#People who draw with their fingers are terrifying I think

[moonstruckme]

HI MAE so i didnt send the shy remus x reader ask but i saw that u wanted ideas and i had one. what about reader who's very cocky and like confident and stuff and remus is intimidated by her usually but then theyre at a party or smth and shes all drunk and shes all over him telling him stuff like how shes got the biggest crush on him or like how hes genuinely one of the most attractive people shes ever met and shy remus is js like 😳 while also taking care of her bc shes so drunk and simultaneously trying not to combust

Hi my love, thank you so much for your request!

cw: alcohol

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Really, it should be Sirius’ responsibility to look after you. It is his party, after all. But Sirius has a love for delegating unwanted tasks and also a love for meddling (which Remus theorizes he got at least partly from James). So, naturally, you’re in Remus’ lap. 

“You guys are so nice,” you croon, words strung together like cursive and fingers toying with a loose thread of Remus’ sweater. He’s resigned himself to letting you unravel the whole thing without complaint. “All of you, all your friends are the nicest…the warmest people I ever knew. How’d you do that?” 

Remus smiles down at you. “I think James has always been good at bringing out the best in people.” 

He’s not entirely sure how you came to be lying on your back on the couch, your head on Remus’ thigh and your hands reaching for the dangling thread above you like a cat enjoying some lazy play. If he asked you, Remus doesn’t think you’d know, either. It makes a lovely view for him, your eyes uptilted in his direction and features relaxed and unguarded as a result of the series of tequila shots Sirius had cajoled you into not realizing you’d already had a few drinks. Remus very much enjoys having you this close and being able to look at you so casually, even if your brassy, larger-than-life demeanor often terrifies as much as impresses him. Even if your head on his thigh makes his face feel like a fire hazard. 

“Don’t think he had to work very hard with you. You’re such a sweetheart already.” You say it so simply, an obvious truth, and Remus finds himself staying perfectly still like a rabbit in the woods that thinks it might yet escape your notice. His heartbeat pitters in everywhere from his cheeks to his fingertips. He worries he’s going to have to make a response, but your eyes widen suddenly. “Oh! Sit still.” 

No problems there. Remus moves only his eyes as you sit up from his lap, tucking your feet underneath you and reaching for him with your lip trapped between your teeth in concentration. You touch a fingertip to his cheek and smile victoriously. 

“Got it.” You turn your finger, showing him. “You had an eyelash.” You blow it off your fingertip and onto Sirius’ rug. Remus marvels at the unthinking loveliness of you. “Have I talked to you about your eyes before?” you ask conversationally. 

Remus blinks, ceasing his tracking of the eyelash to look at you. “I don’t think so,” he ventures, though he knows you haven’t. He remembers most exchanges you’ve had, and he definitely would have remembered that. 

“Oh.” Your brows purse softly. “Must’ve been with someone else,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Anyway, it’s important to me that you know, they’re really beautiful.” 

Remus startles, partly at the compliment but mostly at the touch you lay on his cheek, your fingers cool and gentle, like you’re steadying his face for your perusal. You look into his eyes attentively. 

“They’re brown,” Remus says in a soft voice. 

Your lips tilt like he’s said something funny. “Nobody’s eyes are just brown, Remus. There are so many different kinds.” Your index finger draws a short line across his cheekbone. Remus can’t tell you mean for it to or not. “Yours are sort of like a…like a gradient. They get lighter farther down.” 

Remus decides to study your eyes as you study his, and he sees what you mean. The shadow of your lashes makes your irises look darker at the tops. It’s difficult to tell, though, with your pupils eclipsing so much of them. 

“They’re, like, a warmish brown,” you’re saying, gaze unwavering. “Like the color you want your tea to be. You know, there’s some fact or study or something that says brown eyes make people feel safe. Did you know that?” 

“I didn’t,” Remus says. The weight of your attention is taking its toll on him, his body aching to sink into the couch cushions. He wants to ask if brown eyes have that effect on you, but he doesn’t have the nerve. “Is that so?” he asks instead.

You shrug. “I dunno. Works on me.” 

The breath stalls in Remus’ lungs. You’re looking at him like you haven’t said anything out of the ordinary, expression wide open and somewhat unfocused. 

You yawn, removing your hand from his face to half cover your mouth. It’s an awfully endearing show, and over too fast. “I guess that’s probably why—” You cut yourself off with a hiccup. Your eyes flare like you weren’t expecting it, hand jumping back up in front of your mouth. Remus grins before he can stop himself. 

“Oh.” Your smile is an afterthought, a response to his. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Remus isn’t even certain what you’re apologizing for. 

Your eyes have that sweet, attentive look again. “I really like when you smile.” 

Remus feels heat spread up to the tips of his ears. It’s official. He’s got more in common with a live flame than a human anymore. “What were you saying?” he prompts. 

You bite your lip as though you’ve forgotten. “Oh!” Your eyes light. “Just, I guess that’s probably why I have such a giant crush on you.” 

Remus’ heart thuds. He breathes, “What?” 

“Yeah.” You roll your eyes, grinning at yourself. “It’s relentless.” Hiccup. “Super embarrassing. But—but you’ve got those eyes, and your freckles, and that sweetheart face…” You shrug again, helpless. Ride out another hiccup. “What am I supposed to do?” 

Remus stares at you. It seems impossible. You have a crush on him? It’s out of the natural order. The world’s gone to chaos. It’s supposed to be the other way around! Remus pines silently after you, you eventually find some big, cocksure bloke who can match you, and Remus continues to pine whilst you go on with your brilliant, dazzling life. That’s the way it’s meant to be. 

“I would…” Remus finds his mouth forming around words he doesn’t recognize until they come out. “I’d know a thing or two about a crush like that.” 

Your lips part, but you don’t look offended. “Well, yeah. I’d hope you knew I fancied you, I’ve only been seeking you out ever since we met.” 

Not what he meant. Remus did not, in fact, know that. 

“I didn’t notice you were,” he admits. 

Your head tilts. “Really?” There’s an obvious follow up question—then what did you mean just now?—but for one reason or another, you don’t ask it. You only lean onto his shoulder, your head slipping a few inches down his arm.

Remus channels all his bravery into an arm around your waist to keep you from slumping further. He vows to himself to tell you tomorrow.

[mizzyislost]

made the mistake of trying to draw my scugs in. the notes app. oh god im so sorry little guys

[runawaycarouselhorse]

Don't feel too bad for him, it's all consequences of his own actions.

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[criminalamnesia]

GOD I LOVE traitor and how strong you've made the reader. It's amazing! And I eagerly await any future parts, whether it's big proper story or drabbles. BUT, you come first and your life does so you do what you gotta and go be amazing! We can wait. Proud of you X

im so late to responding, but thank you! <3

here’s part six :) also not really proofread so I apologize for any errors! I’ll fix them later!

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor, cross-legged amongst broken glass, brittle flowers, and discarded clothes, when someone knocks on the door.

you don’t move, don’t say anything. the noise seems distant— too far off to be real.

besides, if someone is really knocking on your door, they know you’re in here.

and if they know you’re in here, it could be one of five people. your former squad mates, or the doctor.

the knock sounds again. it shakes you from your stupor, yet you still make no move to answer it. let them come in; let them see what they’ve made of you. of who you were. of who you could’ve been.

the person on the other side of the door is speaking now. you register the muffled baritone as it fights to be heard from the hall.

you clench your fists, then unclench them— stretching out your fingers as far as they go. clench them again. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it’s a tick— a calming habit. you don’t think it’s working at the present moment.

the doorknob turns. you still don’t move.

the door is being pushed in, light from the hallway aggressively slicing through the darkness you’d left yourself in. you fought the urge to curl in on yourself.

you’d been so consumed by your anger— are consumed by it— but coming into this room and seeing that damn note was earth-shaking. it was terrifying, and it was a tangible reminder of the team’s unapologetic tactics. simon’s unapologetic tactics.

the voice is speaking once more, clearer now that the door is out of the way— but you can’t make out the words over the ringing in your ears.

a hand gingerly lands on your shoulder, and that’s when you snap.

you whirl around, throwing yourself into the intruder like a cobra striking its prey. clearly caught off guard, the person lets loose a ‘oomph’ and falls backwards as you take out their legs.

everything is fuzzy. the ringing in your ears crescendos, and it brings pain with it. you’re striking your target with reckless abandon, still not registering who is flailing underneath you.

punches land and land and land. nails scrape and scratch and draw blood. all you see is red— all you hear is the sharpening of a knife or the whirring of a saw.

and then there are hands on you, yanking you away from your victim. the red slowly starts to recede, the ringing in your ears subsiding.

it’s only then do you release you’re screaming.

its only then do you see the swollen and bloodied face of your doctor, lying a foot away from you. she sputters a cough, blood leaving her lips and splattering onto the man leaning over her.

“you need to calm down,” a voice speaks into your ear.

“calm down, or they’ll sedate you,” it says, and you finally stop screaming. you take a breath.

clench your fists. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it takes you another minute to calm down enough to realize the person holding you is simon.

the doctor is being carried away now, and you notice it’s johnny and kyle carrying her. you notice john is standing to your left, eyes full of sympathy and guilt as he looks at you.

“get,” you huff, reaching down to slap at the arms circling your middle. “off me.”

simon releases you instantly. you don’t hesitate to put distance between the two of you. a few feet, at least. he just stands there, eyes watching with an expression you can’t place.

“what happened, love?” john’s voice is a soft rumble as he speaks. he moves a hand toward you, but decides against touching you— even if he only wanted to comfort you.

“I—” you start, glancing down at your hands. they’re bloody again.

“I thought it was—” you try again, but stop yourself.

you thought it was what? thought it was who?

you had heard man’s voice speaking to you. your mind had twisted things— had given you something you wanted to hear, deep down— because it gave you the chance to strike.

it gave you the opportunity to tear apart whichever man from the 141 had been there to check on you.

and you know you had wished it was simon.

john takes a cautious step forward at your silence. “let’s get you somewhere private, yeah? somewhere to cool down.”

the fire licking at your veins has subsided in favor of the chill of shame. of terror at what you’ve done— what you’ve done to the one person you had on your side. the person who was truly on your side.

you don’t fight this time. you give a nod, then solemnly follow him down the corridor. simon falls in behind you.

john takes you to his office, opening the door and ushering you inside. you move without protest, stepping into the dark room.

the two men enter behind you, john flicking on the light while simon pulls the door shut. you would’ve laughed at the scenario if you were in your right mind.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t okay. you knew that you weren’t, at least physically, but what you just did…

there was no way you were going to be transferred now. you doubted you would’ve even before you attacked the doctor.

you’re going to be discharged. you understand why.

but it hurts. this is your job, your life. years and years on the battlefield don’t prepare you for life off of it.

“love?”

john’s voice brings you back to the present. you realize you’ve been standing in the center of the room, unmoving and unblinking.

you feel simon’s hard gaze on your back. you want to cry.

how did things ever get this fucked up?

“im fine.” you say, not bothering to turn around. you didn’t trust yourself to keep it together if you faced them.

“you’re not,” john states, and you roll your eyes.

“im not talking about this with you,” you bite out, circling your arms around yourself. “either of you.”

“you should at least talk to someone, love— this isn’t healthy.”

“please, stop.” you tell him, but john was never good at taking orders. he gave them, not followed them.

“you hated the therapist, and you haven’t spoken to anyone else since… everything.” he continues.

“stop, john,” you try again.

“you need to let it out, love. we’re here—”

you spin around then, fists dropping to your sides. “for the love of god, john, shut the fuck up.”

that stuns him into silence, eyes slightly widened and mouth agape as he looks at you. simon doesn’t move from his position near the door.

“you are the last people i would ever fucking talk to! I don’t even want to be talking to you right now, but you won’t stop trying. trying to talk to me, trying to make it up, trying to wriggle your way back into my good graces.”

you pause, sucking in a breath. “johnny must’ve relayed the message, and that’s why you’ve back off a little— but one wrong fucking move and you’re swooping again! you aren’t my dad, you aren’t my lover, you aren’t my friend, and you’re sure as hell not my fucking captain anymore.”

“so please, john, leave me be. the four of you have done enough.”

the room is silent for a beat, then two. then three. and then simon takes a step forward, removes his balaclava, and looks you square in the face.

he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, so you take the chance to.

“don’t start with me, simon. just don’t.”

“the note,” he says. “you read it.”

you just look at him, a disbelieving scoff leaving your mouth as you give a nod. “yes, I read your fucking note. and I saw the stupid flowers, too, after seeing everything else you wrecked. tell me, how long did you wait after you tied me up to tear it all apart?”

he just watches you. you want to scream.

the note flashes back into your mind.

‘hope you can understand.’

“does it make you feel better, thinking what you did was right?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have done it differently.” simon tells you.

you clench your fists. unclench. stretch.

breathe in, breathe out.

“and if the roles were reversed,” you said, watching him. “if you were in my position, would you have expected me to do what you did?”

“yes.” he says, without hesitation.

“you’re unbelievable,” you huff. “is that how little I meant to you? all that time, wasted?”

“that’s not what I said.” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“no, but it’s what you meant.” anger is bubbling up again. you feel overwhelmed; shame and fury battling inside you. the ringing building up in your ears again, emerging from the background.

you can’t do this.

“what i meant is what i said.” he takes another step forward. “you’re just too damn stubborn to listen, always have been.”

“just go, simon.” you tell him. “both of you. go.”

“I wouldn’t change what I did,” he says again. “to protect my team, my family, I would do whatever it takes.”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to keep arguing with him. he was an unmovable object— there was no way to reason with him.

“im not sorry it happened.” he speaks. “i did what i thought i had to do. what i had to do to make sure my team was safe.”

“and you should understand that, considering this team is all you have, too.”

you don’t respond— and even if you were going to, a knock on the door breaks the tense silence in the room.

johnny pops his head in, his eyes full of concern. “doc’s alrigh’.” he says, his gaze catching yours. “jus’ some bumps and bruises. she’ll be jus’ fine.”

“and she uh— said she’s not pressin’ charges or anythin’. says she still expects to see ya in a few days for your check-up.”

that’s what breaks you.

a tear slips from your eye, falling onto your cheek. another follows, then another, and you’re sobbing as you fall to the floor of price’s office.

the three men are staring, but no one makes any move to comfort you.

probably wise, considering what you did to the last person who tried.

you faintly register the click of the door as it shuts again. you don’t look up— your head in your hands as you cry.

cry about what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. mourn your career and your family and your love for the man who doesn’t regret what he did.

unbeknownst to you, simon is the only one still left in the room. his steps are silent as he approaches you— leaving only a foot of space between your bodies now.

he watches you as he sinks to the ground across from you, his long legs folded over each other, the fingers of his left hand twitching as he finds himself wanting to reach for you.

he still cares for you. his feelings for you were what made him do what he did in the first place.

the love he felt for you, twisting into betrayal and hurt and agony. fueling his actions, his desire to hear you admit your wrongdoings.

passion made people dangerous. passion in love, passion in rage. it was a fine line, and simon had crossed it.

he understood what this meant for you. recalls the conversation he had with price earlier— how laswell was planning for your discharge instead of your transfer.

this was the end of your time with them, and in the military. the hands of the 141, damaging one of their own beyond repair.

he finds himself mourning alongside you, then. mourning what was and what could’ve been.

what should have been.

“im sorry for what we did to you,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper that you don’t hear.

“im sorry.”

thank you all again for your patience! I plan on tying this little series up soon :)

as a reminder, I no longer do taglists. if you want to be notified when I post, follow @troiastitans and turn on notifications. I only reblog my works there.

I hope you all enjoyed :)

[karinab00bs]

Can i request Karina x Male Reader office sex?

Cubicle Rival

Karina x male reader

tags: nipple play, fingering

Nearly everyone in the building had left for the day by ten minutes after fifteen; the janitor had even switched off the lights on purpose to prevent anyone from working overtime. Karina and you remained in the same room where they'd been working; the woman had taken off her blazer and was draping it over the back of her chair, while the man had rolled up his long sleeves to his elbows. As long as their report received approval and they could return home, their looks held little concern.

"Mr. Ethan hasn't replied?" Karina asked you since you had been refreshing your email. Waiting for the first message in their inbox determined whether they could go home early or stay in the office longer.

"Not just yet.” Perhaps sloppily or exhausted, you respond, "It's still being checked."

Karina says, her tone unpleasant to hear: "It's half past eleven; is it crazy that Mr. Ethan still wants to check the report?"

"Why are you anyway blaming Mr. Ethan? You know he is a perfectionist. He promised to wait until today; hence, he will wait until twelve. You are the one who is wrong; why would you hand over such a critical report to an intern who is already on his way home at five? It's not going to be right," you ramble, drawing visible eyebrows furrowing on Karina.

"Why are you blaming me? Blame Ms. Je for putting the director's daughter in our division. What do you think I can do if she's nagging me to do a report? Tell her you can't do your job like that?" Karina started pounding on the table; maybe both of them were already tired, so they were more sensitive and easily ignited.

"You could try pointing the finger at other people. You brought Mr. Ethan and now Ms. Je; pointing fingers at others won't make them do anything or prevent such incidents in the future. Do you also intend to hold the intern responsible, given his obvious ignorance in preparing the report? Indeed, it is your responsibility to consider this matter. How can a child, lacking any knowledge, solve such a significant problem? You, equally irritated, began pointing at Karina as if assigning blame.

"Now you're blaming me?"

You didn't have time to reply to Karina's words because a call came into your cell phone from Mr. Ethan.

"Yes, sir? Yes, thank you very much, sir. I'll send it later. I will finish it in 15 minutes. Thank you very much, sir." You disconnected the phone and looked at Karina. The man sighed softly before saying to karina, "The report is okay; I just need to check for typos. I'll finish it first. Can you get me a coffee?"

Karina was silent for a second before responding, "Fine." 

Upon seeing Karina exit the office, you instinctively shut your eyes.

Although Karina was really terrified to visit the pantry by herself since all the lights had been turned off, she couldn't resist your demand so that everything would be finished rapidly and she could head home. Under low lighting, she began preparing two cups of coffee in paper cups, using a combination of saset coffee and sugar, to ensure you wouldn't have any complaints about the taste. She carried the black coffee paper cups with both hands, but her foot stumbled on something, and one cup of coffee spilled on her chest. "Ah." Karina turned to show a faint smile. Indeed, it appears that she has paid the price for all her mistakes over the past year. Why is this so unlucky?

She took off her shirt, which was full of spilled coffee, and then she walked back towards her office.

She gently opened the door, and she found you closing your eyes and leaning on your chair. Okay, the initial plan was for Karina to stealthily walk to her cubicle, retrieve her blazer, and put it on before you woke up. Karina then crept over, set the coffee she had produced next to your laptop, and hurried to her cubicle.

You blinked up at the scent of coffee, but your attention quickly went from the paper cup on her desk to the figure of Karina, who was unclasping her bra. Fuck.

"What on earth are you doing?" you inquired, your voice quivering with disbelief. 

"My shirt is all sticky from spilling coffee," Karina answered, her bare back now showing.

"Are you not afraid of me doing anything to you?" You asked while getting up from the chair to get a box of tissues. The man was now sitting on Karina's chair, and you could clearly see the girl's large, saggy breasts. While the woman sat at her desk.

"You and I fight every day; I doubt you have any desire to do anything to me, even though I'm naked in front of you right now," Karina replied confidently.

"Do you think if I were naked in front of you, you'd be horny?" Your question made Karina snort in annoyance.

"No, it's crazy to lust after you," Karina said, folding her arms across her chest, making her breasts pop out even more as if challenging you.

"I have submitted the report, and Mr. Ethan accepted it. You raised one eyebrow and said, "All that remains is your business with me."

"What business is it? I have nothing to do with you. Better turn back; my body is all sticky and a little blistering thanks to the hot water dispenser," Karina said, looking down at her coffee-sticky chest.

"You're sure you won't lust after me, right?" you asked again.

"No."

"I'll just clean it so it's not sticky and then go home," you said. "Shut up." You looked down and swept your tongue over every inch of Karina's breasts to clean the coffee off her skin, occasionally giving the man a light sip.

"What the hell are you doing?" Karina tried to keep your head from coming closer to her body, but then she froze as the tip of your tongue rubbed against her nipple. Damn. It was so good.

"They say it's better to use saliva or running water when it's hot." You soaked Karina's upper body, including her skirt, with the remaining water from the glass she used to drink.

"Fuck, what are you doing? I swear.. I'm wet.."

"Wet, huh?" You lowered your head and took one of Karina's nipples into your mouth, sucking gently, while your other hand wiped Karina's body with a tissue.

Karina bit her lip, both hands clutching the edge of the table she was sitting on. "You won't lust, right? There's no way you'll lust after me; after all, I'm just cleaning you."

"Hurry up and clean it.. I'm going back." Karina's words made you smile.

You took a tissue and, using both hands, rubbed Karina's nipples with it. While closing her eyes, the girl looked up. She hadn't felt a touch on her body in a long time, so a touch like this sent her into a trance. Indeed, your skill level is beyond reproach. Just observe how the tissue continues to twist both Karina's nipples, creating a more pleasurable sensation. You idly pinched Karina's nipples so hard that she couldn't help but moan.

