You roll your eyes, though not seriously annoyed by her antics.

“Him. You were totally staring at him, weren’t you? He’s perfectly your type,” she grins, flicking her head to gesture out to the casino.

You raise an eyebrow inquisitively, immediately forcing yourself to stare into the maze of machines and tables to find the prey of her little game.

“The one by the slot machines,” she clarifies. “You’ll know which one when you see him.”

Oh.

You hate it when she’s right.

He’s just there, peeking out from the end of the row of machines, sitting casually in a padded chair, eyes glued to the screen. The colors of the lights illuminate his face in a range of purples, and pinks, and whites; his hooked nose casts a small shadow as he turns his head, studying the game before him with tired eyes, just as you study him.

His suit – with the top few buttons haphazardly open and his tie undone – is consistent with his somewhat disheveled and fatigued expression. His black hair is gelled slightly back, slick and reflective, with a few loose strands falling in front of his forehead. Bringing his whiskey glass up, he places it on his temple, eyes dejected as the light on his face turns red. A loss.

“See? I was totally right!” Your friend exclaims smugly, watching as you ogle the man across the floor. You simply shake your head.

“I’m nowhere near drunk enough for that.”

“For what?”

“To approach him.”

“Oh, come onnnn…” her voice eggs you on. “I’ll be here for moral support. Finish your drink and go, before he leaves! He’s soooo your type, you can’t let him walk off!”

You groan, shaking your head again. Internally, you’re conflicted; you can’t help but know she’s right, and you’d be insane to avoid a man who looks like he’s been peeled straight from the front page of some “sexy business” magazine, but to approach him is… something else.

Your friend cheers as you down your martini in two large gulps, the burning sensation matching that of your mental turmoil.

“You’re gonna do it?” She exclaims in excitement. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be here when you get back… or when you don’t come back.”

You roll your eyes at her wink, but you can’t repress your smile. Without wasting another second, you saunter over to the slot machines, taking a deep breath, hoping that by some miracle, those last few gulps of gin give you something good to say.

“So, any luck today?”

Fuck. That’s really all I could think of?

You mentally curse yourself, but your outward façade is unwavering, no thanks to your ever-lacking flirtation abilities. Leaning slightly against the side of the machine, you smile down at him warmly.

His eyes look slowly up to meet yours, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion at your presence. The screen flashes red again, a bright color which draws his attention back to the machine, his elbows never leaving the control panel. Burrowing his face in his hands, he grumbles softly.

“Does it look like it?”

Sitting back, he grabs his drink again, taking a swig with a sigh. His back presses against the chair, and he adjusts his hips, lifting them softly before he resettles with his legs pushed further apart.

You bite your lip, trying to remain composed as you watch him, thinking of something, anything, to keep the conversation going.

“Maybe I can change that.”

That was a good one…

You push off the machine, moving to sit on the armrest of his chair, careful to avoid the side with any potentially essential buttons. Your bare arm brushes slightly against his shirt, and you adjust your cocktail dress, pulling it comfortably over part of your legs.

“You’re too young,” the man replies, somewhat bluntly, but with no hint of annoyance, as he takes another sip of whiskey, his eyes glued to the machine.

“You don’t even know how old I am,” you quip quickly in return, hosting a somewhat sly smile. He can’t be that much older than me… right?

“I know you’re not old enough.”

“But don’t you want to win? I’ve been told I can be quite the lucky charm,” you lie, hoping it might give you a chance. Leaning forwards, you feed the machine a play with some cash.

He sighs, finally looking up at you through his eyelashes, the bags under his eyes becoming more prominent due to your proximity.

“Fine. It’s your money,” he cedes casually, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lights one, simultaneously pressing a button on the machine to spin the wheels. He takes a long drag, now completely captivated by the on-screen stimulation, the lights continuing to accentuate his sharp features as he exhales a cloud of gray smoke.

The first column slowly comes to a halt, landing on a lemon.

Okay…

And the second column... another lemon.

Your eyes widen in surprise, flickering over to his face to see how he’s reacting. Nothing.

The third wheel feels as though it takes ages to stop, continuing to spin even as you think it’s finishing.

And…

A lemon. It’s a lemon.

Your chest tightens, partly out of nervousness and somewhat in surprise. Turning to see the man again, you watch as his expression shifts and he leans forward in his chair.

Quickly, the machine spits out the winnings: ¥6000.

“Well… I guess you are lucky…” The man grumbles admittedly, sitting back again and taking another drag of the cigarette, seemly deep in thought. He gestures to the money on the control panel.

“It’s yours,” you reply, gesturing back. “Remember?”

“I don’t need it,” he sighs, rubbing his head.

“Then buy me a drink with it.”

He lets out a noise, somewhere between a scoff and a light chuckle, finally reaching forward to grab the money. Scanning it, he counts it quickly to make sure the amount is correct, simultaneously grabbing his whiskey again with the same hand that holds his cigarette between his index and middle fingers. He nods at the money, downing the last bit of whiskey before beginning to stand.

“Alright. I’ll buy you a drink with your own money, if you insist,” he replies casually, trying to appear indifferent. As he stands, however, you see him finally beginning to drink in your appearance, his eyes moving slowly over your body in an almost calculated manner.

The two of you approach the bar, a different one from where your friend stands. She shoots you a wink from across the room: your last source of good luck.

“Another one, please,” the man says as he sets his empty glass on the wood, leaning over the bar with his elbow planted. He glances at me, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, and a martini… dry, please.”

The bartender nods, turning around to pour the drinks.

“I never did get your name?” His voice draws your attention back to those eyes, piercing yours with their dark gaze. You oblige, telling him your name.

“And yours?”

“Hiromi,” he says, taking another drag of the cigarette before extinguishing it on a nearby ashtray.

You hum and nod as he replies, watching as the bartender pours the vermouth into your martini glass. A moment of silence pervades the atmosphere, broken only by the rattling of cocktail shakers and murmuring of nearby patrons. Hiromi’s eyes remain fixed on another bartender and his whiskey, the spherical ice shifting in the glass as the alcohol is poured over top, the liquid almost twinkling under the lights.

He's not very talkative…

“So, what do you do for work?” You ask, leaning against the bar.

“Law,” he replies, his tired eyes not leaving his drink as it’s placed in front of him.

“Oh, that’s nice…” You smile, trying to save the dying conversation as your martini arrives. “So… are you here long or are you visiting from somewhere else?”

“Visiting, for business.” His eyes flicker to yours, for a moment, before shifting back to his drink.

Is he just not into me or something?

“You know,” you start, now deciding to duck out of the conversation, starting to back away from him slightly. “I think my friend is-”

“It’s a conference of sorts,” he interrupts, sipping his whiskey before turning towards you completely. “Quite boring, really. I’d rather hear about why you’re here.”

“Ah- me?” you perk up again at his interest, “I’m just on a trip with my friend, we’re in the city for a few nights, just to travel.” Man, this guy is bipolar…

“Are you staying here?”

“At the casino?” you ask, shaking your head. “No, just a hotel down the road. This place was a bit out of the budget I think.” Chuckling, you allow the alcohol to soothe your nerves slightly.

“Mmm…” he hums, finishing his whiskey in one swig and setting the glass down gently. “I have a room upstairs, got it for the chip discount,” he explains while tapping his casino card on the wood of the bar.

“Also,” he adds, “the liquor here is… mediocre, at best. I keep nicer whiskey up there, so I can go back for an occasional drink.”

You peer curiously into your martini glass, finding the gin pretty decent.

“So you agree?”

“I agree?”

“That the liquor isn’t great,” he concludes, with a nod.

“Oh, right… Yeah, it’s not the best…” You simply nod, convincingly agreeing with the sentiment, but he appears distracted again, already moving to light a new cigarette. He holds the box out to you, pushing one up with his thumb: a silent offering.

You nod, thanking him briefly before taking the cigarette.

Leaning closer, he places the cigarette in his mouth and removes a lighter from his pocket, placing the flame between you. You move closer to him, allowing your cigarette to touch the fire just as his does; the warmth and light from the dancing flames reflect in his eyes as he looks down at you. He pulls back slowly, eyes unwavering from yours as he blows smoke slowly from his mouth with an unreadable gaze.

“Why me?” His words are direct, but inquisitive, spoken as he takes another drag of the cigarette.

“Why you?”

“Why approach me?” he emphasizes the last word, raising his eyebrows as he looks down at you. Your face heats up at the bluntness of his inquiry, and you smile slightly.

“Not every question needs to be answered,” you reply coyly, gesturing to the drinks. “And clearly the universe is rewarding us for my choice.”

“Mmm… maybe so,” Hiromi nods, cracking the slightest of smiles. His gaze flickers around your face, as if studying your features, slowly and tantalizingly.

After the fleeting moment, his free hand reaches for his whiskey glass. The realization of its emptiness causes his face to twist into a soft frown, his eyes shifting down to the glass as he swirls the ice within it.

“Come on,” he sighs, pushing off the bar as he runs a hand through his gelled hair. “It’s time for another drink.”

You watch as he nods his head towards the elevators casually, a neutral expression still plastered on his features. He wants me to come to his room?

“I’m just gonna finish-”

“Leave it. I have nicer gin,” he interjects without turning back around, waving his hand dismissively before putting his cigarette to his lips.

Before you can reply, he’s already striding away, a slight eagerness to his pace. Shrugging, you take one last sip of the martini before quickly catching up to him, leaving the crystal glass on the bar top, alongside your half-finished cigarette.

The atmosphere of the elevator ride is indescribable; monotonous jazz plays roughly through the poor-quality speakers, the sound mixed only with the rattling of metal from the machine. Hiromi is silent, leaning back against the outdating wooden paneling, seemingly lost in thought as he continues to smoke.

Your heartrate picks up nervously, your mind haphazardly running through the scenarios to come. The man is an enigma.

Ding!

The elevator comes to a swift halt, pausing on the 22nd floor. Just as before, Hiromi wastes no time, stepping out and quickly treading down the long hallway towards his room.

Without a word, he swipes his card to unlock the door, holding it open for you and beckoning you inside the dark room. He places a hand delicately on the small of your back, guiding you through the doorway, sending a shiver down your spine.

The door shuts quietly behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the darkness. Your eyes fail to adjust quickly to the change in light, barely able to make out the silhouette of a large bed and small couch, lit only by the distant city lights outside the large, open windows. The sound of fabric sliding draws your attention behind you as Hiromi takes off his blazer, the cigarette between his lips. You somewhat clumsily fumble for a light switch somewhere on the wall, leaning forward and running a hand over the textured wallpaper.

You feel his large hand wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the wall. Within a second, he reaches to your waist, immediately pushing you back against the wall, pinning you there with his body. He releases your wrist almost tenderly, seductively running his fingers up your arm before tucking one under your chin, tilting your head up.

“You didn’t really come in here just to drink, now did you?” His voice is low and rough against your ear as he leans in, his hand unwavering from your hip as he presses you further against the wall.

For the first time tonight, you feel nervous. It’s as if you can feel your heart pumping blood through your entire body, echoing in your brain. You open your mouth to speak, but the words seem to catch in your throat.

“Mmm… What ever happened to that boldness on the casino floor? Not so confident now?” Hiromi teases, his free hand moving up to move a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your face. His touch is almost gentle, a contrast to what you see when you look into his eyes.

“Well… I just...” You pause, trying to find my voice, though it cracks in my dry throat. You look up at him again, your eyes trying to focus on his own rather than his lips, which quirk into the slightest of smirks. “I- I didn’t… expect…”

“Spit it out.”

The words are demanding, but his tone is playful. He studies your face more, eyes wandering across your features like he did to the slot machine, perhaps more methodically now.

“I just didn’t think… it would be so… quick into it…” You manage to whisper, trying to contain your emotions.

“Quick?” He lets out a sultry chuckle, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Oh, trust me, nothing about tonight will be quick,” he mumbles, flicking the bud of his cigarette off into the darkness.

And with those last words, he pulls your face forwards, his lips crashing against yours in a needy, hungry kiss. You return the vigor, passionately tasting the lingering whiskey and smoke on his lips, your hands wandering up his chest, feeling over the buttons of his shirt.

You can feel him smirk against your mouth, his hands now roaming down your body in desperation, as if searching for the best place to settle. He tugs at your dress, bunching the fabric up your thighs until it collects around your hips.

The kiss continues in its hot, rough wake, your teeth occasionally crashing together in urgency, neither of you willing to pull back. Without another warning, he wedges one of his thighs between your legs, grinding against you and pushing you further into the wall.

The sudden friction isn’t lost on you, and you let out a soft noise, the sound swallowed by his mouth. This, however, only seems to fuel his enthusiasm, and he continues to push his thigh back and forth, slowly and tantalizingly grinding against you.