"Don't be horny; I'm just cleaning it," you said half-mockingly.

"I'm not fucking horny." Karina's answer made you laugh. You pulled down Karina's panties and let them fall to the floor.

"It's just wet," you teased with a finger that had rubbed Karina's pussy. "I'm just cleaning it; you don't want to feel uncomfortable."

"What the hell are you doing- ahhh ..." Your tongue entered to explore Karina's pleasure hole with your finger stroking the small object on it, creating a stifled moan from Karina's lips, which made you smile because, after all, Karina's sigh had made you win. You deliberately inserted two of your fingers, then scratched Karina's pussywall rather roughly, causing her affection to shift to her clitoris. "A-ahhh.. ahhh.."

"Why mm? Is it good? You said you wouldn't lust after me, but you're so wet, Rina." Karina stared resentfully at your face as she bit her lower lip, deliberately holding back a moan so as not to feed your ego. "Why do you want to end it?" you asked, bending your two fingers precisely at Karina's weakest point, and soon her pleasure juices melted away.

"Damn you.." said Karina in the end, while catching her breath.

"1-0, there is no need to deny that you are also horny for me," you said with a chuckle, and you lowered your head to lick Karina's pussy, which had just reached its release.

"Watch out; I'll get you back."

"I can't wait," you replied as she helped put the blazer on Karina's body.

[controld3vil]

𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞

pairing(s): young!rhaenyra targaryen x velaryon!reader (can be read either as romantic/platonic) synopsis: Rhaenyra always seemed to like her position as the only dragon rider in King's Landing. Besides her uncle who rarely visits, she flys with Syrax whenever she can as proof of her imperial lineage. When word comes that you claimed Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, Rhaenyra becomes strangely jealous of your newfound attention.

notes: this takes place closely timeline-wise to the first season. cw: reader experiences a near-death incident, slight angst

Rhaenyra always felt at ease after riding with her dragon, Syrax. She had a distinctive bond with Syrax that no one could replicate. No one could discourage the truth. Her ancestors rode dragons and conquered the Seven Kingdoms. And rightfully so, as she acknowledges its power on the world. They were fierce beasts, little in number, but ferocious and praised as Gods to the people. The Princess of Dragonstone understood that well when she climbed off of Syrax’s saddle. Her golden scales glisten gloriously from the sunshine. 

She gleams brighter than before. Switching into a rich blonde gown, Rhaenyra rushes to the Court Council. Hoping none of the Councilmen would be bothered by her disturbed presence, the princess fixates on flattening down her silvery hair with her fingers. Combining through her tangled locks, the princess enters, drawing attention to haste and bewildered looks. 

“I was visiting Mother,” The Realm’s Delight she was named, smiled at her father, the King when asked about her whereabouts. She knew he would be displeased by the fact that she was dragon riding incredibly early. But she told the truth wholly. Rhaenyra did visit her mother. 

“On dragonback?” Viserys asked after catching a whiff of his daughter’s distinctive scent. It smelled of smoke and sea, resembling the dragon’s nature and their fiery breath. His daughter returns with a cheeky smile when she goes about to collect the pitcher, full of wine. There was much pride in the princess of her ancestral lineage. It was clear as histories can be able to tell of Old Valyria. A dragon was considered a rare delicacy despite having an abundance around the world. King’s Landing, Dragonstone, and Driftmark. Yet people did not consider them to be flesh and blood. Surprisingly, most were wild and had never been bonded with a dragon rider.

“Haven’t you heard? There was a sighting of the wild dragon, Vermithor along the coastlines of The High Tide,” Coryls Velaryon spouts, in cautiousness and weary. His clenched fist was unmistakable to Rhaenyra as he leaned forward with agitation. “My men are terrified, Your Grace. Surely we can think of a way to return the dragon’s course to Dragonstone.”

The silvery-haired girl looks to her father, King Viserys who beams with fazed delight. He thinks in light of the Master of Ship’s concerns. A dragon flies as it pleases. It did not flee far from Dragonstone as her familial home was a mile away from Driftmark itself. Eventually, Vermithor would have to return to rest. “And I’m sure he will return to Dragonstone when he deems it appropriate.” 

The lighthearted remark sparked some casual laughter from the table. A few lords shamelessly coughed between their coats while Hand to the King, Otto Hightower could only contemplate silently how to move the conversation to something more time-consuming. Rhaenyra has witnessed enough Council meetings to know that her father is restless. He never wanted to stay in the room for far too long before becoming disinterested in every political matter. What a dull position, she thought, to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms, you must abide by everyone's opinion and request. 

Rhaenyra traces her thumb around the handle of the pitcher. It’s glass and gold melded together. Its purity reflects wonderfully when she’s shown it to the light. As she strides around every seat of the table, the princess notices the little nuances each lord has. The old and cold pin of the Hand on Otto’s chest. The chainmail rings around Maester Mellos. And the rustic bronze rings Lord Corlys carried on his right hand. She recognizes why they are so distinctive now. 

“Nyra!”

It was like a bell went off in her mind when the Princess of Dragonstone blinked again. Now the Council meeting was left in their final moments. The doors that connected the room to the passive hallways opened, and flooded with the lords, one by one exiting. Well-mannered and poised was she when Rhaenyra placed the pitcher back onto the tabletop. Greeted by her father with a brief smile, she heard the sound of sweet nectar. Did you expect she did not hear you?

“Princess,” Rhaenyra laughs, coming down the stairs. You appeared eager to be near her, as you wrapped your arms tightly around her waist. A warm ache grows in her chest as Dragonstone’s darling caresses your shoulders, pushing you aback to see your face. “My you are eager this morrow.”

Your cheeks were plastered in rosy plums. Pink and delicate. As you burst into unfathomable joy at her proximity, you couldn’t contain your giddy blubbering. “I missed you! Is it so wrong to miss you?” She’d imagined your energy and heart beating simultaneously in the rhythm of a hummingbird. You were such a lively spirit, it complimented well with her own. Can she say that? 

She peers at you, fondly. As you were the most precious being one could ask for. If she could, Rhaenyra would shield you from every inconvenience and proposal your way. Even when you would become of age and pursued by your parents, she still would protect you from anyone who deemed you accessible. She brought both of her hands around your small one. They were adorned with rose-colored jewelry. Each is a colored gemstone to match your House colors. Rhaenyra slowly traces the flesh of your palm, “Of course not, Princess! It’s- I haven‘t seen you in so long,”

Your name is hollered and echoed against the looming halls you both stood in. She was sure for a moment, you two would be alone. A pang of discomfort flourishes in her throat when Rhaenyra becomes mute to the person to grab your attention. You, however, were deemed unbothered by it all, and held onto her grip tighter, and firmly, radiating heat and sweat. 

“There you are,” Your father, Lord Corlys groans in relief. It was evitable to find you lost around the castle, King’s Landing was a vast place. However, for how long you have visited, Rhaenyra depicts you knew the structure of it all and simply faked being clueless around. She saw it once. When you vaguely asked a guard where the library was to distract him, knowing you would be off avoiding your lessons with the Septa. She wishes she could chuckle out loud for that memory. “Do not get yourself carried away with the Princess, we have important matters to discuss with the King.” Your father seemed adamant about separating you from Rhaenyra, she recognizes. Which offends her greatly. You were a good friend and cousin. But more importantly, you were the only person to enjoy her company and mischief. 

For the longest time, the eldest daughter of King Viserys was lonely, not having anyone to relate to with her ancestral blood. The ladies in waiting were shy and polite. They were not her forte, Rhaenyra disliked how courtship worked. The daughter of the Hand, Alicent Hightower was a pleasant fresh air and surprise. When she had arrived at King's Landing years ago, Rhaenyra was rather avoidant of her. Now, they were good friends, only ever to be in each other's presence. Daemon, her uncle, is rarely seen nowadays. His position to the City Watch had in truth bothered and encouraged him to wreak more havoc with the townsfolk. She dismisses everyone clearly, anyone closest to her Targaryen bloodline is old or distant. 

But you, and your siblings, Laenor and Laena were much needed in the capitol. Your brother and sister visit rarely, they listen to your father and mother. On the other hand, you weren’t as uptight. As the youngest member of the Velaryon family, you had fewer expected duties compared to her and Alicent. Rhaenyra envied it truly, forever longing for your freedom. 

“Yes father,” You mope, an obvious frown on your lips when you depart from Rhaenyra’s side to your father. He stares at you with amused eyes, much contrast when he turns to her direction with a cold glare. It brings a chill down her spine as she quickly bows her head at the Master of Ships. She meant no offense. You did not notice the demeaning tension between your father and cousin. Because childishly, you excitedly tugged on Rhaenyra’s golden sleeves. “We’ll meet again soon, alright?” 

God, she can only smile at you. You were so sweet, endearing, and innocent. All traits she could find in any other lady. But you were much lively, more genuine than the girls she watched by the courtyard. They were pretentious and fickle. Alicent was also sweet and innocent. Innocent in the ways of adventure and courage. She was attached to duty and for that, Rhaenyra could not blame her. But for how much it mattered to her, she believed it to be an outrage. Out of everyone, you were just right.

The next time you met Rhaenyra was unconventional. Somehow you managed to convince your father to journey beside him to King’s Landing once more to meet the King’s family. Corlys hardly shrugged, putting little effort to stop you from climbing aboard the Sea Snake. Under unfathomable moments, you were condemned to sail to the capitol to tell the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms the great news. The last islanders left behind were your mother, Rhaenys, and sister, Laena who waved at you, earnestly, honing her fond smile as your figure grew smaller and smaller. Your mother, the Queen who Never Was, stood warmly with her arms crossed, with a look of pride on her face. 

Yes, your mother was ecstatic about what you had accomplished. No other dragon rider besides The Old King, Jaehaerys could claim the beast, the Bronze Fury. Many attempted, and many failed. However, because of your efforts, create a sense of joy and relief in your mother’s eyes. Never would she imagine her youngest child to claim one of the largest dragons alive. Vermithor was an untamable beast with a feisty personality. Perhaps it takes likeness to your spirit and simply bonded. She would have to ask you again to recall how you did it. 

The walls of the grand castle were empty and welcoming. You felt adrenaline scorch through your veins when you climbed up the stairs of the grand hall. The exterior was glorious. You could holler and scream and it would echo throughout all the corridors like a never-ending chamber. You held a skittish smile, as you made your way up, placing one hand on the rails for support. You could hear your father’s voice echo behind. Careful, you mustn’t fall, my love!

Even if you dropped to the ground, you would immediately pull yourself up and climb the stairs again. It was how desperate you were to meet Rhaenyra. You desperately wanted to tell her! 

Across the royal chambers, Rhaenyra was lounging outside notably. She sat under the Weirwood tree at leisure with Alicent beside her with a book in hand. She read aloud one of its stories, a romantic tale of a Dornish princess. But the dragon princess barely paid mind to what the Hand’s daughter was reading, she was more in tune with the moving sky. The baby blue ocean from above and the fluffy clouds that looked like soft cushions. The Realm’s Delight longed to ride with Syrax, despite only returning from her morning ride. If she could live in the sky forever, Rhaenyra would want to. 

She spotted a few of the Kingsguards that patrolled stop in front of someone. It looked as though they were permitting passage but seconds later, she saw them nod in unison simultaneously. They cleared the path and there you were. Striding in happy and irregular steps with your flowy dress of blue seashells and gemstones. She is reminded each time of your wealth and beauty. Cool-toned colors were your style as there was no other pigment you dressed in confidently and proudly, Sometimes she wonders how you would look in crimson red and black. 

“Princess!” Alicent was the first to speak on your behavior. It was not every day to see you all of a sudden in King's Landing. After Lord Corlys’s many disagreements with the Council. he chose to be absent from court. This irritated King Viserys and the rest of the Council, knowing without their Master of Ships, their collaboration would be deemed incomplete. Nevertheless, your appearance would confirm that your father had once again returned to the capitol. “I didn’t expect to see you here!” The brown-haired princess gleams, shutting the book entirely, and rising to meet you in a short embrace. 

Your giddiness is affectionate. It makes Rhaenyra feel light and blissful of your unannounced arrival. “It is good to see you, my Lady!” You’re teasing, tightly wrapping your arms around Alicent before releasing with sweet laughter. Alicent snickers, as the highlights of her dimples flush in soft pales of the color rose. 

“I told you, Alicent is fine!” 

“I know!” The two of you seemed to be in your world whenever your visits happened. You would appear, and Alicent bursts excitement and jitteriness. Rhaenyra finds it amusing to watch it unfold. But for not witnessing your presence for so long, she rather feels a little hurt and apprehensive of your attachment to the Hand’s daughter. If your mere attendance brought such delight, then your words brought an abundance of warmth and tenderness. “Nyra!”

Finally, the Princess of Dragonstone looks up, feeling slightly closed off from your welcome. Yet when she lays her velvet eyes on you, she can’t help but feel you are forgiven. Your expression was gentle and serene. “Princess,” Your name feels light off her lips as it always did. You playfully roll your eyes before releasing your grip on Alicent to hold onto Rhaenyra’s hands. They were inviting and delicate. 

“I missed you,” You whine, dramatically, dragging out the last part as though you haven’t seen each other in months. When really, it has been less than a month. The most you have visited were a full three days, staying overnight in the guest's bedrooms. It was when your father had an important mission to relay with the lords he chose to stay longer. You, on the other hand, wanted a sleepover. And by now, you should have a bedroom, personalized for whenever you wish to come to visit. You have on many occasions to irk your father and mother’s minds.

“The last time we spoke you were whisked away by your father,” She scoffs lightly which earns a questionable raised brow from Alicent. Your expression does not falter at her offense. “even though you said we would meet again.” Petty and stubborn were the words you describe Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was rather protective and loyal to the people closest to her. You importantly, she greatly values you. And weeks ago, you promised her, however, things took a turn with your father and you had to abide. 

“And we have,” You grin, lovingly, holding her hands up to your chest. It was a subtle sign of an apology and care. You carried your promise, even if it had taken weeks to fulfill because of interpersonal matters. But you are here now, in front of her, your energetic personality never failing. “I have great news.” 

The silvery-haired princess seemed to take your understated gesture sincerely as she closed the gap between you two. Curiosity caught her gaze as her lavender orbs did not move away from your own. “Well, what is it?” Suddenly you’re aware you’ve kept a tight grip on Rhaenyra as she allowed you to trap both her hands. The close intimacy is acknowledged by you when you try not to break away your gaze from hers. Alicent seemed visibly bothered by it but you are not facing her to know. 

The wind whistles in anticipation, and the Weirwood tree heaves and blows the dead leaves off of its branches. The luscious green fields dance back and forth in little tiny unison. The scent of dirt and fresh mint is present. As you inhale deeply before revealing, “I claimed a dragon.” 

A moment of silence before a heaved gasp came from the Hightower princess. 

“Congratulations!” 

You can feel the butterflies float up to your chest when you see both of the girl's expressions in a state of happiness and revelation. You give an animated smile, “Thank you!”

“Are you joking?” You can see on Rhaenyra’s face, she is still in shock which morphs into pleasure and ecstasy. 

You shake your head enthusiastically, and repeatedly, shaking both you and the Princess in a hop. “No!”

“Oh thank the gods!” Your cousin blurts, embracing you in a well-deserved embrace. Her arms coil around your back with a squeeze. The encouragement both Rhaenyra and Alicent had given you was something you cherished dearly. For the longest time, you blame yourself for not being able to claim a dragon. No egg would hatch or a wild dragon would approach you. You studied and performed all the ways to encounter them. Yet none had prevailed and up until recently, you felt exasperated on the idea of bonding with a dragon. You were extremely jealous of Laenor and Rhaenyra for their impeccable bond. You and Laena longed for it for your entire lives, it made you moody and neglectful. 

Therefore their support had kept you least tolerable. Your mother and father were understanding and patient with your fits. Even King Viserys and Queen Aemma sometimes consoled you that one day you would claim a dragon. Whichever dragon you did not care for, you knew your companion was out there. 

“Which dragon did you claim?” The brunette girl comes to your side, eager and curious to know what of your new beast. 

“Yes, which one did you claim?” Your silver-haired cousin urges, shaking your hands back and forth. 

You felt like a bubble waiting to pop with excitement. You wanted all the streams and ribbons the castle could offer to be released for your accomplishment. You took a deep breath before letting out a slow exhale to calm your beating heart. “Vermithor.” 

In an instant, Rhaenyra’s face falls. “Vermithor.” 

“Yes, Vermithor!” You were blinded by the enthusiasm Alicent portrayed with her hands, clapping and squealing in awe at you. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Vermithor!” The Hand’s daughter takes your left hand and swirls her thumbs around your knuckles. “I’m so happy for you!” Again the call of your name is murmured frankly and in reverence. “One of the largest dragons alive in the world and you had claimed it!” 

Satisfaction filled your chest. Nothing could compare to the prideful looks your friends and family had for you on this day. It truly was something to celebrate something this spectacular. Not since Jaehaerys, your great grandfather rode the dragon. Your mother would surely want you to ride Vermithor immediately as he was still considered wild. But if Jaehaerys managed to tame the beast, you knew you could. 

She could not explain it. Rhaenyra had always thought highly of you. She would disparage you out of anything. You were too pure for her frustration. What is she angry about? The princess could not explain. But whenever she passed the corridors of the Keep or the chambers of her mother’s ladies in waiting, she would hear the praise and compliments for your achievement. My, haven't you heard? The youngest daughter of Corlys Velaryon claimed Vermithor! The dragon King Jaehaerys rode! It must be fate. 

To what end was it fated? Dragons chose their riders. It was unclear how the bonds between rider and dragon existed but it was something genuine. So it shouldn’t confuse her when she sees you when on Driftmark, practicing to fly with the Bronze Fury. You struggled the first few times. She recalls those moments well, laughing and teasing you to no end of the amount of times you fell into the mud. Mounting on a dragon was a gradual adjustment. As she stared into the view of the ocean shore and deep gray-blue waters, you and your dragon were by the shorelines, attempting to be in sync with one another. A few feet from you was Rhaenys. As commanding and benevolent she was to you and not to her. 

Rhaenys Targaryen was quick-witted. She never had a great relationship with the Queen who Never Was. But in contrast, she was soft to you and held untainted remorse for her youngest child. Meleys was beside her rider, cooing and staring at you and Vermithor in inquiry. Much similar to her companion, Rhaenys said something Rhaenyra could not understand before watching you shake your head in disbelief. Vermithor was a grueling and deadly creature. The fact that you were young did not change its attention. It croaks and cranes its neck down for you to climb on its upper back. 

A saddle was neatly strapped on the beast. It must take ages to put on. Vermithor was known for his savage behavior. Yet if you were present with him, she deems he would have been docile to take care of. 

“Why are you pouting?” 

It was the late evening on Driftmark when she proposed a walk with you along the beach line. It was the many hobbies you both enjoyed in your homeland. Salt and sea were everywhere as opposed to her home, King’s Landing filled with endless brick walls and dust. The island is peaceful and serene when there are no fishing ships in the water. Rhaenyra can never be tired of the view and the sea salt air Driftmark supplies. It’s refreshing and so calm. 

“I’m not pouting.” The Princess of Dragonstone argues, her off tone marks it remarkable that her fickle state of mind. She should know better. You know her well, more than most of her maids and sometimes father. 

“You are,” The corners of your lips curve as you kick a few clumps of sand off the ground. “I’ve noticed since coming here, you’ve been…distant.” A personality all of your siblings share is your tenderness. Laena had a graceful heart and Laenor a compassionate one. Yours was resilient. You held onto things for far too long and you’re incredibly devoted to the people you love. You become easily attached to things, people, and the attention. Can she blame you? For a long time, you felt ridiculed and ashamed for your lack of a dragon. Your sadness must be more out of sympathy than Laena’s. By the time your sister claimed Vhagar, you were left as an outcast. 

The Realm’s Delights huffs, crossing her arms behind her back. “Seasick I suppose,” In truth, she never was seasick. Rhaenyra had traveled to Driftmark many times to be immune to the sickness. She knew it was a weak lie, one you would catch easily. But she did not like being confronted on whatever was on your mind. 

“Nonsense,” You jest, before stomping both your feet firmly into the brown sugar sand. Your stance makes the princess stop. “I know you dislike Vermithor.” 

She looks at you, astonished. “What?” 

You push further into the dirt until your heels are engulfed. “I can see it, Rhaenyra. You do not like him.”  Your assumption makes her head spin. Because in what world would she have any disregard against a dragon? Rhaenyra adored all dragons the same. They were a part of her family’s legacy. But she figures you must’ve seen her sometimes glare in the direction of your dragon to believe she had no love for the Bronze Fury. 

The silver-haired girl shakes her head. “No, it’s not that.” She did not want to explain this to you. Feeling ashamed and embarrassed at her feelings, Rhaenyra deems you unfit to hear such nonsense. “It’s more childish than that.”

Your head quirks sideways. You looked confused as your eyebrows rose as well. She can feel the winds pick up as the tides come toward you both. Its cold water brushes past your feet but you ignore it completely. “How so?” 