Your hips instinctively buckle into his motions, only driving him to move faster. His hands land on your sides, moving you into the movement himself as he separates from the kiss.

“You’re so desperate for me already…” Hiromi whispers, beginning to line kisses along your jawline. “But I want to hear you a little bit more.” His hand reaches up, gripping your hair in his hand and tugging your head back, giving him easier access to your neck.

Instantly, bites down softly on your skin, the sensation in time with the movement of his thigh. You stifle a moan, biting your lip and pushing your head further against the wall.

You feel his breath on your neck, cold on the area where his spit remains.

“That’s more like it, my dear. Keep those coming…” he breathes softly as he continues to suck at your neck, traveling down to your collarbone.

“You’re… gonna have to work… for it,” you reply, somewhat breathlessly, trying to control yourself as you tease.

He growls softly against your neck, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“That sounds awfully like a challenge,” he smirks, pulling his thigh away from you. You feel the vacancy as your dress falls back down, an odd chill running through your spine.

“It’s just like gambling… try something and see if you get lucky,” you taunt, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Lucky, you say?” He grins, leaning down towards your face again, his finger caressing your cheek with small, circular motions. “I think I’ve gotten pretty lucky already tonight…”

His lips just barely graze yours as he speaks, tempting you to move forward to close the distance.

“And I think you’re going to get even luckier.”

He chuckles, shaking his head in mock disapproval before grabbing your thighs from behind, hoisting you up into his arms so you’re straddling his hips. Responding instantly, you wrap your legs around him, his arousal becoming even more obvious between your legs as your hips press against his.

Noticing your eyes widen, he smirks softly, continuing to walk you towards the bed.

“You can handle it.”

The words leave his mouth quickly, and he gives you almost no time to process before he tosses you back onto the bed, his body immediately climbing on top of yours.

“You’re so beautiful, all spread out for me like this,” he whispers, a hint of need in his voice as he settles between your legs. “But I can think of a few ways you’d be even better…”

His hand trails up your slide, lightly grazing over your breasts and coming up to the back of your neck, settling on the zipper of your dress, laying delicately on your spine. Without waiting for confirmation, he tugs on the metal, and the sensation of the zipper teeth opening begins to spread down your back.

Even in the dim light, you can see his eyes widen as your dress gets tossed to the side. He stifles a noise arising from his throat, biting the inside of his cheek as his eyes flicker down.

“My eyes are up here…” You tease, cheeks heating up slightly.

He takes a moment to reply, his gaze still unsettled as he takes in your curves and exposed skin.

“But I think you’d much rather have me down here,” Hiromi eventually replies, his index finger trailing down your sternum, eventually stopping at your navel. The cold sensation of his finger causes your body to squirm, much to your distress.

He grins in satisfaction, finally moving his finger further down your body, hooking it around your underwear.

“Or how about here?” He tauntingly runs his finger along the edge of the lace.

His finger slips further into your underwear as he presses his body down onto yours, his mouth lingering near your ear.

“Remember… I want to hear you,” his whisper echoes in your head as his finger slides down between your folds. You press your head back into the pillow, the touch eliciting a soft, but loud breath to escape your parted lips.

“Fuck…” Hiromi chuckles gruffly into your ear. “You’re so wet for me already…” he whispers needily, letting out his own deep breath.

He eagerly slips his finger further down, sliding it deep inside of you. Your hands instinctively grip his back, pulling at his shirt as he moves in and out of you, continuing to plaster kisses to your neck.

Continuing to work his fingers, two now slipping inside, his thumb rubs circles along your clit in time with his kisses, working feverishly, almost in desperation as he pumps his fingers inside of you. His lips trail down your neck, moving across your clavicle and down to your breasts.

Your hands move to his hair, tangling into the strands and breaking through the hold of the gel. He smiles against your skin, his teeth lightly grazing you before he plants more kisses along your breast, kneading the other with his free hand. You arch into his touch, your body writhing against him as he continues his onslaught of pleasure.

After only a moment, he slowly pulls his hand back and sits up; you feel the emptiness, whimpering slightly and shivering, desperate for more. He grins, listening to your sounds of need as he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean.

“You’ll get it soon…” he hums as if he can read your thoughts, beginning to unbutton the rest of his shirt, the fabric slowly slipping down his broad shoulders as you remove your own underwear. He swiftly throws the garment to the floor, leaving his chest bare, the dim city lights trickling in from the window and highlighting his softly toned body.

He keeps his black tie, shifting his legs further up your body and grabbing your arms aggressively, but still with a gentle touch.

“I don’t believe you’ll be needing these anymore,” he says, his voice husky as he begins wrapping the tie around your wrists, extending your hands above your head and tying them around the metal bar of the headboard with the fabric.

You watch, still twitching slightly from the earlier stimulation, your eyes moving from your hands and back to his eyes. His gaze darkens, moving away from the headboard and immediately moving his hands back down to your legs.

His fingers travel along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasingly getting closer to your core, but stopping just before reaching your underwear. You groan in frustration, your eyes silently begging him to continue.

“I’m gonna need to hear a little more than that,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips as he uses one hand to begin unbuckling his belt.

You purse your lips, gaze wandering down to his slacks as he quickly slips his leather belt from the loops.

“Please…” you murmur, your cheeks growing red in a slight embarrassment.

“Please what?” he teases softly, fingers now beginning to unzip his pants.

Your breath catches in your throat as he tugs his slacks from his hips, the fabric falling to his knees and bunching on the bed. He shifts out of them, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxers, his bulge now even clearer, hidden behind only a thin layer of fabric.

“I… I need you…” you choke out, eyes trying to tear away from his hips.

He smirks, climbing further onto you and placing a hand beside your head, using the other to tug at his boxers. He slips them off his hips, now leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Wanna be a bit more specific than that?” he whispers, leaning in close to your ear as he positions himself between your legs, which instinctively spread and wrap around his hips. He groans softly against your neck, using a hand to pull your hips flush to his as he pushes you down into the mattress.

“I- I need you inside of me… now… please,” you finally stutter, your lips only centimeters from his, your deep breathing synchronized in the silence of the room.

He exhales sharply, your words clearly having an affect on him as he pushes closer into you, his cock slowly trailing up and down your folds, now slick with your juices. Grinding softly into you, moaning in your ear, he lifts your legs further and positions himself over you.

“Tell me you’re ready for me,” he whispers, voice laced with need as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Please,” you nod desperately. “Please…”

He growls softly before crashing his mouth into yours, his lips working against yours passionately as he slides himself into you, keeping your hips pressed into the bed.

You swallow each other’s moans, the kiss growing deeper as he drives his hips faster and faster against yours. Stars dance across the sides of your vision as you take every inch of him, his thrusts pushing himself further inside of you, hitting all the right places.

Your hands tug at your restraints, pulling the fabric as every inch of your body tenses, filled with pure pleasure as the back of your head pushes deeper into the pillow.

“God, you’re… y-you’re so tight…” Hiromi stammers, using one hand to grab the headboard as he continues his onslaught, his hips moving rhythmically against yours.

A soft light flickers into the room from outside, the illumination heightening the shine of his skin, a think layer of sweat beginning to form as he continues to grunt and move against you. His hair falls in front of his face, the gel notwithstanding your activities.

His hand travels down to your legs, hoisting one over his shoulder effortlessly before continuing his pursuit, your body crunching together as your foot almost touches the headboard. The changed angle has him hitting new places, your body beginning to quiver from his measured strokes, beginning to speed up with urgency.

Your labored breathing is again disrupted by another kiss, one which is difficult for either of you to maintain, the sounds of pleasure continuing to fill the room.

His grip on your hip tightens, and it grows clear that he’s trying to hold back, his body taught with both pleasure and pressure. He’s teetering on the edge of release, his arms beside you shaking with the effort of holding back. He slowly shifts onto one hand, moving his other down your body, quickly finding your throbbing clit and massaging it with his thumb.

The newfound sensation sends you closer to the edge, your moans only growing louder as the frequency of slapping skin grows quicker.

“H-Hiromi.. I- I’m gonna-”

“I know…” he grunts, not stopping his rhythm. “Come for me, l-let go…”

His words bring you to your climax, the orgasm rippling though your body, caressing every limb as you gasp and shake against him, tightening around his cock.

The sounds alone are enough to push him over the edge too; his body tenses on top of yours, and he releases a low, guttural moan as he buries his face into your shoulder, his hips moving slower and slower to ride out the wave of pleasure.

Your breathing continues deeply, as if you’re desperate for air, starved for it even. His sweaty body continues to press against yours, and you feel the rise and fall of his chest on top of you as he processes his comedown.

“Y-you… you’re…” he chuckles softly as he struggles to get the words out, slowly bringing his head up to look at you with those familiar, tired eyes.

He scoffs again with a smile, shaking his head and moving to remove the tie from your wrists, gently undoing the tight knots keeping you in place. With your wrists released, you bring them to your chest, gently caressing the tender skin, worn down from the pulling and tugging.

“Mmm… I hope it didn’t hurt too bad,” Hiromi says as he settles beside you, relaxing and putting an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest as you lay next to him.

“It’s alright…” you whisper breathlessly, placing one hand on his chest, feeling the slick sweat still clinging to his skin.

“You know what might help…?” he says, looking down with a slight grin.

“What?

“A drink.”

Thanks for reading! <3

30 notes · View notes

marie-sworld · 16 hours ago

Text

Omg, I loved your one shot!! It was so well written!! Like this moment when they saw each other again "And the time that seemingly stopped, abruptly resumed to its pace when they walked past each other. No words crossed their lips, but their eyes spoke a language that was theirs alone; a language that carried echoes of every touch, every laugh, every shared moment." it was everything! And Bucky's confession at the end was even better!! Loved every single moment of your story 🥰

I Knew It Then

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: If it was supposed to be a casual thing, then why does it hurts so much?

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Words: 4.8k++

Warnings: angsty, maybe a tad too angst. a bit fluffy, if you search for it, and everything in between. non-descriptive sex scene but definitely contain adult (18+) contents. so, reader discretion.

Inspiration: @buck-star asked in a community post, “The sentence is: 'And then we were standing in front of one another again…' How would you continue it?” and this is my answer.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Bucky adjusted the sleeves of his jacket; a dark leather, matching the gloves he was wearing. Underneath was a charcoal coloured shirt; his pants was dark-wash jeans, frayed slightly at the edges. It was an effort to blend into the festive sea of people. Despite the spring air of Central Park, his style remained a mixture of shadowed past and muted present, a mix that barely fit in with the brightness of the day.

The launch of the Avengers statues was a grand event; a reminder of battles fought, lives saved, a place for the public to show their gratitude and admiration. Honestly, in Bucky’s opinion, all of this was a little bit over the top. In which, Steve agreed. They both think that they were undeserving to be sculptured and displayed like this.

Even the Avengers are human, excluding Thor, they were mortals; unfit to be worshipped as they are now. Yet, after being coaxed with quite a diplomatic, exaggerating speech about how ‘the people need a hero to look up to’, Steve ended up convinced. Not that it matters, but Stark was the one who gave that speech.

Nonetheless, Bucky couldn’t really object to the decision, but he did stated that he will not participate in the event with the rest of the team. And they can’t really do much about that, forcing him to will be equivalent to kidnapping and Bucky had literally filed a police report for it before. So, they won’t take their chances.

The cheers and thundering of applause rippled through the park, filling every space with a strange blend of solemnity and celebration. Bucky lingered on the edge, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders tensed beneath the weight of too many eyes while his own focused on his team on the make-shift stage near the statues.

He preferred it here. No red carpets. No standing in front of flashing cameras with a smile that would never sit quite right on his lips.

With less aliens around and Hydra in hiding, this should have been a familiar scene; the Avengers posing and the people cheering. But for Bucky, the novelty had long worn off. The noise washed over him like waves lapping against a shore he couldn’t care to meet.

Shifting on his feet, his fingers brushing against the worn leather of his gloves, as if the urge to retreat was creeping under his skin. The cheers, the bright flashes of cameras, all blended into a muffled hum that made him wonder how soon he could slip away unnoticed.

Until he saw her.

She stood beneath the shade of a blooming cherry tree, the soft pink petals floating down around her as if nature itself wanted to frame her as a living art.

Y/N.

Bucky's breath was caught somewhere between inhaling and exhaling. Her mere presence had left him frozen. Then, the noise of the crowd slowly fading, the applause turning duller as his heart pounded in his chest, each beat harder, louder, until it drowned out the world around him. For a few painful moments, he felt as if his heart might force its way free from his ribcage, breaking him apart in the process.

She wore that sundress again. The light fabric swayed gently with each breeze, caressing her figure, the pastel colour that reminded him of the flowers he used to get for her. It was the same dress she’d worn that day; the day he realised falling for her wasn't a choice but a reality that had already happened. He swallowed hard, memories surging in torrents. Her laughter echoed in his ears, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about things that mattered to her.