Must she explain at such a time? “I must admit, for the past few days, I’ve been feeling remorseful.” She quipped, finding the freezing chill of the sea comforting for this kind of conversation. “I’m sure you’ve seen me grow bitter, even resentful towards you and Vermithor. For that I apologize but- it’s a small feeling.” 

“You feel resentful towards me and Verm?” She can see your eyes flicker, as you contemplate and allow your mind to take in her words. Your loose hair is down, you’re gorgeous. Even in your night clothes and were of the absence of jewelry and pretty colors. 

“Was,” She reaffirms, unable to look you in the eye. Rhaenyra feels ashamed for feeling this way. She does not want to hurt your feelings. “The attention, the people, they spoke of you for days about what you have done, claiming King Jaehaerys dragon. All everyone wanted to do was talk about you and how you proved yourself to become the greatest rider.” The more she rambles, the hot tears flood her vision. She does not seem weak to you. She was spilling her truth to you, she had to let it out. 

You held a calm expression. “But I’m not the greatest rider,” Yes, you were not. Your bond was still young. You still struggled with communicating with Vermithor sometimes daily. How can you be considered the greatest even when you struggled to mount your dragon? 

“That is what the people say,” Accidently your cousin snaps but quickly regains her composure. She looks at her feet and the sand below. It was as if she pleaded for forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive, you’re angry. You’d say but she continues. “I was sick and tired of it all. Even my father spoke highly of you and it offended me. Why do I feel this way? I should be happy for you!” The mist around you clouds the floor. It’s sombrous and cool to touch. Everything Rhaenyra had held back was gone and it felt somewhat cathartic. She knows you must’ve felt hurt by her words, she was harsh.

She was afraid to touch you. But you did not care, gripping her forearm suddenly. Rhaenyra’s gaze finally breaks and stares at you, wide-eyed. Her tear-filled eyes shattered your heart, fully aware of her fragile condition. “I don’t blame you for what you feel, Rhaenyra. I too felt the same way when Laena claimed Vhagar, do you remember it? I was restless, unable to sleep at night - why couldn't I do what she had done.” The Princess of Dragonstone does not pull away from your grasp but simply gazes at your quivering lips. “I grew to be resentful of my sister. My heart grew dark and left people in danger. I regret feeling this way towards her now because of it. Do you understand?” 

The expression on your face said it all as she observed. The strained look flashed before you as you recounted the painful memories. In the days after Laena’s bond, you were cruel and cold. You spoke less to your family, ashamed and poisoned by jealousy. You would snap at the sailors more often and drive them into more dangerous scenarios to spite them. Your pettiness was revolting to watch, your father, Corlys growing instantly tired of your immature tantrums for something you could not control. He would cry out to you about how ignorant your actions were and then dismiss your privileges to sailing his ships. All while your mother felt she could do nothing to stop you in your frustration. She watched from a distance as her husband criticized you openly for your infuriating flaws, making it known to all you had gone too far. 

Slow but surely, when you stepped closer to her gave you the courage to tell her what needed to be heard. “I cannot change what you feel, but if you wish for me to leave, then please tell me.” You huffed in pain as your cold fingers traced along her arm and then moved to her hands. In some ways like this, you were fragile like porcelain. Sometimes Rhaenyra forgot you were younger than her. And now she felt like the childish one. 

“No, I—” She gulps, her fear evident. She didn't want to lose you as well. “Please don’t go.”

Your eye-opening conversation marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. Connecting with the Bronze Fury required some time to adapt to both yourself and those around you. As the newest rider, you felt the world embracing you. However, what you cherished most was the experience of riding. You hailed from Old Valyria, with the blood of the Dragon in your veins. Riding with Vermithor became a daily routine, a privilege you savored. It was the most incredible gift you could have received.

Rhaenyra slowly became accepting of it as well. You can tell by the way her lips curl when you mount off of your dragon, that she was proud of you. You were a dragon rider! Now, you and she could soar through the skies for eternity if you wished. It was a dream come true, and you were overjoyed that she had forgiven you.

When you were above the skies, it was breathtaking. No view from below could compare to the ones over the clouds. You admit now why you found Rhaenyra’s obsession with flying to be so addicting. It was. When you’re up there, it feels as though nothing matters but you and the pale blue heavens. Vermithor would always groan in his grumpy way to show affection. He enjoyed riding above, you’ve felt his calm heartbeat and knew he too felt as relaxed as you did. When Rhaenyra joined you, which was a regular occurrence, you two would race. Up and down the clouds, like both of you danced in between the midst.

She looked dashing in her rider’s uniform. Black leather, plastered to resemble dragon scales alongside matching gloves. You resembled a familiar approach, having bronze leather strapped all over to stimulate Vermithor’s charming scales. You reminisced that he even once nudged at you from behind as a sign of appreciation for it.

Vermithor, the ruthless wid dragon growing soft because of you. You always had your chance to mention it to him before riding as a reminder of your sincere relationship. As a rider and dragon, the two of you bonded over adventure and tricks. You loved exploring the faraway lands to only encourage the Bronze Fury more driven to fly. 

But there were also moments when you were reminded of how reckless you could be with him. On the morning of your uncle’s name day, you convinced Rhaenyra to fly out to the Estermount Sea, close to the Triarchy of Essos. At first, the princess urged you of the danger, the Triarchy were pirates who paraded in raiding others for fun. Additionally, they had been targets of your father’s ships, disrupting trade. Yet you dismissed her pleas and pursued with an eager grin. 

The first few moments entering the sea territory were quiet. Both of you were mindful of the harsh waves there and how foggy it was similar to the Stormlands. But Rhaenyra persisted with her worries when you wanted to challenge her to dive down close to the sea. 

“We shouldn’t be here!” Her lilac eyes were defined with anxiousness as the princess held her dragon’s reins tightly. However you were indifferent, all too casual in uncharted areas. 

“We’re fine! We’re high enough in the sky!” you shout, a broad grin stretching across your face as you gaze at the small islands of Essos below. They look both foreign and beautiful. You’ve never ventured this far from home before.

But that was the last moment of calm you experienced. Suddenly, a harpoon appeared out of nowhere, narrowly missing you and Vermithor by the shoulder. The weapon moved with such speed and force that you had no time to process what was happening. Rhaenyra saw it clearly—she watched as the massive arrow zipped past you, inches away from your body, before plunging into the sea below. Someone had attempted to attack you. The worst followed: the harpoon's impact sent you and Vermithor into a chaotic frenzy. You leaped as your dragon swerved violently, causing you to be thrown from your saddle. For a moment, your body was there, and then it wasn’t.

The princess screamed in desperation, urgently commanding Syrax to dive into the water in an attempt to catch your falling body. Your dragon was beside hers, plummeting and speeding towards the sea floor as you descended. With a whoosh, Vermithor swooped in at the last moment, grabbing you from a fatal plunge. His claws, though sharp, gripped you with surprising gentleness, and you stared in terror as he held you safely.

The memory was deeply distressing. Your hair was now disheveled and tangled from the fall. Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving your skin glistening and drenched. Rhaenyra could only sob with relief, feeling utterly exhausted and wishing it were all just a nightmare. Yet it was all too real. She felt Syrax’s comforting purr in response to her discomfort. Her father and yours would have been shouting endlessly about this.

Despite everything, all she could remember was the devastated look on your face.

It was madness. Jacaerys would tell her, her son parading around her room as they waited for all of the Targaryen bastards to arrive. Here she was, Rhaenyra Targaryen, in Dragonstone, pursuing the inevitable. The idea of recruiting Dragon Seeds was bizarre but what choice did she have? There was no one left in her family who could claim one. Distant Houses with the blood of Valyria were risky. She had to sacrifice one of her knights to do it. Perhaps this was the only way to win the war. 

Years without your presence brought Rhaenyra sorrow and time to reflect on herself. It had been long since she was gifted to speak your name so openly. Everyone knew of her relationship with you. The princess cherished you deeply and with your absence, left the Realm soulfully longing. Rhaenys despises her because of it. She wondered if part of the princess's resentment was directly tied towards you or the fact she was given the title of heir or both. Yet after Alicent’s son had taken her throne, Rhaenys stood by her side, as did her husband. 

Meeting all of the Targaryen bastards was daunting at first. Rhaenyra knew many infidelities were common for any lord to allow their seed to spread. To witness so many of them in a room made her all the more encouraged to believe her plan would succeed. It must, it should. She could feel all of their eyes focus entirely on her like a beacon of hope. They believed what they were doing was right to protect the realm. And for that, she will use it to attain. 

The Dragonpit had never felt so cold or so secure. It was secluded within a murky cave, miles tall and wide. It’s humid, water drips everywhere as the Black Queen strides down onto the platform where the dragon would be summoned. Forty or so Dragon Seeds followed her, paranoid and trembling about what was to come. She would have to believe in the gods, Rhaenyra sighed. If there is a strategy better than this, she would take it. But Alicent’s son had taken something from her by force and for that, she could not comply. 

“Come forward, Vermithor.” Her accent revealed her fluency in the High Vayrlian language. Rhaenyra readied herself for the beast. Seconds of silence loomed over all those in the Dragonpit like a neverending time bomb. The wait was excruciating yet the inevitable was daunting to witness. Out of the shadows comes a growl, which causes a few of the Dragon seeds to slightly panic. But the Queen knew better. And Vermithor as well.

He looms, towering over the cockpit like a living nightmare. His crooked teeth glowed an intimidating appearance for all, and the simmer of his bronze scales shined. “Obey! Stay calm, Vermithor!” Commanded by Rhaenyra as she stares up at the beast, unafraid. She holds an imposing scowl before witnessing the Bronze Fury lower his snout. The Black Queen reaches out of her hand, cautiously and slowly. 

Her hand makes contact with his snout and calmly Rhaenyra recognizes the sense of calm Vermithor had with her whenever you were around. It felt as though he resembled your presence and familiarity. This intuition puts a warm smile on her face. 

[gloxk]

Think she grippin’ on my dick but that’s my gun baby~

(Eren Y.)

A/n: Lil sum sum— srry fa neglecting yall. My schedule is so fuckkkkkeedd. But, I got sum more ‘plug’ eren comin up for my luvz. Anyway I hope yall enjoy this my luvz🫶🏽!

Synopsis: First link w Eren Yeager after not seeing him in a long time. ♥︎

Warning (s): Gun kink , dirty talk, Eren talking you through it, Mentions of drugs, riding an inanimate object, f/m, Uhm like reader calls him sir? Pet names, Needy s*x, Smut, ovi. girl yk the deal 17+ around here!

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You kicked your feet while biting your bottom lip, “Yeah, I know you miss me, baby.” You cheesed at his comments. Eren knew exactly what to say, his words were so sweet and slick. “Of course I miss you ren. When you gon come see me?” You heard his music blaring through his speakers. This boy really had you thinking about him every second of the day and night. “Whatchu mean? I’m outside right now ma.” You nearly took flight running down to the front door. It felt like time was nothing more than a mere interference with your speed. You swung your door open , your smile instantly dropped looking at your empty driveway “Fucking asshole, you lied.” He cackled as if you said something funny. “Nah I’m here.” He flicked his head lights grabbing your attention, you forgot his car was completely black. You didn’t understand why he would make his Hellcat so dark. Didn’t he want people to see it?

You smiled seeing him get out of his car, he looked so fucking fine in his Nike tech. To say you were nervous was an understatement, you were terrified. Knees nearly buckled as Eren approached the door. You gulped back your salvia, it felt like swallowing a golf ball. “Heyyy baby.” His lips met your cheek, it’s been so long since you saw Eren. His voice held a sweet tang and a long draw to it. His fragrance was a mix of Dior Sauvage and Backwoods. His eyes spoke for themselves; red and low. “Eren—are you high?” you pulled his face closer to yours. Examining his eyes—yeah, he was fucking hammered. “When am I not?” He flashed his pearly whites, you always wonder how he got his teeth so nice and white. If perfection was a human it had to be him, there was no visible flaw within that man. “You gonna smoke your brain away if you keep it up.” You closed the door and walked with him up to your bedroom. Eren looked at you with a soft expression, his eyes locked on to yours. “Aww, you care about me, baby? Fine, I guess I have no choice but to do as you wish.”He jokingly replied. Eren didn’t have many people who cared for him, so it was nice to know you were one of the very few.

Eren found himself in your bed once again, he nuzzled into your neck while a basic Netflix movie played. He wasn’t particularly interested in the movie, and you were aware of this. But he acted like he was excited to watch it. Your hands ran over his thigh grazing over his dick. Fingertips wrapping around it. “Damn Ren, you must be very happy to see me huh?” you giggle sinking into your bed lining. Eren's dark jade eyes met yours, the lower part of his face was covered by his hand. Unbeknownst to you, he had a new hand tattoo; a skeleton face—damn he looked fine. “That ain’t my dick, that’s my gun baby.” He laid on his back, his shirt slightly lifting revealing the weapon. You couldn’t resist wrapping your fingers around the handle of his gun; it was calling your name. You held it in your hand admiring the weapon, it alone held the power to remove a soul from this world.

“You like it?” he took the gun away from your grasp. He parted your thighs placing the cold metal against your cunt. “Yes sir.” You bit your lip at the sheer cold touching you. The hairs on your neck stood up, it was so dangerous, it turned you on. He slid your panties over letting the blistering cold metal meet your pussy. The gun started at a gentle pace, moving slowly against your clit. Erens lips occupied your neck; kissing and sucking it. His tongue lightly brushed over your collarbone, you felt his tongue piercing glide against your skin. You rutted hard against his gun trying to relieve the built-up pressure in your abdomen. You didn’t want his gun, you wanted him. You wanted him to fuck you silly until you could no longer comprehend your surroundings. “Fuucck, I need more ren, I need you.” The gun hastily left your thighs. “I need you too ma.” His mouth met his glock licking your slick off of it. Eren's lips pressed firmly together creating a ‘mmm’ sound. He got on top of you pressing his chest against yours. You felt his bulge through his sweatpants, his dick was begging to be left free. He pulled his sweat pants down, just below his crotch panel. Your fingertips slipped under his elastic waistband; tugging his boxers downwards. His dick pounced out, an angry red color washed over his tip. “Fuck, it’s been too long.” He stroked his dick letting the bead of pre cum coat his tip. Eren slid inside inch by inch, he grunted feeling your heat. “Damn baby, I ain’t fuck you good in a minute huh? You miss this dick?” You nodded quickly, yes—you missed everything about him. His hand wrapped around your mouth looking at his tattoo covering your face. It turned him on seeing it on you— whether his hand was around your throat, mouth, or ass. It always looked so perfect on you.

Eren tugged your shirt up watching your tits bounce as he pounded into you. You tried to push him away from overstimulating your cunt “Nah, This what you wanted right? Take this dick.” He grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulder, he fucked you faster making you scream out. You could have sworn you put holes in the sheets because you were gripping them so tightly. You threw your head back clenching around Erens cock. Your body jolted at your release, finally letting go of that pressure you once had. “Ahh- fuck-“ you moaned while subtly grinding against his abdomen. His pace faltered, but not ending, Eren didn’t stop fucking you until he came all over your stomach. By then you were already on your third orgasm. He positioned himself beside you kissing your neck while tracing circles on your arm. “I know you love that shit.” He sighed, he was a fool for you as you were for him. He loved looking at your fucked out expression knowing he was the reason you looked like that.

“Mhm, I do, I really fucking do.” He grabbed his gun again setting it down on your chest, “That’s my favorite gun now, ima get your name carved in it.” That gun will forever be by his side from now on.

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4 my whores.

[thesilmarillionblog]

A Sweet Distraction

Volume 2

➳ Click here to read the first part!

Summary: When you're in a club, you have to make sure Soldier Boy stays out of trouble and doesn't draw attention of other people while Butcher and the boys look for Payback members. Whatever it takes, you have to keep him busy and distracted.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: +18! (MINORS DNI), Language, some fluff

Word Count: 3025

A/N: English is not my first language.

Ben's lips curled as your tongues connected, and you felt your heart speed up as you gave him a gentle kiss, not knowing if it would calm his rage. You were shocked when, in spite of his rough nature, he gave you an affectionate kiss in return, as if he didn't want to frighten you away.

When his kisses got deeper and his tongue took over your mouth, leaving you gasping, you drew away. Seeing that his chest had gotten back to normal, you relaxed and exhaled deeply.

He winked at you and said, “You did a good job here, sweetheart, huh? You certainly know how to surprise me.”

You found yourself laughing uncontrollably as you observed his flirtatious behavior toward you. 

Your eyes wandered around the club as you muttered, “I just hoped surprising you would work,” blushing beneath his focused stare. Everyone continued dancing madly to the loud music, seemingly unaware that Soldier Boy was going to kill them all if you didn't stop him.

He led you to a quieter area of the club and said, “Well, it definitely worked,” when you bought him another drink. He was not getting drunken in any way.

Because he was a man with PTSD and was unpredictable, you were still terrified of him and wanted the night over as quickly as possible. However, you felt safer and more at ease with him because you didn't feel pressured to kiss him against your will. He was becoming even nicer to you. 

“So, why are you working for Butcher?” he inquired, setting his empty glass down on the closest table. 

You mumbled, “I'm not working for him,” as your nails gently traveled across the wall behind you. “His wife, who I was really close to, is hurt by Homelander really badly. She was the most kind human being I've ever encountered. So actually, I work with him let’s say.” 

He nodded to you despite the fact that the fact that he didn't clearly understand the situation or the dynamics amongst you all. 

“Butcher told me you're going to kill Homelander,” you muttered, as if you could be heard by someone else. “Are you truly capable of that? Killing him?” 

Soldier Boy laughed at your questioning and your clumsy attempt to find out if he was truly passionate about killing Homelander. “Of course I can, and I will,” he declared with pride. “He's just a foolish son of a bitch with a weird cape, and he's a cheap fucking knockoff. Just another worthless item to be used by his masters.”

You chuckled at his word choice and self-confidence, which fit him absolutely well. 

You said, "Honestly, I was very scared of you; well, maybe I still am, but I'm starting to think you're not that bad," feeling a little brave after his kind behavior toward you.

“I'm a tough bad supe,” he was whispering to you, raising your chin with two fingers and gently massaging your jawline with his fingertips. You shuddered, knowing that he might easily hurt you if he briefly loosened control. “But you know, just for you, I can show you how much I can be a gentleman.”

Even though you were still terrified of him and his abilities, your face flushed at his daring behavior right away. However, you were too weak to control your excitement. Being a supe or whatever was something you had never considered, so you muttered, “To be honest, I'm not that interested in getting intimate with a supe.”

As he drew nearer to you and prepared to press you to reconsider, he questioned, “Why not?”

Just a little while ago, Soldier Boy considered finding a simple supe woman to give his seed to and have a quick, hard fuck with, but now that he thought about it, he found you to be more interesting than those simple supe women who were boring and way too confident for his tastes—or perhaps he just liked your shyness at that particular moment. 

You said, your face flushed, “I heard there are supes who hurt people when they got close,” allowing him to touch your face with his massive hands. 

“There are no other men like me,” he remarked, with a grin brushing your lips with his thumb. 

You whispered, “No doubt. However, it's risky, don't you think? Considering the imbalance in power and everything.” 

“Believe me,” he added, continuing to playfully stroke your lips with firm hands. “I've fucked a lot of regular women just like you before; I can guarantee that none of them experienced any injury. People find themselves drawn to fucking supes for a reason.”

Your pulse raced with excitement and a hint of fright as you allowed him to touch you, unsure of whether or not to believe him. It felt like just the two of you, in between the din and the background noise. Soldier Boy was undeniably attractive, and his extraordinary strength only served to heighten the thrill you felt. 

“You want to distract me, right?” He heard your rapid heartbeat and sensed that you were putting your legs together, so he smiled and muttered something in your ear. “If you allow me to get into your tiny, aching pussy, we can both get pleasantly distracted. I would be happy to provide for your every need. Actually, I'm giving you a chance, so count yourself fortunate.” 

Telling him you didn't want to be touched would be a big lie. So, as he continued gently brushing your cheek with one of his powerful hands, you placed yours on his hand and gave him a forceful but delicate kiss to find out if he was being truthful about being a gentleman or not. 

Unexpectedly, he gave you the same tender kiss in return, and you could feel a little smile creep across his lips. After a while, his gentle kisses became more intense as he pulled you toward his powerful chest with his large hands behind your neck. Under his powerful hands, you felt secure. After a while, his powerful and seductive kisses left your lips red and ruined, and you pulled away to catch your breath.

He asked in a harsh voice against your lips, “So, what do you say?” as he continued to give you short kisses that increased your desire for him.

You gave it a little consideration, letting your hunger and physical desires gradually take the place of your fear of him, and then you nodded to him, “Uhm, yes.”

Soldier Boy's lips met yours with a smile as his hands hovered over your hips, slowly squeezing you until you left speechless and made to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet.

With a harsh voice, he asked, “Yes for what?” knowing that tonight, when he

finally got in your panties, you would make his dick warm with your tightness. He could feel his large cock getting harder by each second.

As he attempted to get you to talk when you were consumed with his exquisite little touches, Soldier Boy chuckled at your shyness. 