Now however, beneath the sweet sundress and that familiar grace, there was a darkness under her eyes. Shadows etched into her delicate skin, sadness lingering; still and silent, behind the gaze that once held nothing but warmth. Bucky's jaw tightened as he took it all in, every unspoken truth laid bare on her face. He knew why; he’d heard whispers through mutual acquaintances. About the heaviness she tried to mask, about the pain she tried to live through.

Seeing it now, in the flesh, was so much worse.

It broke him.

Again. His chest ached, a raw wound ripped within his chest; for every moment she suffered and every part of him that couldn’t fix it. Bucky wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. It was as if an invisible vine had him rooted on earth, willing him to witness the toll their separation had taken on her. How ironic, he thought bitterly. For someone once considered a ghost by the world, he was all too aware of how haunting it felt to see her pain in living colour.

The bar had been crowded that night when they met, laughter and music clashing together in a storm of contagious intoxication. Bucky found his usual spot in the corner, however unusually alone this time. His shoulders hunched beneath his leather jacket; his gloved hands nursed a drink he wasn’t truly interested in. He was simply another brooding man in a bar, trying to swallow his own bitterness, trying to forget. Elena’s words, his ex’s words, echoed in his mind; taunting and cold, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue.

“Mind if I sit?”

Her voice cut through the noise. He’d looked up, barely masking his surprise. The woman standing before him was... a force of nature. She didn’t wait for his permission and slid into the seat beside him, a confident smile tugging at her lips.

She was so bright, so unapologetically there.

It almost felt disorienting. Her eyes sparkled like she’d already decided he was interesting and wasn’t about to change her mind. “You always brood like this, or is it a special occasion?” she teased, tilting her head.

“Special occasion,” he replied dryly, a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone. “Guess I’m lucky, huh?”

She laughed, loud and unfiltered, drawing curious looks. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, raising her glass to him as if they were old friends sharing a private joke.

Bucky fought to suppress the twitch of his lips. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. “What brings you to this fine establishment?” he asked, his voice flat but not harsh. “Looking to rescue sad souls like me?”

“Rescue?” She leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Please. I’m here for the entertainment value.”

“Brutal,” he said, but he couldn’t help it; the corner of his mouth lifted. A real smile was threatening to form.

Y/N, as she introduced herself a few moments later, was a whirlwind of honesty and charm. She spoke without hesitation, as if every thought had a right to be voiced. She teased him about the gloves he refused to take off, made a biting but hilarious comment about her friend’s taste in men as she watched her and the man grinding it on the dance floor, and then, out of nowhere, zeroed in on him.

She gestured to his drink. “Let me guess. Your ex. She, or he, I don’t judge…” A tiniest smile curved on the corner of his lips. “She.” he clarified which was replied with a glint of interest in Y/N’s eyes. She nodded, “Okay, she left you for someone who didn’t know how to brood so attractively.”

Bucky choked on his drink, laughter erupting before he could help himself. It was warm and a little bashful, completely genuine. He hadn’t laughed like that in... he couldn’t remember how long.

Y/N was not expecting much tonight. She was literally dragged by her friends to ’go out, meet people, get laid’. Truthfully, she wasn’t really expecting anything more than a few hours of banter and maybe some fleeting connection, just enough to make her smile. Witty remarks, a few drinks, teasing anyone interesting enough to engage; that was her aim.

But when she saw him, brooding in his corner, a storm trapped beneath layers of leather and cold eyes, curiosity overtook reason. She wanted to know if he would entertain her.

And he did.

Bucky or as he introduced himself, James, was sarcasm wrapped in shadows, his words carrying a sharpness that wasn’t meant to hurt, just to deflect. She found it oddly endearing, a defence mechanism she recognized all too well. She wanted to pull more from him, so she leaned in, laughed too loudly, pressed buttons she guessed would make him react.

At first, it was just fun.

But then he smiled. God, when he smiled, her world tilted; much against her will too. It was like the first hint of sunlight breaking through a dense, dark cloud. His laughter was warm and unpracticed, spilling out of him as if it surprised him too. The moment stretched, just for a heartbeat, but it was enough.

Her heart momentarily shuddered. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, blooming a soft pink she couldn’t hide. So, she covered it with more wit, more charm, desperate to keep that smile there a second longer.

“I’m kidding. Kind of,” she said, eyes softening as she studied him. “But seriously, imagine missing out on you. That’s just sad at this point.”

But underneath the humour, there was a flutter of something much profound. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Her heartbeat raced and she felt exposed. How ridiculous, she thought, to be undone by a smile; a real one, genuine and imperfect, just as raw as her own attempt to draw it out.

The concept of time blurred after that. Drinks flowed, words tumbled out like secrets they didn’t know they were sharing. Banter turned into stories, laughter into pauses that spoke louder than the music blaring around them. At some point, she reached for his hand, not caring that it was gloved or why. Her fingers lingered, hesitant for half a breath, before resting there as if they’d been doing so for years.

The air thickened and inches shrink.

When he kissed her, she found herself kissing him back with a need she hadn’t recognized before. It wasn’t about filling the void; at least, not only that. It was about the way he leaned into her touch, how he kissed like it was the last act that could hold him together. It was raw and open and imperfect and she was high on it.

Despite the fleeting, breath-stealing kisses they shared prior, Bucky had only meant to see her safely to her home. That was the plan, the line he swore he wouldn’t cross. But when her lips met his again just outside her apartment, everything unravelled. Her kiss was insistent, needy in a way that mirrored the ache deep inside him. She pulled him in, the door closing behind them, shutting out the world and any remnants of restraint he had left.

They stumbled to the bed, still fully dressed, every touch and kiss growing more urgent. Her hands found the edges of his jacket, fingers seeking to peel it away. But when she tugged, he pulled back, his breaths ragged. “Wait,” he murmured, eyes cast down. His hesitation was a stark contrast to the flames between them moments before.

She paused immediately, her gaze softening. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was gentle, careful not to push too hard but unwilling to let him slip away either.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said, the words thick, heavy.

A crease formed between her brows. “What? Your name is not James?”

The question, so genuine and earnest, pulled a laugh from him; short, almost incredulous. “No. I am James, but…” He ran a gloved hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes.

“But…?” she prompted, leaning in, her attention unwavering.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, each syllable weighted.

For a moment, she was silent. He could see her piecing it together, searching for the meaning behind his words. Then understanding dawned, slow and certain. “You’re…” she began, just as he said, “The Winter Soldier.” But what came from her lips was, “The Avenger.”

They stared at each other, the tension snapping into something fragile, almost surreal. “What?” they both said in unison, the word a mix of disbelief and irony.

The absurdity of it cracked something inside him, and he laughed; a real, deep laugh that felt like a release. She joined him, their laughter intertwining in a way that felt like a mutual understanding. At the moment, Bucky realised that she didn’t flinch or shrink back. She met him where he was, without hesitation. He felt a pull; unsettling but oddly comforting; and, for a split second, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be different.

The humour melted into something more intense as she leaned closer, her hands found his again. “I want this, James,” she whispered, peeling away his glove. She cupped his cool, metal hand, pressing his palm against her cheek. The contrast of warmth against vibranium made his chest tighten. “I want you.” she spoke almost breathlessly; her eyes gazed up at him with an endearing plea.

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and something much softer, “I want you too,” he said, his voice low, unguarded.

They moved together, shedding barriers with every kiss and touch. When their clothes finally fell away, they explored each other with as much urgency and wonder. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, almost desperate. He wanted to memorise her reactions. He wanted to give as much as he could.

It was raw and consuming, a night spent discovering each other. There was nothing mechanical, nothing detached. For hours, it was just them, bodies moving in unison and their moans and groans of pleasure mingling in a symphony that can challenge a siren’s song.

He found himself lost in her, in the way her skin felt beneath his, in the way she moaned for him. He couldn’t hold back, not when she responded to him with such hunger, her body moving against his with a need that matched his own.

Every touch felt like a revelation, a new discovery, and he was pulled deeper into her, into the warmth and the rawness of the moment. It was as if time itself had stopped, and all that mattered was the heat of their connection.

When morning came, the light creeping in through the blinds, they lay bashfully, tangled in the sheets. For a few moments, there was only silence, a comfortable quiet punctuated by the slow return of reality. He turned to her, the words were heavy, he knew it, but he continued, “I’m not ready for… anything serious,” he admitted, hating the way it sounded, but knowing he owed her the truth.

She met his gaze, her expression soft and understanding. “That’s okay,” she said. “We don’t need to label it. It can be what it is.”

“Casual?” he asked, a hint of humour back in his voice.

She smiled, a touch of mischief in her eyes. “Casual.”

They both laughed, the sound soft and real. Whatever this was, for now, it was enough.

The next few months, their ‘casual’ arrangement became something she thought about far too often and yet tried to pretend wasn’t pressing too deep. The sex was undeniably great, almost maddeningly so. It wasn’t just the way he touched her, though that alone was enough to steal her breath; the careful, deliberate caresses that made her feel cherished and desired all at once.

It was the way he explored her as if every inch of her, the weight of his attention, the way he moved with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as if he couldn’t decide whether to worship her or devour her. And maybe that was why it was so intoxicating; because she was falling for him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

It wasn’t just the physical connection; it was everything in between. She fell for the way he could be painfully serious one moment and then crack the most unexpected joke, a hint of dry humour lighting up his eyes. She fell for the way he made sure her tea was always brewed just the way she liked, even though he claimed to be terrible at domestic things.

She fell for his unspoken kindness; the way he would slip a blanket over her when she fell asleep on the couch, or his habit of standing protectively between her and crowded places without even thinking about it. It was all so subtle, so Bucky, and it deteriorated her defences bit by bit.

And Bucky on the other hand, tried not to let himself be too vulnerable around her. But Y/N had a warmth that made it hard for him to stay closed off. She didn’t push; she was just; a steady, comforting presence that felt like safety. Sometimes, without meaning to, he’d spill pieces of himself.

Like the night he told her about Elena; the betrayal, the gaslighting on how she cheated on him because of him; it was his trauma and depression that had driven her away. As if she was trying to make it worse, as if she had a vendetta to isolate him from everyone else.

And Y/N had listened without judgement, her eyes soft with compassion. “That’s not on you,” she had whispered, her hand covering his. “She was the problem, not you.” When the weight of his past grew too heavy, she was there.

And when she opened up about her own scars; the ex who wouldn’t leave her alone, the fear that lingered in the shadows; Bucky listened, fierce protectiveness hardening his features. That night, instead of touching each other’s body, they caressed each other’s innermost scars. They’d talk late into the night; their words heavy, but never too much for the other to bear.

And ever since their dynamic was a shifting dance, effortlessly dirty and playful one minute, his lips teasing at her neck, their words to each other were dripping with sin. The next, they’d be soft and tender, his forehead pressed to hers as they simply breathed together. And then there were the quiet, deep moments; when silence spoke more than words, and they found comfort just in being close, in the simple act of not being alone.

It was everything, all tangled together, and it made it so easy, too damn easy, to fall in love with him. She knew she shouldn’t, but with Bucky, it felt inevitable.

Then, one in those blissful days, after another night of incredible sex, Bucky laid beside her, his chest still heavy with the aftermath of their intimacy. His eyes traced the soft curves of her form as she rested, her skin glowing in the dim light.

She looked almost ethereal; untouchable, like something too perfect for him. The weight of her presence next to him was both comforting and painful, tightening his chest with a longing he couldn’t name. Shifting slightly, he cleared his throat, his voice rough when he finally spoke, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I’m going back to Elena,” he confessed, the statement hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, there was something in his eyes; a flicker of hesitation, of conflict, as if he desperately wanted to hold onto what they had, as if saying the words was a battle he was losing with every breath.

But whatever war raged within him never fully translated in the way she saw him. To Y/N, his words felt resolute, laced with a kind of tenderness that made it hurt even more. He seemed sorry; deeply, genuinely. But the weight of his decision pressed down between them, undeniable.

She went still for a moment and he could feel the tension radiating from her. The way her body seemed to freeze, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t respond at first, her gaze distant, focusing somewhere far away as though she needed a moment to process. Bucky’s chest felt heavy with the weight of his own words, the urge to take them back gnawing at him.

Yet he kept his expression neutral, as if none of this hurt him. He needed to see this through, even if every second felt like he was tearing himself apart. “This…being here with you, touching you like this… this will be the last time,” he added, the sound of his voice was low but remained adamant.

Y/N had always known, somewhere deep down, that this day would come. They had both agreed that what they had was casual, temporary, nothing more than a passing thing. They had agreed their connection was fleeting; simply a series of borrowed moments. But even as she tried to convince herself it was fine, she knew better.