You said, “Yes for,” stumbling for words. “A small distraction, let's say?” 

Soldier Boy chuckled in a low voice at your description of the issue. He almost said something filthy about your naive demeanor, but he chose to refrain from putting you through more discomfort than was necessary. 

While guiding you to the second floor's darker corners and the rooms there, he teased, “Fine, baby, it doesn't sound that miserable anymore for you, huh?”

Then, just as a man was ready to crush you with his clumsy walk, Soldier Boy pushed the somewhat drunk man to the other side of the wall, and you found yourself inside a small, dark room that smelled strongly of drugs and alcohol. He stated, “It's all safe in here,” as you hurriedly scanned the room before he wildly began kissing you. 

He was taken aback when you kissed him tenderly on the lips, and you hoped he would be as kind as possible. You stroked his long beard and smiled at him. 

His tongue in your lips made you shiver and as he gave you a passionate kiss, your fingers danced over his long beard. He drew back and shoved you against the wall, making you gasp. He lifted your dress confidently and met your eyes with his darkened ones to check whether you were still afraid of him.

He gently assured you, “I won't hurt you,” right before his big fingers began to stroke your clit through your underwear. “Just relax.”

As he felt himself becoming more and more difficult for him to control, but he made his choice to make you feel comfortable and wet by giving you pleasure you needed. Soldier Boy gently inserted one of his fingers inside of yours, causing you to sigh a little louder this time after rubbing your clit some more and eliciting small noises from your mouth.

He answered, “You can take it,” and then carefully inserted his entire meaty finger inside of yours. “You're so good for me.”

You pushed yourself to take his entire finger in between his compliments and begged him to lift you up so you could be in a more comfortable position. Thankfully, he got the message right away and effortlessly raised you up with one hand. He then proceeded to gently touch you while whispering compliments against your lips.

You pressed your lips to his as he began to touch you more roughly, kissing him wildly as your fingertips played with his long and thick beard.

When Soldier Boy felt that you were close and that you were moist all over his hand, he added another finger. He bit your bottom lip gently, then whispered, “Cum on my fingers, sweetheart,” as he increased his strokes and found your most sensitive area with skill.

As you neared your climax, your legs trembled and you began to clench around his thick fingers between his praise while you moaned loudly against his mouth. When he took back his fingers, which were coated with your slick, you whimpered in protest. You were rather touch-starved, and you knew your body needed more.

He shoved his fingers in your mouth before you could even respond, growling, “Taste yourself,” as you held him tightly since your legs felt like a jelly. “Taste your sweetness.”

Your body became consumed with a desire to please him, so you hesitantly opened your mouth to let him to use it whatever he pleased. When he saw that you were ready to follow his instructions, he smiled mischievously and gave you the finger, saying, “Suck it, baby.”

When he put his hardness between your legs and ordered you to suck his finger so you could taste your own wetness, your heart began to race. As he carefully slid his fingers back and forth in your mouth, your tongue curled around his finger, giving you the sensation of a salty slick, and he pretended that you were sucking his cock instead. 

His lips twisted in enjoyment as he observed your submissive demeanor, and he growled, “You're a little dirty cocksucker, aren't you? However, I'll give you another chance to suck me off with your adorable little mouth later.”

With a swift motion, he removed his finger from your mouth and guided you both to the bed behind you. When Soldier Boy removed his hardness from his pants while holding your neck and pulling up your dress. The moment you felt the tip of his cock at your wet entrance, you shivered with anxiety, your cheek facing the sheets as you waited nervously for him to take you. You moved under Soldier Boy and forced him to release his grip on your hip, causing him stare at you perplexed before he inserted his cock into your pussy.

“What now?” he questioned while you were looking at his enormous dick in fear as he gave himself quick, forceful strokes.

“I’d like to do it in that position,” you murmered shyly, trying not to look at his enormous cock.

Soldier Boy noticed your anxious expression and your naive tone as you expressed wanting to be fucked in a missionary position. Without even realizing it, his heart began to soften, and he leaned over you on the bed, forcing you to lock your legs behind him as he began to kiss you again to help you relax. 

“Do you want to watch me fucking you?” He removed your tiny panties from your pussy and raised your dress so he could see your nude lower body. “Watching my cock slide inside your pussy,” he questioned. 

“Yes,” you moaned as you felt his thick cock on your stomach and mumbled against his mouth. 

After pulling the hanger off your dress and exposing your tits to his view, Soldier Boy spit on his own fingers and began to caress your sensitive clit some more. When he quickly sucked on both of your hard nipples, you let out a deep moan. Then, with a daring gaze into your eyes, he spat on his own fingers more and said, “Your adorable little hairy pussy looks so delicious. I'm fucking tired of shaved little bitches. You're really appealing to me, sweetie. A real woman.”

His fingers and his compliments made you feel close as his hand continued to play with your clit. You attempted to control your moans but were unsuccessful when he abruptly inserted two fingers back into you, forcing you to clench around his fingers once again.

He said, “I can make you come as much as you want, sweetheart,” as you whimpered loudly and opened your legs wider. Your eyes welled up with tears as you realized how empty you felt and how much you needed him to fill you.

“Beg me to fuck you.”

You quietly said, “Please,” running your fingers through his long beard.

“That's not how you beg,” he muttered aggressively.

You clamped your legs around his hips and moaned, “Fuck me, please,” as you attempted to get him to move on you.

As you continued pleading with him to get inside you, your eyes clouded with desire to be fucked by him, Soldier Boy grinned satisfiedly against your lips. He held his firm cock in his hand and moved it back and forth against your clit, forcing you to continue begging.

You both groaned when he finally pressed it against your entrance, and he moved very carefully to avoid hurting you with his strength. But you were so wet that he didn't even have to push, and he effortlessly glided inside you, which made him smile proudly. 

He encouraged you, saying, “You're taking me so good,” and attempted, very carefully, to insert his entire shaft inside your pussy. “Just a little bit more.” 

When he gave you a firm hip squeeze and thrust his entire hardness inside of you, you felt a little uncomfortable at first, but you quickly grew accustomed to the length of his dick and forced yourself to suppress your groan of discomfort.

He waited inside of you, and you murmured softly, “Can you be gentle?”

“You want to be fucked slowly?”

You nodded to him, and he surprised you by kissing your forehead tenderly and smiling a little. He said, “I'll fuck you as you like it tonight.”

You both gasped with ecstasy as he began to slowly move his cock inside of you. He looked into your eyes, his muscular hands holding you in place as he slowly smashed his dick within your pussy.

With every stroke, he snarled and praised you, saying, “You're so fucking tight and nice. I should have fucked you sooner.”

He was fucking you slowly but with powerful strokes that made you sigh with pleasure. He was also extremely mindful of every facial expression you made. When Soldier Boy sensed your hips frantically striving to match his thrusts, he began to move a little quicker and harder. He was aware that your body was capable of more. You felt yourself moving closer to him again as you groaned louder and gripped his face as he began to fuck you harder. 

“Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he commanded, wrapping his hands around your neck and shifting slightly on top of you. It got harder to keep himself from spilling inside of you as he fucked you carefully, seeing as your tits bounced with each stroke. 

Your legs trembled with incredible pleasure as soon as he gave you the order to cum and hit you with his powerful thrusts, dominating your body, and you screamed in intense pleasure. You had no idea that you needed to be fucked in that particular way. You forced him to fully press against your walls by raising your hips and clenching around his big cock. You were shaking under Soldier Boy wildly as he continued to fuck you in between orgasms. 

With a low growl, he shoved his entire cock within your pussy and grabbed your tits with one hand while spilling his thick, white ropes inside.

“Fuck,” he growled as you clenched around him one more time and he kept spilling inside you for minutes, filling your insides with his sperm.

As he filled up inside of you, you both snapped to reality, and he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

He took his softened cock from your insides, and he chuckled when you smiled against his lips and while you were trying to catch your breath in bliss.

When he palmed your pussy and got back his sperm to your insides, which were leaking out of your thigh, you both moaned. 

“See,” he teased you. “No damage was done. I gave you an excellent attention.”

You boldly put your hands to his flushed lips, closed your eyes, and gave him a quick, hard kiss. 

“You're indeed a sweet little distraction to me.”

THE END.

A/N: Well, that was all. It was just a two chapters long fic, but you can check my Masterlist for long Soldier Boy / Reader fics.

Let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs are very appreciated and important to me. ♡

Taglist: @n-o-p-e-never @mostlymarvelgirl @libby99hb @arrowenchantress @aleemendoza2425-blog @anundyingfidelity

[syluslnd]

Just read House Of Cards and it got me good ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽ aksbsjsanoaksdjsnkasjian– *dead*

Anyways, can you make the continuation of that story?

(Tired of me being delusional so now it's his turn for him to be the one who is delusional)

From what I read, Sylus always in denial when his men sent every piece of her until the last moment he snapped. What if he goes back into being delusional then? That MC is still in bed with him. Or going to the arcade with her (clearly he go there alone because MC is ☠️)

How people inside there giving him a weird look because they see some disheveled man talking about he would buy the entire arcade (in the game. Canon.) for his beloved.

Thank you!! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

pt 2 to this story

house of cards;shattered

(note-It makes me so happy you liked it so much that you needed a continuation🥹thank YOU & I hope you really like this, kisses xx)

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The days following the discovery of your body were a blur for Sylus. The once-cold and calculating leader of Onychinus was unraveling at the seams, haunted by a rage so consuming that it drowned out everything else.

The names of the men responsible for your death, those who dared to touch what was his, had been whispered to him by his remaining loyalists like and kieran,sylus wasted no time tracking them down.

He wanted them alive. He wanted them to feel pain-slow, excruciating pain, the kind that would make them beg for death long before he was willing to grant them that mercy.

The first man was found in a decrepit building, hidden away like a rat. Sylus didn't speak as he dragged the man into the basement of one of Onychinus's many safehouses. There was no need for words.

He was beyond talking. His mind buzzed with one singular thought: revenge.

The man was tied to a chair, blood already trickling down his face from where Sylus had struck him. Sylus circled him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. The cold gleam of his knife reflected in the faint light and the man whimpered, begging for mercy.

"I wonder” Sylus muttered under his breath, his voice low "how long it'll take for you to break."

With a quick flick of his wrist, he slashed the man's arm, drawing a deep line across the skin. Blood welled up instantly, dripping to the floor in steady, rhythmic beats. The man screamed but Sylus barely heard it. His eyes were cold, unfeeling, even as the man squirmed in his restraints.

One cut turned into two. Two turned into ten.

Sylus worked methodically, slicing deeper each time, his hand steady, his mind eerily calm. He didn't rush. He savored each scream, each pathetic whimper. The man's blood coated Sylus's hands but he didn't care. He wasn't thinking about anything but the pain he wanted to inflict. Pain for pain.

Blood for blood.

He broke the man's fingers, one by one, relishing the sickening snap of bone beneath his grip. The man's pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Sylus didn't stop. He wouldn't stop until every single one of them paid for what they had done to you.

By the time the man finally succumbed to the pain, falling limp in the chair, Sylus had carved his face beyond recognition. Blood pooled at Sylus's feet, staining the floor. He stood there, panting heavily, his body covered in the man's blood, his chest heaving. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

The second man suffered a worse fate. Sylus had perfected his technique by then. He used a blowtorch, searing the flesh from the man's arms and legs, watching as the skin blistered and peeled. The smell of burning flesh filled the room but Sylus didn't flinch.

His expression remained cold, detached, as if he were performing a routine task rather than torturing a man to death.

The man screamed so loudly that Sylus had to gag him but it didn't make a difference.

The man's eyes told him everything. He was terrified. Broken. A shell of what he had once been. Sylus took his time, dragging out the agony for hours, refusing to let the man pass out. When the man's legs were charred beyond repair, Sylus ended him with a single, swift cut to the throat.

But it still wasn't enough.

Each time he killed one of them, Sylus felt a strange emptiness settle over him. He had thought that their deaths would bring him peace. That they would give him closure. But all he felt was a gnawing, festering wound inside him—a hollow void that no amount of bloodshed could fill.

The final man was the one who had sent the message, the one who had orchestrated the whole thing. Sylus saved him for last. This time, he wasn't quick about it. He made sure the man felt every second of pain.

Sylus shattered his kneecaps with a crowbar, slowly, deliberately. The man writhed, trying to crawl away, but there was nowhere to go.

Sylus grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to look up.

"You think you've won?" Sylus hissed, his voice shaking with fury. "You think taking her from me made you powerful?"

The man spat blood, laughing through the pain. "She...was just...a toy..to you..."

The words hit harder than any physical blow could. Sylus's vision blurred with rage. He drove the crowbar into the man's ribs, one after another, each crack echoing in the cold room. The man choked on his own blood, gasping for breath but Sylus didn't stop. He kept hitting. Kept swinging. Until the man was nothing but a bloody, broken mess on the floor.

Finally, when the last man was dead, Sylus stood over the carnage, his breathing ragged. His hands, arms, even his face were stained with blood. But as he stared at the bodies, at the destruction he had wrought, something inside him cracked.

He had avenged you. He had made them suffer. But why did it feel so... hollow?

Then, something strange happened. A thought—no, a delusion-began to take root in his mind. You weren't really gone. You couldn't be. You were too strong for that.

Too stubborn. This had all been some elaborate trick, a twisted game to test him.

That was it. You had never been dead.

He just... needed to find you.

The next day, Sylus was smiling, genuinely smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He was covered in dried blood but that didn't bother him. None of that mattered. What mattered was that he was going to see you.

He walked through the streets of Onychinus with a spring in his step, ignoring the wide-eyed stares and gasps from the people around him. The blood that clung to his clothes and skin was irrelevant. He was happy. He was going to take you out, like you had wanted. You were waiting for him. You always waited for him.

Sylus reached the arcade, stepping through the entrance with a grin. The bright lights and sounds surrounded him but all he saw was you, standing at the claw machine. You were there. Of course, you were there. You'd always be there.

"There you are, kitten" he said, his voice soft, almost tender. "I told you l'd be back."

But the arcade had fallen into a stunned silence. People stopped in their tracks, staring in shock and horror at the blood-covered man standing in the center of the room, talking to... no one.

Sylus didn't notice. He walked toward the claw machine, where he could see you in his mind, laughing at your failed attempts. "Let me help you this time" he chuckled, reaching out as if to guide your hand but his fingers grasped only air.

A child whispered to their mother, "Mommy, why is he talking to himself?"

The mother pulled the child closer, her face pale as she hurried them out of the arcade.

More people began to leave, their eyes darting to Sylus in fear but he remained oblivious, lost in his own delusion.

He leaned against the claw machine, his bloodstained hand leaving a smear on the glass. "You always get so worked up over these games, sweetie" he teased, his voice dripping with affection. "But I always knew you could win if you just had a little patience."

A man behind the counter fumbled with his phone, clearly calling the authorities. His hands shook as he kept his distance, terrified of the blood-soaked maniac who was clearly not in his right mind.

Sylus's eyes sparkled with something close to joy. "You're laughing at me, aren't you?" he said, his tone playful. "I can't help it. I just missed you."

In his mind, you were there. Smiling.

Laughing. Perfect, as you had always been.

But the truth was a far darker reality. He was alone, talking to nothing but empty air, the ghost of your presence haunting his fractured mind and the onlookers could only watch, horrified, as Sylus-the feared, ruthless leader of Onychinus-spoke to someone who no longer existed.

The doors to the arcade opened and the authorities arrived. But Sylus didn't notice.

He was too busy laughing with you, too consumed by the fantasy he had created, a world where you were still alive, still with him.

In the end, the tragedy wasn't just that you were gone. It was that Sylus had lost his mind trying to keep you alive in his own twisted way.

and the reality, cold and unforgiving, was that nothing could bring you back.

[shoutosbaeby]

THE LETHAL FACE CARD…?????

Anyway I think ppl liked the last one so I have some Shoto x female reader headcanons for u :D

The slightly nsfw ones are aged up headcanons so minors DNI !!!

SWEET/CUTE

- Gives the best comfort hugs. He’s warm on his left side as well so it just adds to it. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, he’s there.

- Loves giving you forehead kisses and pecks that go up from your collarbone to your jawline. He’d leave sweet marks on your neck sometimes. But he’d do it affectionately, you know?

- Isn’t good at cooking but if you’re ever on your period and you’re craving something, he’s go out and get it for you. (Might threaten Katsuki or Sato into making it but that’s a last resort) He would also reassure you constantly that he doesn’t mind and understands that periods are completely normal. He also uses his left hand as a heating pad for your belly if you ever get cramps <3

- He’s very accommodating. He’ll sleep on whichever side of the bed that you like, watch whatever shows or movies you want with you, play any video game you choose and read every single book recommendation you give him. He’ll adjust to whatever you prefer and doesn’t mind letting you choose most of the time.

- Not very affectionate through words. It actually takes him a really long time to say “I love you.” But it’s so obvious that he loves you just from everything he does for you. His love languages are acts or service and giving gifts !! He has your favorite things memorized.

- Very laid back and chill so he doesn’t get jealous most of the time. But he draws the line if someone touches you.

- He actually gives you a lot of attitude (that’s just who he is) but knows when to stop. If you have a bad day you won’t hear a single teasing word from him until you’re feeling better.

- Talking about bad days, he always makes them better. You could be exhausted and stressed out after a long day and Shoto would get you one of your favorite snacks and watch whatever show you want with you to make you feel better. Or he’d just hold you until you fall asleep.

- During winter, you sleep on his left and during summer you sleep on his right.

- Loves to see you in his clothes because they look so huge on you and he finds it adorable.

ANGSTY/SAD

- Sometimes he has days where a trauma response will take over and he wouldn’t like it when people touch him. It lasts a few days and only happens when he gets stressed out or his PTSD reacts badly to something. But even if he doesn’t want to be touched, your presence comforts him more than anything.

- When he has nightmares, he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind and stay awake for the rest of the night. You’re the only thing that keeps him grounded during that time.

- Whenever you both argue, he’s terrified that he’ll do something. Even though he would never do anything like his father did. He’s scared that he’ll end up that way and ends up avoiding you sometimes because of that thought. But some communication and a few hugs can always solve the issue <3

SLIGHTLY NSFW (Aged up Shoto and I’m keeping it short because idk how to write stuff like this.)

- Covers you in hickeys. Absolutely loves seeing you marked up after a long night.

- Clever with his fingers.

- Very few words are spoken, but he gets things done for sure.

- The best aftercare in the world.

- Doesn’t have the highest drive, but it goes up when he starts. (Ifykwim)

- Will make sure to absolutely wreck you every single time <33

THAT WAS SO AWKWARD TO WRITE I NEED TO IMPROVE AT THIS 😭😭😭

Anyways hope u liked -3-

[eringobragh420]

💜 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 💜 Summary: Damian’s girlfriend is pissed off. 🛑 Warnings: NSFW. D/s undertones, rough, unprotected p in v, slapping, cum. 18+ 💜 Notes: Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I'll fix it! 💜 Taglist: @eddiesrockstargirlfriend. If you'd like to be added, please click here!

“Don’t fucking touch me, Priest,” she says, yanking her arm out of his grasp before shoving his stupid, giant body as hard as she can. He stumbles back a couple steps, arms spread, palms to his girlfriend, and the unadulterated befuddlement painted on his face is enough to make her head explode.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Damian chuckles.

“What’s wrong with me?” she screams. Damian’s smirk is gone in an instant and his muscles stiffen, bringing him to his full terrifying height, but she can’t back down now. Not after what she just saw. Fuck him and the click he claims. “The fuck is wrong with you?” she continues yelling. They’re drawing attention—well, she is, anyway—but she couldn’t care less. She wants these people—his friends, coworkers, bosses, fans—to know exactly how much Damian Priest sucks, what kind of man is, what kind of boyfriend he is.

“Come here,” he grumbles, snatching her bicep, squeezing hard enough she knows there will be a bruise left behind, and he lifts, nearly bringing her feet off the ground, making it completely impossible for her to escape this time. She feels like her shoulder is dislocating the closer they get to the locker room, and she’s nearly flung into the door when it opens unexpectedly.

“Everything … okay here?” Seth Rollins asks, chocolate eyes passing back and forth between the couple.

“Everything’s fine,” Damian roars, swinging the tiny woman inside the empty locker room. As she goes by, she lifts her middle finger at Rollins, who instantly backs away, hands up, not wanting any trouble. Damian releases his death grip on her arm before kicking the door closed behind him. “Okay.” He sets his hands on his trim hips, shrugging, big eyes and raised brows. “Seriously. What’s your problem?”

Her lips purse as she massages her arm and considers his question. On one hand, she’s pissed because the asshole should know what he did. On the other hand, she could accuse him only to have him deny it, and then what does she do? On the other, other hand—a much smaller, less significant, barely existing other, other hand—there’s a chance she’s wrong, and while it would be good news, she would be embarrassed, and their relationship would be damaged … if it isn’t already. But then the image from earlier flashes in her brain and, not only does she want to die a little, she believes she knows the truth, so decides to stay the course.

“You’re—” She clears her throat because suddenly it’s scratchy and it hurts much like the pain in her chest. “You’re cheating on me.”

The allegation hangs heavily in the ether. She feels stupid actually saying the words. She never, in a million years, would have believed him to be the type, but she knows what her eyes saw. Rhea Ripley—the incomparable, exquisitely beautiful—Rhea Bloody Ripley in Damian’s strong arms, her muscular legs wrapped around his waist. They weren’t kissing, but they might as well have been, and somehow, in her crumbling mental capacity, that alone served as plenty of evidence for an affair.

“What?” Damian asks, the tone of his voice lowering several levels. “I’m—” He pauses, shaking his head. “You think I’m cheating on you?”

“Yeah, Damian, you’re fucking cheating on me,” she replies with more force than she thought she was capable of.

He nods, plump lips forming a deep frown. “And you thought acting like a psychopath in front of everyone we know was the way to handle it?”

“I don’t hear you denying it,” she seethes, nostrils flaring. Her skin crawls at the thought of the two of them together. She wants to vomit imagining a life without her Papí. She just can’t fucking believe they’ve ended up here.

“I shouldn’t have to,” Damian replies, bending over to her height. “You’re talkin’ nonsense!”

“I saw you, Damian. I fucking saw both of you.”

He shakes his head, shoulders coming up to his ears as he considers her statement. And then it dawns on him—she watches in real time as the lightbulb flashes on above his stupid man bun. “Are you talkin’ about Rhea?”

Her mind is blank, erased like a math problem on a chalkboard, leaving her heart in control of her body—and right now?—that heart is fractured, splintering, promising to disintegrate at any given moment. She feels her feet moving of their own volition, closing the space between them. She stands before him for half a moment at less than half his height before reeling back and slapping him across the face. The palm of her hand erupts with fire, tears she’s been battling since the moment she witnessed the embrace now streaming freely down her contoured cheeks. Damian stands frozen, looking somewhere over her head. The muscles in his jaws flex as he clenches his teeth, inhaling long and hard through his nose. He opens his mouth to spin a web of lies, so she slaps him again before he can get started. She’s crying now because of the pain in her hand and the pain behind her ribcage, so she slaps him once again because it’s his goddamn fault. Damian catches her wrist as she makes another attempt, and this is a brand new pain.

“Mírame!” he bellows, backing her up until she slams into the nearest wall. She loses her breath a bit, but Damian places his free hand behind her head to prevent any impact. His grip on her wrist is unrelenting as he holds it against her chest. She is miniscule in this awkward embrace, her eyes looking everywhere but where he wants her to. But when he bends his knees and dips down to her level, ducking his head until he’s in her line of sight, she’s forced to meet his gaze. “I’m gonna make you pay for those slaps in a minute …” he cautions. His hand starts applying pressure to the back of her head. “But first I have to tell you, because for some reason you need to fucking hear it, I’m not cheating on you.” 

She swallows, having her breath stolen again because she feels the truth of his words vibrating her bone marrow. She also feels the shame and embarrassment of being wrong. With her free hand she struggles to unclamp his vice-like grip from her wrist, and having had enough of her shit, Damian grabs both wrists this time and smashes them into the wall above her.

“Do you hear me?” he carries on, with quite a bit more hostility than she’s used to, shoving his knee into the wall between her legs. His knee pad becomes a cushion for her pussy—he’s still in his gear, still sweaty, because she accosted him right after his match—elevating her to the toes of her sneakers, and she is completely at the mercy of Damian Priest.

“Yes,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Good. Do you believe me? Hmm?” Capturing both wrists in one hand, he cups her chin with the other and touches his cheek to hers. “Do you believe that I’d rather die than hear someone else call me Papí?” It’s actually an incredibly sweet confession, but the venom in his tone scorches the honey in his words.

She believes him. By all that is good and holy in this world, she believes him and she is equal parts mortified, thankful, and contrite. She’d allowed her imagination to run wild because of an act of love between close friends, never once considering having a civil conversation with either of them about how it clearly made her uncomfortable. Did she just cause a rift in their relationship? Contaminate it with her jealousy? How many people is she going to have to apologize to? Seth, for sure, although he usually deserves any middle finger aimed in his direction. Christ, what’s she gonna say to Rhea?

“Damian,” she whispers, doing everything she can to not sound pathetic, and if her own ears are to be trusted, she is failing miserably.

“No,” he interrupts her, “you started this. I’m gonna fucking finish it. Now answer me.”

She grits her teeth, rolling her hips unconsciously because the position he’s put her in isn’t all that comfortable, probably by design, and suddenly she remembers how and why she’s propped on her boyfriend’s thigh. Even the slightest friction renders a groan from her. Damian tilts his head, eyes unforgiving, a sable shade she’s never seen before, and she regrets having made any noise at all, no matter how unintentional. His cheek is transforming into a furious vermillion, and the guilt that washes over her is nearly unbearable. She has no hand left to play, not that she did in the first fucking place, and she resigns herself to the punishment she’s about to receive. Well-deserved punishment, she understands.

“Yes,” she breathes, his eyes boring into her, chipping away any residual resolve she might have left inside.

“¿Si, que?” he booms, as if he expected the incorrect response. His anger hasn’t abated.

She can’t feel her fingers anymore and she’s struggling to maintain balance on Damian’s thigh. The slightest lean this way or that sends jolts of pleasure throughout her body, and it’s a losing battle trying to keep the satisfaction off her face. “Yes, Papí,” she says, “I believe you.”

He eyes her for a long moment, searching her face for any clue she might be lying or still angry. She keeps her own eyes open and on him, seemingly baring her soul before him, feeling more vulnerable now than she has in her entire life. At last he pushes away from her and the wall, releasing her wrists, removing his thigh from between her legs, and maybe she misses that last part a little bit.

“Now take those off—” He points at her denim shorts. “—and bend the fuck over.” And then he moves his arm to the right, pointing at a giant WWE trunk on wheels wedged against the corner of the room. She knows her place, and she has her orders.

She kicks her shorts toward him, standing before him in nothing but a pair of Nike hightops, a white thong, and a t-shirt-turned-tube-top that demands the audience to ALL RISE. He doesn’t even look at her body before nodding toward the trunk, and Jesus Christ, she’s in so much trouble. She passes him while rubbing her wrists and when she’s standing less than a foot from the trunk, she realizes she’s too short for this fucking thing too. She glances at Damian over her shoulder, and he’s stomping toward her, and her heart jumps into her throat. She hops onto the trunk, tips of her shoes barely kissing the floor just like when she was straddling Damian’s thigh.

The smack to her right ass cheek echoes throughout the locker room, same with the slap to her left, and she yelps.  Damian grabs her hair and pulls, arching her back into a spine-busting half-circle. He lets go, but before she can fall forward, one of his huge hands clamps over her mouth and holds her in position. With the other, he wrenches at her thong to pull it aside—she hears the material rip at the same time—then bends her leg at the knee and props it onto the trunk beside her.

“You know, the jealousy is kinda sexy on you,” Damian comments. Now she feels his hand working at his pants as it bumps against her sore ass. Then comes a different kind of smacking as he swats the sensitive skin with the underside of his rigid cock. He traces the head along both cheeks and along the crack, on down until she feels the huge, blunt head at her soaking entrance. “But don’t you ever fucking slap me again.”

Without warning, he is wholly sheathed inside her, his hips slamming into hers. She cries out from behind his hand, clutching his wrist with one hand as the other claws at the trunk in a desperate search for leverage to launch herself away. Damian is not a small man, in any way, shape, or form, so he’s always allowed her a few minutes to get used to his size. Not this time. This is her penance. He squeezes her hip, in full control of her body, and he’s simply using her pussy to get off now, without regard for her pleasure. She feels almost like a fleshlight, but her hormones are confused because she’s wet as fuck and, whether he likes it or not, she’s liable to get off just from him fucking her.

Damian stretches across her backside, her spine still bowed, and his teeth scrape across the shell of her ear as he grunts, “Say you’re fucking sorry.” He removes his hand from her mouth.

She gulps oxygen before panting, “I’m sorry, Papí. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He kisses her sweaty neck and sighs, hanging his head over her shoulder in unison with slowing the pummeling of her pussy. “I’m sorry, too. Lo siento, mi vida.” His rhythm starts speeding up following several moments. “But I am gonna cum in this pussy,” he advises, standing up straight, gripping both hips. “And you are gonna walk outta here with it dripping down your thighs.”

“Yes, Papí.”

“Because I fucking love you.”

She groans, bucking back against him. “I love you, baby.”

One final thrust and he makes good on his promise. He even squeezes the base of his cock to make sure every drop is inside her before pulling out. He’s much more gentle with her now, his enormous hands sliding up her back to her shoulder and arm so he can assist her into a standing position. As soon as she turns to him, she grabs his face and pulls his lips to hers. Their kiss is long, deliberate, and by the time they’re finished, his hands are cupping her face and hers are clutching his neck, and goddamn it, she’s so fucking stupid. But love makes people do crazy things.

“Now what do I do?” she asks, holding up the tattered side of her thong. Damian inspects the damage, then takes the lacey material in both hands and rips it into several pieces, which fall one by one to the floor.

“Problem solved.”

🎀 Mírame - Look at me 🎀 Si, que - Yes, what 🎀 Papí - Daddy 🎀 Lo siento - I'm sorry

[star2fishmeg]

luke pls fuck me in the bathroom at a umich football game

"C'mon, beautiful, I know you can be louder than that." Luke purrs into your neck, leaving warm and wet kisses along the skin. He has you pressed against the bathroom door, legs hooked around his hips as he thrusts into you, that wild look in his eyes.

"Lu," you whine, arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt as you struggle to keep your moans supressed, "what if someone hears us?"

He gives a low chuckle, bucking into you slightly harder than his rhythm has been to earn a sudden, raw moan from you, one from the chest that echoes around the stall, "Then they'll know who takes good care of you, won't they?"

When Luke pulled you aside, you thought it would be for reassurance that he was yours and you were his, that he was a good boyfriend. He knew one of his friends had a thing for you, always did since the group first met you and the thought of you leaving terrified him. But you didn't expect reassurance to come in the form having his cock plunge into your pussy at a vehement rhythm, skin slapping with lips moving against each other, muffling hefty and erotic moans, tongues leaving no crevice unexplored.

His pace quickens, rutting becoming sloppier and he's grunting the more your cunt squeezes him tight. With his face buried in the crook of your neck, grunts slip from his once cocky lips and your breathing deepens as you do your best to hush the mewls his stuttering hips draw from you. Luke's core tightens, a frenzied pleasure shooting through him the faster he chases his release, and he thinks he could go another round when you sink your teeth into his neck, soaking his cock white.

The pair of you stand silently, heavy panting bouncing off the dingy walls with faces tucked into necks and you feel his smile spreading onto his lips. Heat flushes to your face, you can't bear to leave that stall, what if people are out there? You'd have to look people in the eye after your boyfriend just fucked you numb at a football game.

"Do you think people heard us?" you mumble, twirling one of his curls with your finger.

"One way to find out." He grins that stupid dopey smile of his, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips and pulling himself out, setting you on the ground with an arm looped around your hip for stability. It may have not been the best venue, but you'd do it again, it's not like it wasn't hot or anything.

[doormatty3]

Set Nerves (Patrick Wilson x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Female Reader] [Patrick Wilson x You] Acting has always been your passion, but the leap from a small indie film to a big Hollywood production is overwhelming—the set, the people, the intimate scenes. You’ve never even kissed someone on screen, let alone acted out a sex scene. Luckily, your co-star Patrick, with his striking blue eyes and kind smile, has agreed to help you. And how could you possibly refuse when his promise of a home-cooked meal and practise ignites a fire in you that feels like more? OR: How intimate scenes do not work in Hollywood 101

Wordcount: 10,895

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal sex, fluff, smut, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex, flirting, cunnilingus

A/N: The main idea from this stems from a dream I had… make of that what you will

You arrive on set and you don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous in your life.  

This isn’t your first film gig - far from it - but you’ve mostly been in indie movies with small casts, small sets, and small expectations. 

But this? This is Hollywood. And you’re fucking terrified.

When your agent called to tell you about the movie, you were overjoyed. But that joy quickly morphed into fear when you read the script. It’s a pretty standard action thriller, but you’re cast as the female lead - the one who shares romantic scenes with the male lead, Patrick Wilson. 

You’ve never even kissed someone on camera, let alone acted out a sex scene. So, you can only hope Patrick is cool and will help you through it and not be annoyed at the mistakes you will definitely make.

As you walk through the bustling set, you see people everywhere, buzzing around and busy. You scan the area for the director and main crew and spot them in a huddle, engaged in deep conversation.

You don’t know most of the people but among them is a very handsome man standing with his back to you. 

He’s tall, with a muscular, broad back that strains the jacket he’s wearing. His short brown hair curls around his ears and the nape of his neck. 

When he turns, you catch his side profile - a straight nose, prominent brows, and plump, pink lips curled into a smile as he laughs. Mesmerised, you trail your eyes over his face, taking notice of how the skin around his eyes crinkles when he laughs and how he throws his head back.

You snap out of your reverie and make your way to them.

The director spots you and waves you over, breaking into a welcoming smile.

"Ah, there she is! Everyone, this is our leading lady," he announces. "And this," he gestures to the handsome man you noticed earlier, "is Patrick Wilson."

Patrick turns fully towards you, and your breath catches in your throat. 

Up close, he’s even more attractive than you initially thought - tall and broad, with a magnetic presence. His eyes, a striking hue of blue, seem to sparkle with an inner light, and his smile is warm and genuine, radiating kindness. There is an inexplicable charm about him, something that reminds you of the serene morning breeze over calm water. 

Now you notice the salt-and-pepper stubble that adorns his face, adding a scruffy, rugged charm to his already captivating appearance. His effortlessly confident yet inviting demeanour draws you in, making it hard to look away.

"Nice to meet you," Patrick says, extending his hand. "I’ve heard great things about you."

You shake his hand, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in your grip. 

"Nice to meet you too, Patrick," you manage to say, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach. 

As you clasp his hand, you marvel at the way it envelops yours completely. The nails are carefully trimmed, and his fingers are thick and strong, yet his touch is gentle and warm. 

The moment lingers longer than you expect, and you can’t help but notice the subtle roughness of his skin. The sensation of his hand in yours, combined with his striking presence, leaves you slightly breathless. You find yourself momentarily lost in the depths of his blue eyes, which seem to hold you captive. 

You are rudely snapped out of your reverie when the director and crew are called away, leaving you and Patrick standing alone amidst the set.

Patrick entirely turns to you, stepping a bit closer, his smile softening into one of genuine concern. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice gentle. "You seem a bit nervous."

You let out a shy laugh, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Is it that obvious?"

"A little," he admits with a chuckle, the soft smile still etched onto his face. "But it’s completely normal. First days are always a bit overwhelming, especially on a big set like this."

As he speaks, he places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeps through your clothes and resonates deep within you as you feel the strength and comfort he offers. You also catch a whiff of his cologne, a subtle, intoxicating scent that makes your head swim slightly.

You take a deep breath, feeling a bit more at ease. "Thanks. It’s just... this is all so new to me. I’ve never done anything on this scale before."

Patrick nods, his expression understanding. "Don’t worry. We’ll take it one step at a time. If you need anything or have any questions, just let me know. We’re in this together.

His reassuring words and kind demeanour, combined with the physical contact, send a pleasant shiver down your spine. 

"Thanks, Patrick. That means a lot," you say, looking into his blue eyes and feeling a spark between you.

He smiles again, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment longer before he lets go. "We’ve got this," he says confidently, and you can’t help but believe him.

Patrick’s eyes sparkle with kindness, and his smile is dazzling and warm. He’s easy to talk to, his laughter infectious, and before long, you feel the initial tension begin to dissolve.

As you talk, you notice how the light catches the wispy locks of hair around his ear, casting a golden halo that accentuates his strong jawline.

At some point, he tilts his head slightly and asks, "Hey," his voice soft, and his eyes trail onto yours, "I was thinking... if you’re still feeling nervous, maybe you could come over to my place this evening? We can go over the script together and maybe have some food. I think it might help put you more at ease if we talked about it a bit."

You feel your heart skip a beat, the invitation both exciting and nerve-wracking. But the way he looks at you, so earnest and handsome, with his eyes gleaming under the set lights, makes it hard to say anything but yes.

His sincerity is disarming, and the idea of spending more time with him is unexpectedly appealing. "Really?" you say, your voice betraying a mix of surprise and eagerness.

"Yeah," he replies, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. He tilts his head, and the light catches in his eyes, making them glow like sapphires. "It’ll be good to get comfortable with each other off-set. Plus, I make a mean pasta," he adds with a playful grin, his lips curving in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

"That sounds great," you say, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. "I’d like that."

Patrick’s smile widens, and for a moment, the chaotic set fades into the background. "Perfect. I’ll text you the address. See you at seven?"

"Seven it is," you agree, already feeling a little more confident about the days ahead. The thought of spending the evening with him, getting to know him better, brings a warmth that eases your earlier anxieties.

_____

You arrive at Patrick’s place at seven, taking a deep breath before stepping out of your car. You didn’t really dress up, knowing that this was meant to be a professional meeting. Still, you opted for a sweater and pants that accentuate your figure and make you feel good about yourself.

Your nerves spike as you ring the doorbell. Moments later, the door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat once more - he seems to have that effect on you.

Patrick stands before you in a simple white t-shirt and jeans. The shirt clings deliciously to his defined biceps, and you can’t help but admire how the fabric stretches across his chest. His blue eyes are striking in the soft light of his house, and his hair is combed back, looking soft and touchable.

"Hey," he greets you with a friendly smile, the same genuine warmth you’ve grown accustomed to. "Come on in."

Before you can say anything, he pulls you into a hug. You melt into his embrace as his strong body envelops you, and you’re engulfed in his intoxicating scent, a mix of cologne and something distinctly him. It’s a brief moment that leaves you feeling both comforted and slightly flustered.

"I made carbonara. I hope that’s okay, " he says, releasing you gently, and you find yourself missing his warmth instantly. 

"That sounds perfect," you say, your voice steadier now. As you follow him inside, you notice the dining table already set with plates and a bottle of wine. The soft lighting casts a cosy glow, making the scene feel unexpectedly intimate.

"Wow, you went all out," you say, smiling at him.

"I wanted to make sure we had a comfortable setting to go over the script," he replies, his eyes twinkling. "Plus, I enjoy cooking. I hope you’re hungry."

"Starving," you admit, feeling more at ease with every passing moment.

He pulls out a chair for you, and you sit down, grateful for his thoughtfulness. "This looks amazing," you say, glancing at the beautifully prepared meal.

Patrick sits across from you, pouring the wine. "Let’s eat first, and then we can dive into the script," he suggests. As he hands you a glass, his fingers brush against yours, sending a spark of electricity through you.

You clink glasses, his smile reassuring you as the evening begins, and you start to feel that maybe, just maybe , this will be a night to remember for all the right reasons.

_____

The conversation flows easily as you sit across from each other, the aroma of the pasta mingling with the rich scent of the wine. You take a bite, savouring the flavours.

"This is amazing, Patrick," you say, genuinely impressed. "You weren’t kidding about being a good cook."

"Thanks," he grins, a boyish charm lighting up his face. "Glad you like it. Cooking is a bit of a hobby of mine."

As the meal progresses, you feel the pleasant buzz from the wine, making you more relaxed. 

Eventually, the conversation shifts to the script. You go over a few scenes, discussing your characters and their dynamics.

Patrick leans back in his chair, swirling his wine. "I remember the first time I had to kiss someone in a movie," he says, his eyes twinkling with the memory.

You feel your cheeks heat up, a blush creeping across your face. You look down at your glass, feeling a bit self-conscious. "I’ve never done it," you admit quietly.

Patrick’s expression softens, and he reaches across the table to gently touch your hand; the contact sends a shiver through you. 

"Hey, don’t worry about it," he says reassuringly. "It’s completely normal to be nervous. The first time, I was a wreck . But it’s all about trust and making sure both of us are comfortable."

You look up at him, appreciating his understanding. "It’s just... a bit intimidating," you confess.

He nods, giving your hand a comforting squeeze before letting go. "I get it. But we’ll take it slow, okay? If there’s anything you need or any way I can help, just let me know."

"I don’t even know the difference between a real kiss and a movie kiss," you confess, feeling a bit embarrassed. "How do you make it look real without it being, well, real ?"

He leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours, sincere and kind. "A movie kiss is all about angles and chemistry. It’s not as intimate as it looks. You’re thinking about the camera, the lighting, hitting your marks. It’s more technical than passionate."

"I can’t imagine it," you say, shaking your head slightly. "It just baffles me for some reason…"

Patrick’s smile is gentle as he continues. "It’s a unique experience for sure, especially if it’s your first time. But trust me, once you’re in the moment, it becomes about the scene and the characters. We’ll take it slow, I promise."

His words soothe you, and you nod, feeling more at ease. "Thanks, Patrick."

"We’ll get through it together," he promises, his eyes twinkling with reassurance. There’s a brief pause before he takes a deep breath, his gaze flickering to your lips for a moment so quickly you’re not sure if you imagined it, "I could show you if you want to"

You’re taken aback by the suggestion, your heart skipping a beat. " Show ..me?" you ask, a bit puzzled. 