Nothing about what they shared was truly casual. They’d been there for each other in ways no one else had. When the world had been cruel to him, scrutinising him for his past as the Winter Soldier, she’d been his quiet strength, the one who never judged him, never flinched. And when her own demons resurfaced, casting shadows over her life; he’d been the one there, standing between her and her doom. He had been her rock, just as she had been his.

They were each other's strength, each other's solace.

'Has it ever really been casual?' But she couldn’t voice those thoughts. She wouldn’t burden him with her feelings when he already carried so much of his own. She wouldn’t beg for more than he could offer.

With a soft breath, she forced herself to smile, her fingers brushing over his cheek, committing every moment to memory before it slipped away. “Will this make you happy?” she asked, her voice steady, though pain lingered beneath the surface.

Bucky’s heart twisted, but he nodded, the lie coming too easily. “Yes,” he said, his voice lacking conviction even as he tried to seem sure. He averted his eyes, hoping she wouldn’t see past the facade.

Her smile wavered, but she fought to hold it in place. She wanted to show him that she was fine, that she wasn’t falling apart. But as she pressed her smile into place, a single tear slipped from her eye, tracing a quiet path down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, but it was already there; a silent confession of the pain he couldn’t see.

“Then, I guess this is goodbye,” she whispered, barely audible.

She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, her breath warm against his lips. And then she kissed him; softly, deeply, as if it would be their last.

Because, in this moment, it felt like it was.

The days blurred into weeks, and then months, each one dragging by with a dull ache that Y/N couldn’t shake. She buried herself in work, refusing to let her mind linger on what she’d lost. When that wasn't enough, she picked up freelance gigs; anything that kept her mind too occupied even thought about pain and the aching emptiness Bucky’s absence had left behind.

It was easier that way; easier to drown in deadlines and endless to-do lists than to confront the hollowness. And through all this time, there were not a single call, or texts from Bucky. Just silence. Rationally, she knew it was for the best. He was a hero, after all; his life pulled him in a thousand different directions. And she told herself she was fine.

But late at night, when the world grew quiet, she could still feel it; the loss that crept into her bones and refused to let go. Most of the time, she'd catch herself staring at the ceiling, replaying the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at her as if she were his whole world, even if just for a moment. She tried to shake it off, to convince herself that it was all just an illusion, but the hole in her chest ached too deeply to ignore.

Time passed. The headlines told of his deeds; how he saved countless lives, how the public finally began to accept him, to see him not just as a relic of violence and pain, but as a hero. She should’ve felt proud. Maybe, on some level, she did. But every article, every broadcast, every mention of him only twisted the knife deeper.

At times, she’d pause whatever she was doing when his name flashed across the screen. It was a reflex, a sudden, uncontrollable urge to reach for something she could never have. She’d feel her chest tighten, her emotions were a blend of pride and pain. Why did she feel like this, like she wasn’t needed, like she was somehow unwanted by the man who had once looked at her like she was everything?

Even then, she couldn’t help but feel proud. No matter how much it hurts, she was happy for him. She remembered the sleepless nights when his past came alive in nightmares; when he’d thrash and murmur apologies with a voice cracked by guilt. She could still feel the weight of him in her arms as he clung to her in the dark, his breath shuddering against her neck, whispering, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” The memory of it made her chest ache; the rawness of his pain had always cut her deep, but it had also made her want to be his safe place, his haven.

She thought of those nights often. The way he’d hold her as if she were a shield against the ghosts that hunted him, how he’d bury his face in her shoulder to block out the world’s judgement. She’d whispered reassurances, stroked his hair, and wished she could take away every ounce of his pain. Seeing him now, standing tall, saving lives, and slowly being accepted by the world; it filled her with a bittersweet pride.

He deserved every bit of recognition, every chance to rebuild himself.

But the cost of that pride was the deep loneliness that came with it; the reminder that he was out there saving the world while she was left to save herself from missing him. She wanted to be enough, to be the one he leaned on, but it was clear now that his path led somewhere she couldn’t follow. So she pushed forward, forced herself to be strong, and told herself that being happy for him was enough.

When the crowd at the Central Park continued to roar with excitement, time seemed like it stopped for Bucky and Y/N. And then they were standing in front of one another again, the air between them held a weight, as if every word left unspoken all those nights was pressing against the space between them. Bucky’s eyes flickered; momentarily shocked, yet he didn’t falter.

Even then, Y/N saw it. She saw the look in his eyes that she knew too well, the look he had when it was just them, wrapped up in stolen hours that no one knew about. She forced a smile, warm and soft, the very same that she used to give him in those silent times, when their skins were pressed against each other, and everything else didn't matter.

His heart ached with a need he thought he’d buried. He thought he had let her go. He kept telling himself he was not in love, that she was just someone to keep his bed warm, to fill the empty space his past had left behind. At least, that was what he told himself, over and over, like a mantra meant to dull the edges of the truth.

But deep down, he knew it was a lie; a desperate deception crafted to shield him from the vulnerability clawing at his walls. He was not fooling anyone, not himself at least. Each night he spent denying the way his pulse quickened at the thought of her touch, each time he claimed he felt nothing, the thin layer of defence cracked beneath the weight of untold longing. It was easier to lie, to pretend he didn’t care, than to face the reality that she had carved her place inside him, far deeper than he wanted to admit.

Now, seeing her again, smiling at him as if it didn't shatter her heart when he left, it was like he’d been hollowed out.

And the time that seemingly stopped, abruptly resumed to its pace when they walked past each other. No words crossed their lips, but their eyes spoke a language that was theirs alone; a language that carried echoes of every touch, every laugh, every shared moment.

‘I miss you,’ their gazes whispered, even as the distance between them widened with each step.

They kept walking.

That night, Bucky found himself in front of her apartment. When she opened the door, it was as if she was expecting someone. Not him, but someone. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him standing there, broad shoulders taut and expression unreadable.

For a second, neither of them spoke. The sight of her; dressed in a fitted dress that draped elegantly over her figure, accentuating every line and curve, stole the air from his lungs. It was the kind of dress she used to wear when they’d go out on a date, the kind that never failed to send his thoughts swirling in the gutter. No thoughts, just lust.

She looked stunning. Ethereal even. But, painfully out of reach.

Y/N blinked. Shock, confusion, and hurt flashing in her eyes, as if the memories of what they’d had; and how it ended, came crashing back all at once. “Hey… James. What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tight and Bucky was never used to it.