A part of you hopes he means that he could demonstrate a kiss, and unconsciously, your eyes flicker to his lips, thinking about how kissable they look. You wonder how it would feel, the brush of his stubble against your skin, the taste of his lips. The thought sends a tingling sensation through you, and you quickly avert your gaze, feeling slightly embarrassed by your wandering thoughts.

You reach for the wine glass to take a sip and compose yourself.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he says sincerely. "I just thought it might help to visualise it…."

His consideration for your feelings warms your heart. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse. "No, I think... I think it would actually help," you admit quietly, your heart beating quickly in your chest.

"Okay," Patrick says softly, his smile turning encouraging. "Just relax. It’s just acting."

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Patrick leans in slowly, his movements deliberate and gentle. You feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek as he inches closer, his lips brushing against yours with feather-light pressure.

For a fleeting moment, the world around you fades into the background. You focus on the sensation of his lips, soft and warm, against yours. It’s brief but enough to send a jolt of electricity through you, sparking a rush of emotions you hadn’t expected. Your hands come to rest on his arms.

Patrick pulls back slightly, his intense blue eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath mingling with yours.

You nod, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah…" Your voice trails off as you feel the tingling sensation where his lips had just been. Your gaze instinctively wanders down to his lips again, noticing how inviting they look.

Feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, you trace them softly over the curve of his biceps, a small shiver running through you. "I wanted... I wanted to get a feel for it, you know? Practise ."

His gaze softens, and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a comforting gesture. "I’m glad I could help," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours again in a soft kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed instinctively, savouring the tender sensation. Before you can fully process the moment, Patrick kisses you again - deeply and passionately this time. His hands find their way into your hair, gently pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. 

Patrick’s lips are warm and inviting, moving against yours with a tender rhythm. You feel the stubble on his jaw grazing your skin, a gentle contrast to the smoothness of his lips. It’s a sensation that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, igniting a spark of desire in your veins, a dull ache that’s spreading through you.

The taste of pasta and wine lingers on your tongue as you kiss him, mixing with the heady scent of Patrick’s cologne - clean, masculine. The world around you fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in the intoxicating feeling of his lips moving against yours.

You kiss him back, your hands instinctively finding their place on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the firmness of his muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt. 

When Patrick finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, you both are left breathless and wanting more. His eyes search yours, silently asking for consent and understanding in this uncharted territory.

"Was that okay?" he whispers, his voice filled with tenderness and concern.

You nod slowly, a smile playing on your lips. "Yeah," you whisper, licking your lips, savouring the lingering taste. "That was... enlightening ."

Patrick’s smile widens, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. He pulls back to take a sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving yours. You follow suit, taking a sip to steady your racing heart.

"See? Nothing to be afraid of," he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves.

You chuckle softly, feeling a wave of relief and confidence wash over you. "You’re right. Thank you for this... it really helps."

He reaches out, placing his hand over yours on the table. "I’m glad," he smiles, his touch warm and reassuring. "And if you ever need more practice..." His voice trails off, leaving the offer hanging in the air, charged with unspoken possibilities.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Are you saying you’ll practice movie kisses with me more often?"

Patrick chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Only if you want to. I mean, it’s for the sake of authenticity, right?"

"Of course," you reply, your voice teasing as you take another sip of wine. "All in the name of professionalism."

"Exactly," he agrees, his smile widening. "And if it happens to be enjoyable, well, that’s just a bonus."

As you sit there, savouring the moment and the connection you’ve just shared, you start to feel the buzz of the wine more intensely. It makes you bolder, your inhibitions melting away with each passing minute. You take another sip, your eyes lingering on Patrick, noting once more how the white shirt clings to his defined biceps and how his blue eyes sparkle in the dim light.

"So," you say, your voice carrying a playful edge, "do you practice movie kisses with all your co-stars?"

Patrick’s cheeks flush a charming shade of pink, and he looks down, a shy smile playing on his lips. "No, actually," he replies, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and sincerity. "You’re the exception."

You find his blush adorable, a stark contrast to the confident man you’ve seen before. His vulnerability in this moment only makes him more attractive. You can’t help but notice how the light catches the wisps of hair around his ear, making him look even more handsome.

"Really?" you ask, leaning in slightly, your curiosity piqued. "Why me?"

Patrick meets your gaze, his eyes intense and sincere. "Because I want you to feel comfortable," he says softly. "I remember how nerve-wracking my first intimate scene was. I just wanted to help you through it."

His words touch you deeply, and the warmth of the wine spreads through your body, making you feel more relaxed and at ease - but you feel like there is more behind this sentiment.

You look at him, marvelling at how good he looks. His blue eyes are mesmerising, holding a depth that draws you in. The more you glimpse, the more you feel the buzz of the wine, the room around you fading away, leaving just the two of you.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself leaning closer to him, your inhibitions slipping away with each passing second. The wine, his presence, and the undeniable chemistry between you create a heady mix that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and comforted, and it doesn’t help that you know by now that he is a fantastic kisser.

"Patrick," you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of the boldness the wine has given you, "I’m really glad it’s you."

He smiles, his eyes never leaving yours. "Me too," he replies, his voice just as soft. "Me too."

You take another sip of your wine, feeling the warmth spread through your veins, and look at Patrick, a playful glint in your eyes. "You know," you say, your voice light and teasing, "I wouldn’t mind practising with you again sometime."

Patrick grins, his expression both delighted and amused. "Really?" he asks, his eyes twinkling. "I think that can be arranged."

His grin is infectious, and you can’t help but find it incredibly cute. You notice how the light catches the wisps of hair around his ears, making his strong jawline even more striking, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. 

_____

The wine flows freely as the evening wears on. Your initial nerves have all but vanished, replaced by a growing sense of camaraderie and a buzz that makes you feel bold and uninhibited. Patrick is charming, and witty, and his smile sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Eventually, you both turn your attention to the script, flipping through the pages together. As you read, you come across an intimate scene that makes you pause. "God, how... how should that work?" you wonder aloud, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Patrick looks at you thoughtfully, then says, "We could practise that as well."

You glance at him, shocked by his words, your eyes wide as you feel the dull thrum of arousal spreading through your veins like fire. He notices your surprised reaction and immediately starts to stammer, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "I mean, it’s a stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

Your gaze wanders to his hands, noticing how he fiddles nervously with his fingers. You gulp, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. "No, no..." you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I like it."

Patrick’s eyes meet yours, his expression one of cautious hope. "You do?" he asks, his voice tinged with surprise.

You nod, feeling the buzz of the wine and the intensity of the moment, giving you courage. "Yeah," you admit, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yeah, I mean... it would help, right? To make it look more authentic."

He relaxes slightly, his blush fading as he gives you a tentative smile. "Okay," he says softly. "But only if you’re comfortable with it."

You take a deep breath, the reality of what you’re suggesting sinking in. But there’s something about Patrick’s presence, his understanding and genuine concern, that makes you feel safe. "I am," you say finally, your voice steady. Your fingers are brushing against his. His skin is warm and smooth under your touch, sending a thrill through you. "I trust you."

You both take a deep breath, the weight of the decision settling between you. With a nod, Patrick starts to read through the scene, his voice steady and calm. As he describes the actions and emotions involved, you feel a sense of clarity and purpose, the initial apprehension fading away.

"Alright," he says, his voice gentle but firm, "We’ll take it slow, just like with the kiss."

Patrick stands up and holds out his hand for you to take. Before you accept his help, you reach for your wine glass again, taking a long, steady sip to bolster your courage. Then, you place your hand in his, letting him help you to your feet.

"You ready?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nod, a mixture of nerves and determination coursing through you. "Yes," you reply, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

He leads you to the bedroom, his hand warm and reassuring in yours as you carry your wine glass in the other. The room is softly lit, creating an intimate atmosphere that both excites and calms you.

Once inside, Patrick turns to you, his expression serious but kind. "We’ll start with the basics, just like we did with the kiss. It’s all about trust and making sure you’re comfortable."

You take another sip of your wine, the warmth spreading through you, giving you the confidence to continue. "Okay."

Patrick steps closer, his presence both comforting and electrifying. "Just remember, this is all for the scene. We need to make it look real, but we also need to respect each other’s boundaries."

You nod again, appreciating his careful approach. "Got it."

He places his hands gently on your shoulders, his touch warm and steady. "We’ll start with simple touches, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe, feeling the heat of his hands through your clothes.

Patrick’s hands slide down your arms, his touch sending shivers through you. He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he continues, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that feels intimate and you try to ground yourself by repeating this is just practise like a mantra.

As he moves closer, you can feel his breath on your skin, the scent of him mingling with the wine on your lips. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment, focusing on the sensations rather than the nerves.

He stops, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark with intensity. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," you whisper back, feeling a mix of excitement and calm.

Patrick’s lips brush against yours in a soft, exploratory kiss. It’s gentle, testing as if he’s gauging your reaction. You respond, leaning into the kiss, feeling the familiar warmth and softness of his lips. It’s different now, more charged, more purposeful.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Still okay?"

"Yes," you say, your voice firmer this time, filled with newfound confidence.

Patrick smiles, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Good. Let’s keep going, then."

Encouraged by your response, Patrick leans in again, this time kissing you more deeply. 

His lips part slightly, and you feel the warmth of his tongue as it brushes against yours. The taste of him is a heady mix of wine and something uniquely him - earthy and intoxicating and somehow even more prominent than when you first kissed.

You both lose yourselves in the moment, the lines between acting and reality blurring. Your hands find their place on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless, your hearts racing in unison. "Are you okay?" he asks again, his voice filled with concern and something deeper.

"Yes," you reply, your voice steady but filled with emotion. "More than okay."

Patrick’s eyes soften, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, a fleeting caress that sends a shiver down your spine. 

"I’m glad," he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. "We’ll keep practising, taking it step by step."

Feeling the pleasant buzz of the wine, you find yourself staring at him, completely transfixed by his appearance. The soft lighting in the room plays on his features, highlighting the warmth of his blue eyes and his broad shoulders. 

Unable to resist the impulse any longer, you reach out and run your hand through his hair. It’s as soft as it looks, each strand silky beneath your fingertips. Patrick’s smile widens at the unexpected touch, his teeth flashing as the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement and affection.

"You like my hair, huh?" he teases gently, his voice filled with warmth.

You laugh softly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pleasure at being caught in the act. "It’s... really soft," you admit, your voice tinged with admiration.

Patrick chuckles a deep, melodic sound that resonates through the room. "Well, thank you," he replies, his tone playful. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You smile, still brushing your hand through his locks, combing them away from his face.

"I should probably get us some more wine," Patrick suggests, breaking the quiet moment with a practical suggestion.

You nod, reluctantly letting go of his hair. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

As Patrick heads towards the kitchen, you can’t help but stare at his arse, noting how perfectly shaped and firm it looks as you take a moment to collect yourself, reflecting on the evening’s events. There’s a warmth in your chest that goes beyond the wine, a burgeoning sense of trust and possibility that extends beyond the rehearsal of a scene. 

You try to tell yourself that it’s just acting, that it doesn’t mean more, but you can’t deny the way he makes you feel, the way the heat has already bloomed low in your stomach and how your panties already feel uncomfortably wet. 

Patrick returns with the wine bottle in hand. You watch him move with fluid grace, his every gesture carrying an easy confidence that is both reassuring and enticing. He pours wine into both your glasses, the soft clink of glass against glass punctuating the silence between you. You take a sip almost instinctively, the warmth of the wine spreading through you.

"Are you ready to continue?" Patrick asks softly, his voice a soothing murmur.

You nod, meeting his gaze with a mixture of anticipation and nerves. He steps closer to you, his presence filling the space between you. With gentle fingers, he slips under your sweater, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes search yours for any sign of discomfort before he slowly pulls your sweater over your head.

The room seems to hold its breath as you stand there in your bra. Patrick’s gaze sweeps over you,  his eyes darkening with appreciation and desire. A blush creeps up your cheeks under his intense scrutiny, but you gather your courage, heightened by the wine, and take a deliberate step closer to him.

"Time to even the playing field, don’t you think?" you say, your voice a mixture of playfulness and a hint of nervousness. 

Your grin is more daring now, emboldened by the wine and the electricity in the air. With a steadying breath, you mirror his earlier actions, your fingers trembling slightly as they find the hem of his shirt. As you pull it off, your fingertips graze lightly over his skin, sending a thrill through your entire being.

The fabric slides smoothly over his shoulders, gliding down his arms and dropping to the floor with a whisper, and you can’t help but marvel at the sight before you that leaves you momentarily breathless.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the contours of well-defined pectoral muscles evident beneath taut, smooth skin, illuminated by the soft, ambient light in the room.

Shadows play across his torso, accentuating the contours and highlighting his athletic build and the defined lines of his abs.

Your eyes wander over his shoulders, broad and powerful, that slope gracefully down to arms chiselled with sinewy muscle. You had admired his arms earlier, but now, seeing them bare, you appreciate them even more - the curve of his biceps and triceps, the subtle flex of muscle beneath his skin, and the prominent vein that traces a path down his forearm to his wrist.

You notice the gentle patch of hair on his chest, starting just below his neck and trailing down, disappearing tantalisingly into the waistband of his pants.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you take in the sight of him, feeling a heady mix of desire and admiration. The wine has added a hazy warmth to your thoughts, heightening your senses and intensifying the moment. 

His eyes meet yours again, a small smile playing on his lips as he interrupts your thoughts. "Shall we continue?" he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze is locked on yours with an intensity that ignites a rush of heat in your cheeks and a flutter in your stomach.

You nod, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. "Yes," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

With careful movements, Patrick steps closer, his fingertips brushing lightly against your waistband. His touch is tentative yet confident, a gesture of understanding and respect. You look at him as he unbuttons and unzips your pants, a rush of heat spreading through you at the intimate contact.

His movements are unhurried as he helps you step out of your pants, his eyes never leaving yours. The air crackles with tension as he stands before you, his own desire barely concealed beneath the surface. You catch a glimpse of admiration in his eyes as they roam over your form, his appreciation evident even in the dim light.

Once you’re left in your panties, Patrick takes a deliberate breath, his own pants next in line. With fluid motions, he removes them, revealing legs toned from years of physical activity. His movements are deliberate yet unhurried as he steps out of them, leaving him in just his black, tight boxer shorts.

Your eyes fall to his crotch, feeling a pang in your chest when you notice that his cock isn’t even half hard - while you’re sure your pussy is already soaking wet. 

Patrick steps closer, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "I’ll have to touch you," he says softly, his voice tinged with a mix of desire and professionalism. "And you’ll have to touch me for the scene to look realistic."

Through the haze of the wine and the heat simmering between you, his words momentarily confuse you. But then it clicks - this is supposed to be practice for the sex scene in the movie you’ll both be shooting. Still, the air between you feels charged with something much deeper, something that goes beyond mere acting.

You nod, swallowing hard as you whisper, "That’s okay."

Patrick’s hand trails over your bare back, his touch sending electric sparks across your skin. He pulls you closer, your bodies nearly touching, the heat of his bare chest radiating against your skin. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in this intimate moment.

"You’re doing great," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. His hand moves slowly, exploring the curve of your spine, the small of your back, and then lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your underwear.

You shiver, your breath catching in your throat. Your own hands, trembling slightly, reach out to touch him, tracing the hard lines of his abs, feeling the strength beneath the smooth skin. 

Patrick’s eyes never leave yours, his gaze filled with both reassurance and raw need. "We need to make it believable," he says, his voice low and rough.

You nod again, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. He leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. Finding none, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, his tongue parting your lips to explore your mouth, making your head spin again.

You press closer, your bodies aligning perfectly, the friction igniting a desperate need within you. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you flush against him. With a controlled urgency, he walks you both over to the bed, guiding you down gently and positioning himself above you, between your legs.

His blue eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you can’t think of anything else, the wine’s warmth and the intensity of the moment completely taking over you. 

Patrick leans over to the nightstand to grab the script, his elbow accidentally brushing against your clavicle. The unexpected contact snaps you out of your reverie, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest. He pulls back quickly, concern flashing in his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he apologises multiple times, a sheepish smile playing on his lips.

Your laughter is infectious, and soon, he’s chuckling along with you, the tension easing slightly. The warmth of the moment wraps around you both, making the intimacy feel even more genuine.

"It’s okay," you reassure him, your fingers tracing a soothing path along his arm. "It’s kind of charming, actually."

He smiles, his eyes twinkling with affection and a hint of amusement. "Charming, huh? I’ll take that."

You bite your lip and look up at him, still grinning. The playful banter helps ease some of the nervous energy buzzing between you.

Patrick’s expression turns more serious, though the warmth never leaves his eyes. "Alright," he says softly, "I guess we should start now, so you can practice."

He positions himself and begins to fake thrust, his movements careful and deliberate. You feel his crotch brushing against your cunt through your clothes, the friction sending a jolt of unexpected arousal pooling within you. Your breath catches, and for a moment, you lie there stiff, your mind reeling from the sensation.

Sensing your tension, Patrick starts making corny jokes to lighten the mood. "Did you hear about the actor who fell through the floorboards?" he asks with a playful grin. "He was just going through a stage."

You can’t help but giggle, his effort to make you laugh easing some of your nerves. He continues, "Why don’t we ever tell secrets on a movie set? Because the walls have ears!"

Your laughter bubbles up again, the sound easing the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. Patrick smiles down at you, clearly pleased with your reaction.

"Better?" he asks, his voice warm and reassuring.

"Yeah," you nod, still smiling. "Much better."

"Good," he says encouragingly. "But you have to participate more. Try to fake moan, and don’t forget to touch me... make it believable."

You groan, feeling the weight of the situation and the need for more courage. "I need more wine," you declare, reaching over to your glass and taking a big sip. The liquid warmth courses through you, fortifying your resolve.

Patrick watches you with an amused smile as you set the glass down. "Ready now?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes serious and soft.

You nod, placing the glass back on the nightstand. You take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the wine spreading through your body, giving you a bit more courage. "Okay, let’s do this."

Patrick resumes his movements, his hips gently pressing against you. This time, you allow yourself to relax into the sensation, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the strength and warmth of his muscles beneath your fingers. You start to move in sync with him, your body responding to the rhythm.

You let out a tentative moan, feeling your cheeks heat up at the sound. Patrick’s smile widens, and he leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, reassuring gesture.

"That’s it," he murmurs encouragingly, his eyes locking onto yours. "Just like that."

The friction of his thrusts, even through your clothes, sends sparks of pleasure through you, heightening your arousal. You let yourself get lost in the moment, in the feel of his body against yours, in the way his eyes stay locked on you, full of both desire and reassurance.

Patrick’s smile widens, and he leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, reassuring gesture.

You return the kiss, your hands trailing down his back, feeling the play of muscles under your touch. The fake thrusts become a bit more deliberate, the friction between your bodies sending jolts of desire through you. You moan again, louder this time, as his clothed dick brushes over your clothed clit, the sound mingling with the soft pants of your breath.

"Perfect," Patrick whispers against your lips. "Just keep doing that."

You respond with a louder moan, your hands exploring his back with more confidence, your body moving in sync with his. The sensation of his clothed erection rubbing against you drives you wild, and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like without the barriers between you.

The wine buzzes in your system, adding to the hazy, intoxicating atmosphere. Patrick’s hands roam your body, his touch both gentle and firm, guiding you through it. The combination of his encouragement, the arousal pooling within you, and the heat of the moment make you forget everything else, leaving only the two of you, lost in the passion and intensity of your connection.

You start to get bolder, your cunt uncomfortably wet, and your nipples hard and stiff under your underwear. Each thrust makes you more aware of his growing hardness pressing against you. It’s clear this isn’t leaving him indifferent. His blue eyes are dark and blown wide with lust.

The words slip out before you can stop them. "I’m completely naked in the scene."

Patrick stops, his movements halting as he looks at you, serious but smiling. "Really?" he asks, a playful glint in his eyes. He searches your eyes, trying to gauge your meaning. 

You giggle, the wine making you feel braver and more carefree. "Yeah, we should make it more believable."

Patrick’s smile widens, and he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. 

Your heart races, the reality of the situation mingling with the fantasy you’ve been lost in. "Yes," you whisper, the word escaping your lips before you can second-guess yourself.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze searching yours for any hesitation. Finding none, he nods. His hands move to the waistband of your underwear, pausing briefly as if giving you one last chance to change your mind. When you don’t, he slides them down slowly, the fabric gliding over your skin, leaving you bare before him.

The cool air against your exposed skin only heightens your arousal. Patrick’s eyes darken further as they roam your body, his appreciation evident in his gaze. You wonder if he can see just how wet you are, the thought making your cheeks flush and your cunt tighten with anticipation.

Before you can think, he places one big hand on your shoulder, pulling you up slightly so he can reach your bra, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the cool air. He unhooks it deftly, sliding it over your shoulders and down your arms, leaving your breasts exposed.

You shiver, a mix of anticipation and the cool air causing your nipples to harden even more. Patrick’s eyes lock onto your breasts, his breath hitching as he takes in the sight. He licks his lips, and you can see the raw desire in his eyes, making your heart race even faster.

"You’re beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and reverent as he stares at you. His fingers twitch at his sides as if he wants to reach out and touch you, but he shakes his head in a quick motion before he stands up, quickly shedding his own underwear.

Your eyes are drawn to his cock. He’s big, his length impressive even in its semi-hard state.  It rests in a bed of neatly trimmed pubic hair, his balls hanging heavy with a promise of what’s to come. He’s uncircumcised, and you can see the head peeking out, glistening with precum.

Your mouth waters at the sight, an involuntary reaction to the sheer desire coursing through you. You can feel your core clenching with need, your body aching for his touch. 

The sight of him, completely naked and aroused, sends a wave of heat through your body, your nerve endings singing with want and arousal.

The urge to reach out and take him in your hand, to feel the weight and warmth of him, is almost overwhelming. You try to remind yourself that this is only for practising a scene, but the intensity of your arousal makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the man before you.

Every detail of him captivates you - the way his muscles shift under his skin, the confident yet gentle way he moves, and the raw desire in his eyes as he looks down at you. 

He clears his throat, his voice breaking the tension slightly. "You know, we’d normally wear a modesty garment for scenes like this," he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You giggle, the wine wreaking havoc on your inhibitions, making you feel bolder and more carefree. "It’s okay," you say, reaching for his hand and pulling him down towards you.

Patrick lets himself be guided, his body flopping down on the bed beside you, clearly also impacted by the wine. 

"So you want to continue to practise?" he asks, slightly breathless. His eyes search yours, checking for any sign of hesitation.

You nod, and he leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he positions himself between your legs again. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips before capturing them in a kiss that’s both tender and fiercely passionate.

The kiss deepens, your bodies pressed together, the heat between you growing. Patrick’s hands roam over your body, exploring every curve, every line, as if committing them to memory. The sensation is almost overwhelming, your senses heightened by the intensity of the moment.

He starts to fake thrust again, his half-hard cock bumping against your clit, making you arch against him and let out a real moan.

Patrick instantly stops, his eyes widening. "Sorry, this might be a bad idea," he says, his voice filled with concern and regret.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "It’s okay," you assure him, though you can feel the tension still hanging in the air, afraid that he’d stop whatever this is.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean to... I just..."

"It’s fine, really," you interrupt gently, placing a hand on his cheek before pulling him down for a kiss again. The touch of your lips against his seems to melt away his doubts, and he responds with a fervour that sends shivers down your spine.

His hands resume their exploration, tracing the lines of your body with a reverence that makes you feel cherished. The wine buzzes in your system, blurring the lines between reality and the scene you’re practising.

You feel him hardening further against you, the friction of his cock against your clit sending sparks of pleasure through you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours only heightens the sensation, making you crave more - crave him more.

Patrick’s kisses trail down your neck, each one igniting a trail of fire on your skin. His hands move to your hips, his touch both gentle and commanding. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both tender and fiercely passionate.

Your desire for Patrick to throw all his principles to the wind and just fuck you grows more intense with each passing second. His now fully hard cock continues to brush against your clit, each movement sending electric shocks of pleasure through your body, making you whimper and moan uncontrollably. 

Your skin feels hot, and flushed with arousal, and every nerve ending is alive, screaming for more.

You close your eyes, unable to bear looking at him - his gorgeous blue eyes, lips parted and slightly swollen, framed by his tousled hair. You try to pretend you don’t want him, but the feeling is overwhelming and impossible to ignore. His breath is hot against your skin, his scent intoxicating, mingling with the faint aroma of wine.

You want to shift your hips so he’d slip inside, desperate to feel the stretch you know his cock would provide. You’re so wet, and you can feel his precum smearing over your cunt whenever he bumps against it, making the friction even more tantalizing. The heat between your legs is unbearable, a molten pool of desire that only he can quench.

Unable to resist any longer, you finally shift your hips, and the very tip of his cock slips into you. It’s not even an inch, but the sensation is electric, and you moan loudly, and freely. Your whole body trembles with anticipation and need.

But Patrick stills immediately.

You open your eyes to find him looking at you, his cock twitching inside you. His blue eyes are dark with lust, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He’s breathing heavily, his face a mix of desire and concern, but he hasn’t moved a muscle.

"Patrick..." you whisper, your voice trembling with need, your body arching towards him, the head of his big dick already feeling so wonderful.

He swallows hard, his gaze locked onto yours. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice barely more than a breath, his tone filled with raw, unfiltered longing.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes," you manage to say, your voice filled with conviction. "I want this. I want you ."

For a moment, he doesn’t move, as if he’s waging an internal battle with himself, his blue eyes searching yours one last time. 

But then, his resolve seems to crumble. 

He shifts his hips slightly, the head of his cock pressing just a little further inside you. The sensation is exquisite, and you can’t help but let out another moan, your body arching toward him, your skin tingling with the heat of arousal.

Patrick leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss as he begins to push inside you, slowly, inch by inch. The feeling of him filling you is everything you imagined and more, the stretch and heat of him making you gasp with pleasure, your cunt clenching around him.

His cock is thick and hard, pressing against your inner walls in the most delicious way. The friction is intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your entire body.

"God, you feel amazing," he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. His hands roam over your body, one coming up to cup your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple until it hardens completely under his touch. The sensation makes you cry out, your body responding eagerly to him.

His eyes darken further as they roam over your body, his gaze hungry and appreciative. The raw desire in his eyes makes your heart race even faster, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

Patrick’s movements become more confident, his thrusts deeper and more purposeful. He squeezes your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers, and the combined sensations of his cock and his hands drive you wild. The rhythm he sets is perfect, each stroke hitting just the right spot inside you, his thumb flicking your nipple sparks of desire straight to your core.

His eyes are dark and intense, his gaze never leaving yours as he fucks you. The room fills with the sounds of your shared passion - the slick, wet noises of him sliding in and out of you, the gasps and moans that escape your lips, and the low, guttural sounds he makes.

Your skin is on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. The pleasure builds with each thrust, mounting higher and higher until it’s almost too much to bear. Your body tightens around him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

His pace quickens, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I can’t do this long," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back and his thrusts becoming more urgent and desperate. "I don’t think I can hold on much longer... I’m too close."

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him inside you. "Don’t stop," you plead, your voice breathless and filled with need. Your hands grip his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift and tense under your touch as he thrusts into you.

Patrick’s thrusts become more urgent, more desperate, driving you both closer to the edge as his pubic bone rubs against your clit. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.  You can feel his cock swelling, the head pressing against your inner walls with increasing intensity.

Suddenly, with a final, powerful thrust, he shudders and gasps, his body tensing as he reaches his climax. You feel the hot rush of his cum filling you, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills himself deep within you. The sensation pushes you to the brink, but just as you’re about to fall over the edge, he stills, his head dropping to your shoulder.

Patrick’s breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, a perfect echo of your own. Your pussy clenches around him as you whimper, not having cum yet.

He lifts his head to look at you, his blue eyes filled with a mix of wonder and satisfaction. "I’m so sorry," he murmurs, his voice filled with embarrassment. "I came before you. I didn’t mean to..."

You can see the concern in his eyes, the worry that he’s let you down. But the sight of him, so raw and vulnerable, only makes you want him more. "It’s okay," you whisper, your voice soft and reassuring, accustomed to not being brought to orgasm by your partner.

"No, it’s not," Patrick says, his voice firm. He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that makes you moan into the kiss.

He pulls out, and you whine at the loss, feeling his thick cock slipping out, leaving your cunt empty and leaking his cum. Patrick hushes you gently, reaching down and brushing his thumb over your clit. 

"Relax," he murmurs, and with that, he plunges two of his thick fingers into your cunt. "God, you look so well fucked. Your pussy is gaping… and so full of my cum."

You gasp loudly as he uses his fingers to fuck his cum further into you. 

His fingers are big and skilled, curling inside you to hit that perfect spot with each thrust. The sensation of his cum being pushed deeper into you ignites the nerves through your body, making you arch against him.

Patrick’s thumb circles your clit in time with his thrusting fingers, creating a delicious rhythm that has you gasping for breath. "You’re so wet," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "I can feel how close you are."

Your legs tremble as the pleasure builds, your body tightening around his fingers. His touch is relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The sounds of your wetness fill the room, mingling with your desperate moans.

Finally, the pressure becomes too much, and you cry out, your body convulsing as you cum hard around his fingers. Patrick doesn’t stop, his fingers and thumb working you through your orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until you’re shaking with the intensity of it.

As you come down from your high, Patrick withdraws his fingers slowly, watching you with a satisfied smile. But he isn’t done yet. He shifts down the bed, positioning himself between your legs. "I want to taste you," he says, his voice husky with desire.

Before you can respond, he lowers his mouth to your pussy, his tongue licking a broad, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. The sensation makes you gasp, your body still hypersensitive from your orgasm. His tongue is warm and soft, and he laps at you with an eagerness that sends shivers down your spine.

Patrick’s mouth is relentless, his tongue delving into your pussy to taste the mix of your arousal and his cum. He groans against you, the vibration adding to the pleasure. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts on you, his tongue and lips driving you wild.

When he finally focuses on your clit, sucking it gently into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, you’re already teetering on the edge again. The intensity of his mouth on you, combined with the aftershocks of your previous orgasm, quickly builds you up to another peak.

But Patrick stops there. 

He lifts his head and crawls up your body, his eyes dark with desire. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours as he whispers, "Open your mouth." Your heart races as you obey, and he spits the mixture of your juices and his cum into your mouth. The intimate, filthy act sends a new wave of arousal through you, and you swallow it eagerly, your eyes never leaving his as you moan.

He smiles at your reaction, then moves back down between your legs. His tongue delves into you with renewed fervour, his mouth working you over with an intensity that leaves you breathless. He laps at your folds, his tongue thrusting into you and then flicking over your clit, making you writhe beneath him.

His fingers join in again, thrusting into you while his mouth lavishes attention on your clit. The combination of his skilled fingers and his insatiable mouth drives you wild, each sensation building on the last until you’re on the edge once more.

You feel the pleasure building again, higher and higher, your body tightening in anticipation. When you finally cum, it’s with a force that leaves you trembling, your cries echoing in the room as Patrick continues to lap at you, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm, your body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over you. 

He finally pulls back, his face glistening with your juices, and he smiles up at you with a look of pure satisfaction. "You’re incredible," he murmurs, crawling back up to lie beside you, his fingers gently brushing your hair from your face. "And I’m not done with you yet."

"W-what?" you whisper, completely fucked out,  your cunt still twitching and buzzing from your repeated orgasms.

He smirks, impossibly handsome in the dim light. His blue eyes are still dark and blown wide, his curls sweaty and sticking to his forehead. His whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat, making his muscles glisten.

"You heard me," he nuzzles his nose against you before kissing you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with renewed hunger.  You can feel him hard against you, his cock pressing into your thigh, his desire evident.

His hands roam over your body, cupping your tits and squeezing gently, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumb and forefinger.  The sensation sends electric jolts straight to your cunt, making you moan into his mouth and clench around nothing. 

Patrick pulls back and begins trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder, his touch igniting a fresh spark within you. He then turns you over onto your stomach gently, guiding you into position.

"Hold onto the headboard," he instructs, his voice husky with desire.

You take a moment to respond, and your mind is hazy with arousal and the lingering effects of the wine. Patrick’s hands caress your back, and he asks softly, "Are you okay?"

You nod, feeling a new surge of arousal. You throw your ass back a bit, presenting yourself to him, and grab the headboard. 

He laughs softly, the sound filled with warmth and amusement, and presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. "Good girl," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and sending shivers down your spine.

Patrick’s hands move down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. His fingers dig into your flesh, and the sensation of his touch makes you feel even more aroused, your body aching for more as you feel the heat he emanates.

He takes a moment to align himself, the head of his cock pressing against your pussy. The mix of your wetness and his cum makes the slide smooth as he pushes into you, filling you once more.

The sensation is intense, the stretch almost overwhelming as he fills you up inch by inch for a second time. You moan loudly, your fingers tightening around the headboard as he bottoms out inside you, his cock deep and hard and feeling somehow bigger from that angle.

Patrick’s fingers dig into your hips as he starts to thrust slowly. Each movement sends ripples of pleasure through your body, and you moan, pushing back against him. 

His hands grip your hips, pulling you back to meet his movements, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Every thrust hits that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl, making you gasp and moan with each one.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. Patrick’s hands roam over your back, sliding up to cup your breasts and pinch your nipples, adding to the overwhelming sensation. The way his hands play with your tits sends another wave of arousal through you, your nipples hard and sensitive under his touch.

Your mind is a haze of pleasure, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Patrick’s rhythm increases, his cock sliding in and out of you with a steady, relentless pace, each one filling you up in a way that leaves you breathless and wanting more. The sound of your bodies moving together fills the room, accompanied by your moans and his groans of pleasure.

You feel yourself getting closer, the knot of pleasure tightening in your core. Patrick’s hand slides down your body, finding your clit and rubbing it in quick, tight circles. The dual stimulation is too much, and you cry out, your body tensing as your orgasm crashes over you with a force that leaves you trembling and breathless. Your pussy clenches around him, your moans loud and uninhibited.

Patrick keeps moving, prolonging your pleasure, and his own thrusts grow more erratic. "Fuck," he groans, burying himself deep inside you as he comes, his cock pulsing and filling you with his cum once more. 

The feeling of his warmth inside you only intensifies your pleasure, making you cry out again as the waves of your orgasm continue to wash over you.

You collapse onto the bed, letting go of the headboard - spent. He stays there for a moment, both of you catching your breath before he slowly pulls out and collapses beside you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close as you both come down from your high. The sensation of him slipping out of you leaves you feeling both empty and satisfied, your cunt still buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

"You’re amazing," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smile, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction and contentment. "You too," you reply softly, snuggling closer to him.

Patrick shifts behind you, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you close until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. His body is warm, a comforting contrast to the cool sheets beneath you. His hand settles possessively on your waist, fingers splayed across your skin as if to keep you anchored to him.

The sensation of being spooned by him is almost overwhelming in its tenderness. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, his breath warm against the nape of your neck. Every inch of him moulds perfectly against you, his presence both soothing and electrifying.

"You feel so good," you manage to whisper back, your voice thick with fatigue. Your muscles are deliciously sore, every movement reminding you of the intensity of your connection just moments ago. The heady mix of the wine and the afterglow of sex has left you in a blissful haze and pleasantly drowsy, your body buzzing with a languid, satisfied warmth.

Patrick’s hand begins to draw lazy circles on your hip, the simple gesture incredibly intimate and grounding, his lips brushing against your shoulder in a feather-light kiss.

A soft smile tugs at your lips, your eyes drifting closed as the exhaustion from the night’s events settles over you like a warm blanket. 

He tightens his hold on you slightly, his body curling protectively around yours. The weight of his arm, the solidity of his presence, and the rhythmic beating of his heart against your back all work together to lull you into a state of deep relaxation.

As you begin to drift off, you feel Patrick nuzzle his face into your hair, his breath steady and even. The scent of him - clean sweat and a hint of cologne - envelops you, further grounding you in the moment. You feel utterly safe and cherished in his embrace, every worry and stress from the outside world melting away.

The combination of physical exhaustion and the wine coursing through your system makes it impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. You let out a contented sigh, snuggling deeper into Patrick’s embrace, your body fitting perfectly against his.

"I could stay like this forever," you whisper, your words barely more than a breath.

Patrick’s lips brush against your ear in a gentle kiss. "Me too," he whispers back. "Sweet dreams."

With his words lingering in the air, you finally let yourself succumb to the overwhelming fatigue. The last thing you register is the steady, comforting rhythm of Patrick’s breathing and the reassuring weight of his body against yours, grounding you in a sense of peace and contentment that lulls you into a deep sleep.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

head first, fearless

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x single mom!reader

Warnings: swearing, motherhood

Word Count: 5.5k

Author’s Note: here she is!! I also have ideas for a little follow up if anyone’s interested! And a very big thank you to @sokkigarden for being so lovely and helping me so much with this one

Some days you’re convinced Keeley Jones was put on this Earth simply to make your life better. When you’d moved next door to her five years ago, you never would have thought that the brightly dressed, brightly smiling woman would become one of your closest friends and your go-to babysitter.

It didn’t matter if it was a Wednesday or a Saturday, twelve in the afternoon or twelve at night, Keeley would take five-year-old Stella into her home with open arms and a bright smile.

“Anything you need, babes, I’m always here,” she’d told you the very first time you’d asked her to babysit at the last minute with tears in your eyes, and you’ve come to learn that she meant it.

So today, when you received a call from your boss at nine in the morning on a Saturday, you didn’t think twice before bringing Stella next door. Stella was settled on your hip, chattering away about how excited she is to see Keeley and all the fun things they’ll do together while you knocked on the door.

“You aren’t Keeley,” you say, confusion clouding your face at the man in front of you. He seems vaguely familiar to you, like you’d met in passing before, but you couldn’t place him.

“Jesus, Jamie,” you hear a voice from behind the man and he moves out of the way to reveal Keeley rushing towards the door, “sorry about him, he doesn’t know not to answer the door at other people’s houses,” she tells you as she rolls her eyes before reaching out for Stella with a bright smile.

Stella wriggles out of your arms and rushes towards Keeley’s plush couch with barely any time for you to plant a kiss on her forehead. You sigh with a mixture of relief and exhaustion, gathering yourself mentally before you head into the disaster zone that is your job.

“She’s been doing this thing where literally all she eats is strawberries,” you tell Keeley before you rush off, “but I’m sure you could get her to eat anything.”

“I’ll try my best,” she tells you with a wink before she all but shoves you away, “now don’t you worry about us, we’ll be just fine.” You smile at her one last time before you rush off to work, knowing Stella will be safe and happy for the whole day.

“Who was that?” Jamie asks, trying to seem nonchalant as he watches Keeley pour juice into a sippy cup as the little girl uses her chubby little fingers to turn on her favorite show.

“Oh that’s my neighbor, she’s a single mum and her boss is a total dickhead so I watch Stella whenever I can,” Keeley explains, leaning against the counter as she levels Jamie with a knowing stare, “she’s real fucking fit and I wouldn’t mind watching Stella while she does something actually enjoyable, like go on a date.”

Jamie’s a little embarrassed about how easy Keeley is able to read him, able to clock the way Jamie looked at you as he lingered in the doorway. You seemed magnetic, drawing Jamie towards you even as you rushed away and left him with nothing but the desire to know you better. Keeley stares for a few more seconds, long enough for Jamie to squirm under her gaze, before heading over to give Stella her breakfast with a giant smile.

Unsurprisingly, you were right, and Stella eats anything that Keeley makes for her, even the broccoli she had screamed at the night before. She ate it all with a smile, and Jamie was a little terrified at how quickly the little girl was taking over his heart. He’d always loved kids, loved getting to spend time with them and listen to the nonsensical way they talked, but something about Stella seemed different. She had been apprehensive about him at first, but by the time nap time rolls around, she falls asleep in his lap, her little head nestled against his shoulder.

This is how you find them when you rush home before dinner, not even bothering to knock or wait for Keeley to let you in. There’s still a Disney movie playing softly on the TV, and Keeley and Jamie are talking quietly so they won’t disturb Stella, even though you’re sure that girl could sleep through anything.

“Hi, babe!” Keeley greets you with a grin as she pats the couch next to her, and you’re so exhausted you don’t even think twice about sitting down, “Wanna stay for dinner?” She always tries to get you to stay for dinner, tries to get you to let someone take care of you for a change, but you’ve never once accepted her offer.

Today, though, you’re tired to your bones, and even the thought of ordering takeout seems like too much work, so you just nod. Keeley squeals before she looks over at Stella in mortification, but she’s still fast asleep against the man who opened the door that morning. Keeley must catch you looking because she sends you a wink before introducing the two of you, “That’s Jamie, Stella really seems to love him,” and then scurrying off to the kitchen.

At that, Jamie seems embarrassed, his cheeks tinged pink as he glances down at Stella, “I can try to hand her to you, if ya want?”

“Oh, no, I can never get her to nap this long,” you reassure him, and it almost feels like a swarm of butterflies are let loose in your stomach when he smiles at you.

The two of you talk quietly, Keeley joining in whenever she has something to add, and before long Stella is up and happily watching cartoons again. When it comes time for dinner, she demands to sit next to Jamie, practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of spending more time with her new friend.

Watching the two of them interact throughout the meal creates a pit in your stomach and an aching in your chest, as Jamie kindly helps Stella cut up her food and shoots her a wink when he steals a bite off of her plate and Stella just giggles and grins her way through the meal. As much as you’d like to stick around and catch up with Keeley and thank her properly for all of her help, you’re feeling the need to run so you help clean up in the kitchen before dragging Stella back home.

She’d been more than reluctant to leave and seemed on the verge of tears until you promised her ice cream before her bath and now she’s happily eating her dessert while recounting her entire day from the moment you dropped her off to the second you walked through the door.