He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting to her lips and lingering there longer than he intended. “Out for a date?” he murmured, evading her question, the words tasting like lead.

“Yeah…Kind of.” she replied, guarded. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. Finally, he spoke again, his voice a low rasp. “Can I come in?”

She studied him warily, the hurt in her eyes morphing into something sharper. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, James.”

“Please,” he said, and the desperation in his tone softened her resolve just enough. She stepped aside reluctantly. “You gotta be quick,” she said, almost dismissively. “Josh is on the way.”

The mention of another man’s name was like a knife twisting in his chest. Bucky forced himself to stay still, to not let his expression betray him, but inside, he felt raw, the bitterness coiling deep.

Once inside, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier between them. “Talk,” she said flatly.

He paced, trying to find the words. “It wasn’t real,” he started, voice thick. “Me and Elena getting back together; it was a mission. She was suspected of being a mole.” he paused as he studied her reaction, ” We couldn’t risk telling you. We had to make it look real. ”

She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, as if trying to grasp the whirlwind of his sudden appearance. “You’re here for that? To explain yourself?” There was incredulity in her voice, mingled with raw, exhausted pain that came from reopening old wounds.

“Yes.” Bucky’s voice was firm but edged with something close to desperation. “We managed to capture her.” He took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. “We had to keep the mission under wraps, Y/N. We couldn’t risk word getting out… not after what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. We couldn’t have another Hydra situation, or anything that even looked like it.”

He paused, the tension in his jaw tightening. “It turns out her plan was to isolate me. To make me even more vulnerable than I already am, before they…” His words faltered, heavy and incomplete, as if finishing the sentence would make it all too real.

But he didn’t need to say more. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, the realisation clear in her expression. She was smart; too smart not to piece it together. She knew what Bucky feared most. He’d be dragged back into Hydra’s grasp, or worse, used as a pawn by some other twisted organisation.

It was a fate too cruel to name, and he could see in her eyes that she already understood.

Her brow furrowed, processing everything Bucky had explained thus far. A mixture of confusion and anger flitting across her features. “So that was it?” she demanded. “I was just collateral damage?”

“No,” he said quickly, the word breaking from him like a plea. “No. It wasn’t like that. I wanted to protect you. We all did.” He hesitated, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I did.”

She scoffed, a bitter edge cutting through her words. “Unbelievable. I smiled at you one time, James—one time—and you think you can just come back into my life like you own it?”

The accusation hung between them, and the depth of her frustration was like a dam bursting. He recoiled slightly, horrified by the thought that he’d hurt her so deeply. “No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not what this is. I didn’t want to just—”

She cut him off with a sharp, biting word. “Bullshit!” The accusation hit him like a physical blow, but he pressed on, desperation bleeding into his tone. “I just wanted to tell you the truth,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “That it was all fake.”

“Fake?” She echoed the word with a harsh, bitter laugh that rang with disbelief. It stung him, sharp as a slap across the face. “It looked pretty damn real to me, James. You don’t think I saw the pictures? The headlines? How you were with her?”

“It was a cover, Y/N. I didn’t have a choice.”

Her eyes flashed, anger and betrayal burning bright. She took a step toward him, as if the weight of her hurt couldn’t be contained. “You didn’t have a choice? You had a choice when you came to me, when you told me it was over. When you ripped my heart out, did you have a choice then?”

Bucky flinched, the impact of her words like a physical blow, but he held his ground. “I was trying to protect you.”

“By hurting me?” Her voice cracked, raw and trembling. “By tearing me apart?”

Silence crashed over them, heavy and suffocating. Her chest heaved, each breath ragged. “By leaving me behind?” she whispered, her words dripping with the weight of every unspoken wound. “By pretending like what we had meant nothing?”

He stepped closer, the space between them suffocating and electric. “It wasn’t nothing,” he said, his voice quivering. “It was everything. You were everything.”

She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. “I don’t believe you.”

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached for her face, cupping her cheeks as though she were something fragile. His thumb brushed away her tears, his touch reverent, aching. “I love you, Y/N,” he breathed, the confession breaking through the dam of his restraint. “From the start, when we laughed about that ridiculous introduction; me, calling myself the Winter Soldier and you insisting I was an Avenger—I knew it then.”

He swallowed hard, blinking through tears. “But it wasn’t just that. It was how you saw me; not the killer, not the broken man, but me. The way you’d smile at me, like I was worth something. The nights you stayed awake, holding me when I couldn’t breathe, when the nightmares felt too real. The way you’d whisper that I wasn’t alone. No one ever did that for me. No one.”

He paused, the rawness in his expression deepening. “I knew it was too late when I realized I’d been in love with you for a while. It hit me that day at Sally’s, remember?” His voice grew softer, distant with memory. “It was spring. You wore that sundress you bragged about getting for next to nothing at a thrift store. The sunlight made your hair glow, and you laughed at something ridiculous; a dog chasing bubbles, I think. I couldn’t stop looking at you. It wasn’t just the dress or the moment. It was the way you made everything feel… lighter. Like I could breathe again. Like the past didn’t own me.”

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb tracing along her jawline. “I realized then that I was in deep. That it was more than just a moment. And it terrified me, because I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin you.” His voice cracked, weighted with a mix of love and regret.

His shoulders shook as he let out a ragged breath, the tears spilling over. “It’s the way you laugh, the way you fight for everyone you care about. How you make me feel like I’m more than my past… God, I tried so hard to keep you safe. Even if it meant pushing you away. But it killed me, Y/N. Every day.”

She stared at him, stunned and raw, her own tears falling. His hands cradled her face gently, his touch trembling. “I love you,” he said again, more desperately. “I love you for every moment you gave me hope when I thought I couldn’t be saved. I love you for being there, even when I didn’t deserve it. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

He leaned in, their faces inches apart, his tears mixing with hers as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, feeling the sincerity in every broken syllable. For a heartbeat, it seemed she would turn away. But then, her voice cracked, trembling with everything she’d buried. “I love you too,” she breathed, voice shaking. “I never stopped.”

His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling, raw and vulnerable. Slowly, their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, a kiss that spoke of everything they had denied and everything they still longed for. In each other’s touch, everything else faded, leaving only the truth between them.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: i was planning to do a descriptive smut scene at first, but after piecing everything from my draft and re-reading the overall flow, i don't think it's suitable to include it in this. perhaps another time, a side/extra story maybe. i hope y'all okay with that and enjoy your reading 🥺

#mcu marvel avengers #bucky barnes #winter soldier #white wolf #one shot

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