“Jamie’s really nice and he let me do his hair and taught me to play football and Auntie Keeley said he thinks you’re pretty and…” you zone out after that, and even though you know Keeley was probably just teasing her friend, the thought sends you into a tailspin.

Sure, Jamie was obviously attractive and he was clearly great with Stella, but you barely knew each other and Stella could be lying to you because she’d recently started doing it just for fun. Knowing Keeley, though, she’s always trying to play matchmaker, and you wouldn’t put it past her to try and set up two of her single friends, regardless of if they’re compatible or not.

Still, you decide to spend some quality time searching for Jamie online after Stella goes to sleep.

What you don’t know, though, is that as you spend hours scrolling through all of Jamie’s socials, Keeley and Jamie are having a very similar conversation next door.

“Please just ask her out!” Keeley pleads for the thousandth time, pouring a glass of wine as Jamie pulls up the most recent episode of their favorite reality show.

“Keeley, I don’t know her at all.”

“I know, but I know her! And I know you, and I know the two of you would have a great time. Please, Jamie, the two of you deserve to have a good time and I want to babysit for something other than her boss being shitty.”

Jamie seems to be contemplating it, and Keeley knows she has him.

“I’ll give you her number, maybe invite her and Stella to a game, and then you can ask her out to dinner?” Keeley’s been toying with the idea of setting the two of you up, and now that you’ve actually met it seems like the most perfect idea and she knows you’ll be perfect together.

Keeley doesn’t wait for confirmation, going ahead and sending Jamie your contact information as he turns up the volume on the TV, as if to drown her out.

“And I’ll know if you don’t ask her,” she adds as she sits down next to him, feeling the need for one last push.

“Watch the show, Keeley,” Jamie says as turns his attention to the drama unfolding as if his heart isn’t racing at the idea of seeing you again, at the idea of taking you out for dinner.

It takes him a while to gather his courage, and he couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times he’s typed a message to you before quickly deleting it. He’d briefly considered asking his teammates for help, but that would mean explaining the whole situation and he remembers how intensely involved everyone was with Sam’s Bantr girl and he has no desire to be on the receiving end of that.

Instead, Keeley’s endless messages of Text. Her. push him over the edge until he types a text and hits send instead of delete.

Hey, it’s Jamie from Keeley’s house. Do you and Stella want to come to the game on Saturday? The seats are next to Keeley.

He couldn’t help the way he checked his phone every five minutes after hitting send, or the way his stomach swooped once you sent a reply.

Stella would love that, thank you :) she hasn’t stopped talking about you or football

Jamie needs to tamper down his smile when he reads that because he knows if any of his teammates catch him smiling at his phone, he’d never hear the end of it. Instead, he tells you that Keeley will have the tickets for you and he goes about the rest of his day as if his stomach isn’t full of butterflies at the idea of seeing you again or getting another text from you.

Saturday can’t come soon enough, with Stella bouncing off the walls at the idea of seeing her new friend again and, even though you’d never admit it to anyone, you’re looking forward to seeing Jamie too. Even though your conversation was brief, it was clear that Stella loved him and you’d gotten to know him a little better through texting, where he made you promise to come down to the dressing room after the match so he could say hello to Stella.

Unsurprisingly, it’s a struggle to get Stella into her little Richmond jersey, an old hand-me-down of Keeley’s niece with Kent plastered on the back; she begs you to wear it all the time, but the one day she’s supposed to, it's like the fabric is made of knives. By the time you stumble out to Keeley’s car, you’re sweaty and aggravated and looking forward to spending the afternoon with your best friend.

What you weren’t expecting, though, was to be led up to the owner’s box, where you were greeted by Keeley’s friend Rebecca, who was intimidatingly beautiful and the owner of AFC Richmond. You’d met a few times, but seeing her in her element while you wrangled a kindergartener made you feel like a fish out of water.

“And you must be Stella,” she says, looking down with a smile at your daughter who’s trying to escape your grip on her hand.

“Normally she has manners,” you respond as you smooth a hand over the girl’s hair, trying to get her to calm down for just a moment, knowing all the excitement of the match is going to make it impossible for her to sleep as it is.

Rebecca just chuckles, her brilliant smile never leaving her face.

“I completely understand, my Jelka sometimes acts like she’s never left the house.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter?” Your statement comes out more like a question, racking your brain for any memory of Rebecca mentioning a child before.

“It’s a recent development,” Keeley adds with a wink to you as she squeezes Rebecca’s arm, and the taller woman just scoffs.

The four of you make your way out to your seats, Stella insisting on standing up on your legs, blocking everyone behind you. You turn to apologize, but the man sitting behind you just brushes it off.

“Children are strong willed,” he tells you with a reassuring smile, “I couldn’t even get my boys to wear pants when they were her age.”

It’s hard to ignore the urge to apologize for everything you or Stella did, but knowing you were surrounded by parents who understood the struggles of a strong willed child helped calm your nerves. It wasn’t that Stella misbehaved or that you let her run wild, but sometimes people who weren’t parents didn’t understand and expected her to sit quietly and still, as if she was a little adult and not a five year old child. Luckily, as the match started, everyone seemed to get as rambunctious and energetic as her.

Watching the game, you can’t help the way your eyes keep drifting to Jamie, even when he doesn’t have the ball. There’s just something about him that continues to draw your eyes to the large number nine on his back as he runs across the pitch. He scores right before halftime, and no one in that stadium is half as excited as Stella, who’s jumping up and down and screaming as if you just told her you’re taking a trip to Disney.

Richmond scores two more times, winning the game without much of a fight.

“Come on, let’s go see the boys!” Keeley stands and wiggles her fingers at Stella, who clambers out of her seat and eagerly grabs her hand, leaving you no choice but to follow. Keeley all but runs down the stairs with you and Rebecca trailing behind, exchanging information to get your girls together some time.

When you make it to the dressing room, you’re hit in the face with noise and warmth and the smell of sweat, but Stella is so excited you can barely focus on anything other than keeping your grip on her little hand. Keeley knocks and lets herself in with you and Rebecca following and you can’t help the way you immediately feel like there are 27 pairs of eyes on you.

“Jamie!” Stella slips out of your grip and makes a beeline for the striker and your heart stutters at the easy way she jumps into his grip, at the way he smiles at the little girl.

“We’ve gotta get you a better fucking kit,” Jamie tells her when he sees the large Kent plastered on her back, leading to stares and shushes from the rest of the team. Jamie, realizing what he’s said, looks to you with eyes wide with fear and remorse.

“It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before,” you tell him with a smile, and the room erupts into noise again, the team swarming your daughter and asking her opinions on the match, considering everything she says with genuine concern. You keep watch out of the corner of your eye, but from what you’ve heard from Keeley and what you know about Jamie, you’re sure Stella will be fine, but it’s hard to turn off the mom instincts.

Isaac is marching Stella around the room on his shoulders to “give her a better view” when Jamie comes over to where you’re standing with Keeley, Rebecca, and the coaches.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” you shoot a glance back at Keeley, but she just winks at you as Jamie leads you out into the hallway.

It’s silent for a few moments, Jamie fiddling with the front of his kit, before he finally says, “Did Stella have a good time?”

“She loved it, probably the best day of her life so far,” you grin at him, hearing your daughter’s happy giggles through the dressing room door.

“Good, good,” he falls silent again, shoving his hands into the front of his kit.

You’re about to head back into the dressing room, even though you’re certain that wasn’t what Jamie wanted to ask you, when a question tumbles out of his mouth so quickly you’re certain you’ve misunderstood him.

“Wanna grab dinner sometime?” He expels a breath as if this is the most difficult thing he’s had to do today.

“What?” You ask in response, confused and surprised and sure you just didn’t hear him right.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime?” He asks again, slower, “Like, as a date?”

“That sounds nice,” and with the way he beams at you, you’re sure you’d agree to whatever he asks you.

“Cool.” You stand in the hallway for a few moments longer, just smiling at each other, before the laughter of your daughter snaps you out of your stupor and you head back into the dressing room. You can tell by the look on Keeley’s face that she knew exactly what Jamie had asked you, and was probably the one who pushed him to do it.

“Need a babysitter Friday night?” she asks as you approach, and you just roll your eyes at her, turning your attention back to Stella and the group of footballers that seem so enamored with her and her opinions.

The celebration starts to die down, even though you’re certain the party’s going to pick up at some exclusive club or bar in a few hours, and Rebecca walks with you and Keeley out into the car park.

“How long has that been a thing?” She asks, jutting her head back towards the building with a knowing little smirk as you buckle Stella into her seat.

“There is no thing,” you fix Keeley with a look, knowing that she’s probably been planning that for months, before you’d even met Jamie, and Rebecca has been in on it the whole time.

Still, you promise to message Rebecca with the dates that you and Stella are free for a playdate before buckling yourself into the driver’s seat, all the excitement of the day starting to wear you down. Hopefully, Stella’s so worn out from excitement she goes right to sleep when you get home, but you know the more likely scenario is that she stays up all night because she’s wound up.

The universe must be on your side, though, because Stella falls asleep before you’re even home and you need Keeley’s help to open your front door.

“God, this was so much easier to do when she was smaller,” you whisper with a grin, thinking of all the times Keeley needed to help you into your house when your arms were full of a sleeping Stella and groceries and your work bag. Keeley grins back, placing a kiss on Stella’s forehead before scampering off to her own house, waving goodbye before she closes the door.

Tell me when Jamie gives you a day + time, I’ll come over to help you get ready ;)

Even though you roll your eyes when you see the message, sent before you could even get Stella into bed, you really do appreciate her offer. You can’t even remember the last time you’d been out on a date, and you’ve certainly never been out with a professional footballer. Jamie’s clearly a nice guy, and you’ve enjoyed the few times you’d talked in person, but you’re already beyond nervous for the date that’s still days away.

Those nerves only grow as the week goes on, as you and Jamie settle on Friday at seven at an upscale restaurant you’d never even heard of, and as Keeley lets herself into your house with her spare key at four o’clock on Friday, your nerves reach their peak.

“Well, I’d totally fuck you,” Keeley says after she zips up the back of your dress, looping her arms around your waist and looking into your eyes through the mirror with a grin.

“Thanks, Keels, I’ll be sure to let him know that,” you reply with a giggle, finally starting to feel a little giddy at the thought of your date, even though your anxiety was pulsing just below the surface. The doorbell rings then, and you’re almost certain your heart is going to stop.

“I’ll get it,” Keeley gently pushes you aside as she makes her way out of the bathroom, “grab a purse before you come down, and not the big one! He won’t need snacks before dinner to stop him from crying!” She gives you a wink and then she’s gone, and you can just barely hear her greet Jamie at the door, followed by Stella making a run for him.

Breathing deeply, you make your way back into your bedroom to stuff all of your belongings into a tiny purse, leaving your trusty, large tote sitting on the bed, overflowing with snacks and toys to keep Stella entertained whenever you go out. As much as you’d love to, you know you can’t hide out in your room forever, so you snap your purse closed and make your way downstairs.

Walking down your steps makes you feel like you’re a teenager again, your prom date eagerly waiting at the door after getting grilled by your father, except this time it’s Jamie getting grilled by Keeley and your daughter. When she sees you, Stella is already reaching for you, attempting to wriggled herself out of the arms of a slack-jawed Jamie.

“C’mon, babe,” Keeley intercepts Stella instead, knowing you’ll never leave otherwise, “let’s go find a movie to watch.” Now, it’s just you and Jamie standing by your front door in silence, Stella’s happy jabbering filtering in from the living room the only noise.

“You look nice,” you finally break the silence, feeling awkward and unsure of yourself and certain you sound lame, like you haven’t been on a date in the last six years.

“So do you,” Jamie responds, gently trailing his eyes up and down your form despite the blush on the tips of his ears, “ready?”

You just nod, still needing time to process the fact that you’re going on a date with Jamie Tartt, who looks nothing less than perfect in dark slacks and a button up, and it’s clear that he had attempted to style his hair but the way he continually runs his hands through it has ruined whatever styling there was before. Hopefully the shock of going out with someone so gorgeous will wear off soon so you can actually participate in conversations.

Luckily, by the time you make it to the restaurant Keeley had recommended to Jamie, you’re able to talk about anything and everything, swapping stories about your childhoods and work and Stella, stories that Jamie seems genuinely interested in.

“I hadn’t put together any of her nursery furniture and she would not stop crying so I couldn’t put her down,” you tell him over dessert, explaining the beginning to your friendship with Keeley, “and then there was a knock on the door and I was ready to scream at whoever was on the other side, but it was Keeley and she took Stella right out of my arms and of course she stopped crying then.” You smile, reminiscing on how essential Keeley was during those first few months where you were convinced you’d made a mistake and you’d never survive.

“And then she sat with me while I put together the rest of Stella’s furniture, and she put her in the crib, turned on the baby monitor, and made me dinner.” Keeley had shown you that you weren’t alone, that you’d be able to handle whatever life throws at you because you had her by your side, and if anyone could understand that feeling it was Jamie. “She sat with me and came over every night, just to hang out, and when I went back to work, she watched Stella for me and I didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yeah, she’s magical like that, making you realize things about yourself, believing in you and shit,” Jamie adds, even as his cursing catches the attention of the tables around you.

“She insisted on being Stella’s fairy godmother,” you add with a giggle, delighting in the way Jamie smiles at you.

“I ordered Stella a Tartt kit, by the way,” as soon as the thought crosses your mind the words are out of your mouth, and it’s worth it when Jamie looks at you like this is the best news he’s ever heard.

“She’ll have to wear it to our next match, then,” and you’d agree to anything he says when he says it with that soft look in his eyes, like he might actually love you.

It’s too soon for any of that, but the thought doesn’t scare you the way it normally does. You think you’d enjoy being in love with Jamie, making breakfast together on the weekends and falling asleep next to each other every night of the week. Stella already adores him, so you’d never need to worry about that, and it seems like he cares for Stella the way you and Keeley do, and you know she needs all the love and support she can get.

Jamie glances at his phone, letting out a sigh as he notices the time.

“This is the best night I’ve had a in a while,” he says and you brace yourself for the finishing blow, “but grandad makes me get up at 4 AM for training. Maybe I can bring you coffee tomorrow?” He looks so hopeful, even if you weren’t already foaming at the mouth at the idea of spending more time with him, you’d say yes.

He walks you to your door, and you have to pretend that you don’t know that Keeley is watching from behind the curtains when you press a kiss to his cheek and he squeezes your hand in a way that makes you want to invite him in, even though you both know that would never happen. He waits until you’re safely inside before driving away, and as soon as the door shuts behind you, Keeley is attacking you for details.

Seated on the couch, legs tucked underneath you and junk food spread out on the coffee table, you recount your whole night, telling her how wonderful he was and how great he made you feel and Keeley looks happy enough to burst. Whether her joy comes from the fact that her two friends are happy or because she set the two of you up, you’ll never be sure.

After she leaves, you find yourself texting Jamie, thanking him for such a great night and wishing him luck with training before throwing yourself into bed, happy and exhausted and ready to sleep forever. You dream of Jamie and Stella and a dog, and when you wake up, you’re a little disappointed that it wasn’t real, though you’d never admit that to anyone.

Jamie brings coffee in the morning, and almost every morning after that. When you tell him to stop going out of his way, he tells you his house is right down the road, but Keeley confirms your suspicions that he’s lying. You just laugh when she tells you he’s wrong, too delighted that someone would go out of their way for you every morning to bring it up with him again.

It’s a little terrifying, how seamlessly Jamie fits into your life. You and Stella find yourself in the owner’s box of most Richmond home games, and Jamie brings over takeout every Friday night. If you’re ever working late or stuck at the office, Jamie always jumps at the chance to pick Stella up from school, sometimes grabbing Phoebe as well so the two girls can play together.

Sometimes you wonder if he does that solely to bother Roy, but you don’t mind as long as the girls get home safely.

Jamie is wonderful with Stella, and that was what scared you the most, because while you were used to dealing with heartbreak and disappointment, your daughter wasn’t. Every time you see them kicking a football around in your backyard or catch Stella asleep in Jamie’s lap during a movie, your heart constricts and your breath catches in your throat because you don’t know how you’re supposed to explain it to her if Jamie decides to leave, decides that a fit young footballer doesn’t need to be tied down by a kindergartener and her workaholic mother.

One night, a few months after that very first dinner, the two of you are sitting on the couch with Stella safely asleep in her bed and you’re so happy it scares you a little. This is everything you’ve always wanted, a loving partner who cares for your daughter like she’s his own, but you need to resist the urge to self-destruct.

“Jamie,” you start, reaching for his hand and pulling his attention away from the movie and hating how much this sounds like you’re about to break up with him, “I love you.” It’s a miracle you’re able to keep your voice steady with the terror you feel, but it all evaporates in a second when Jamie smiles at you, beaming from ear to ear as if he’s scored a game winning goal.

“I love you, too,” and he kisses you so softly it hurts you a little, hurts the part inside your brain that was wishing your life could have always been like this, wishing you could have always been this happy. You kiss him back, though, and the movie sits forgotten for the rest of the night.

“I got pregnant at nineteen,” you tell him later, wrapped up in your sheets and his arms, “and Stella’s dad isn’t a bad guy or anything, he just… wasn’t ready, which is fine, it was my choice in the end, but sometimes it really fucking sucked.” You sniffle, hating yourself a little for ruining such a lovely night but Jamie just pulls you close, presses a kiss to the crown of your head and traces nonsensical shapes on your arm.

“But then I found Keeley, and now I have you, and Stella’s perfect and everything turned out okay but I just wanted you to know,” you finish, breathing deeply for the first time since you started talking. It wasn’t like it was a secret that you had Stella young or that you were a single mom, but sometimes revealing all the details felt too intense, like no one needed or wanted to hear how you got to this point.

“Me mum was only twenty when I was born,” Jamie tells you, continuing his tracing on your arm and it’s then that you realize he’s been drawing hearts, “and my dad’s a real piece of a shit, so she basically raised me all on her own. And then she found Simon when I was a teenager and he’s a good guy, likes baking and shit. I think they’d both like you a lot, you and Stella.”

“Well, your mom must be pretty great, putting up with you all on her own,” you smile, bursting into laughter when Jamie squeezes your side, both of you feeling lighter and falling asleep after sharing more giggle-filled kisses.

Life continues on, leaving you giddy to see what the next day will hold. Jamie continues to bring coffee every morning, stopping by while Stella eats breakfast in front of the TV and you pack up three lunches. If there isn’t a game, Jamie stays over on the weekend and the two of you make breakfast together, swaying gently in the kitchen in your pajamas, basking in the sun and his presence until Stella stomps her way downstairs, hair ruffled and her grumpy little frown blooming into a smile the second she smells the pancake batter.

Stella started playing football on the same team as Phoebe, and you and Keeley get equally as excited as you do at Richmond matches. Whenever he’s available, Jamie will join Roy as an assistant coach, and even though he tells you it’s to spend time with Stella, you’re sure seeing the annoyed look on Roy’s face whenever he shows up is a nice bonus. The four of you will take the girls out to lunch after, and you’re reminded of all the wonderful people you’ve had in your corner, some longer than others but all equally as important to you.

Your life might not have gone the way you expected, but what you have now is better than anything you ever could have dreamed.

Tags: @whimsical-roasting @hopefulromances @onceuponaoneshot @jamietarttdodo @scaramou @ickydollysstuff @drizzyreese @amieinghigh @ilymoonie @better-things-to-do @yepyeahuhhuh @zazima @guccilongboard @shineforever19 @tortilla-maria1 @shakespeareanwannabe @lilweirdgal @flashyourgreeneyesatme @aiyaiy @just35yrsandtrying @chrissy1986 @emmy2811

[sirjaketkiszka]

Josh Kiszka One Shot: Teeth Marks

You attend a Halloween party with your best friend, Josh.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,129

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, cursing, kissing, biting, a bit of grinding, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex, slight dirty talking, drawing of blood, cream pie, a sprinkle of overstimulation, and, of course, mediocre writing.

(Let me know if I missed any, please!)

Disclaimer: Apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

A/N- So excited to be one of the authors selected for Gretaween 2024 by @moonlightisdancing. It's a short one, but I hope you all enjoy <3

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The muffled pounding of bellowing music shakes the rickety front porch beneath your feet, the aged wood groaning with every hesitant step. By the sound coming from behind the door, you can tell the party is in full swing, and like usual, you’re late. It’s not like you meant to be late, it was your ride’s fault. Speaking of which–

“The door should be open,” Josh huffs while rushing up the front porch steps of his home. He offered to pick you up since you’re wearing matching costumes– vampires– and wanted to show up together. Josh is dressed in a white long-sleeve button-up with fake blood dripping down the side of his neck, staining the stark white fabric of his shirt; implying that he’s your victim. 

You, on the other hand, are wearing a deep red satin corset with a mesh flared long-sleeve underneath and a black mini skirt that rests just below your ass. Your lips are crimson, a similar shade dripping down the corners of your lips, which hide the removable vampire teeth implants on your canines. Josh is sporting the same implants, which flash every time he speaks.

“I know, I'm just waiting for you.” You lie, and he notices, stopping in his tracks and looking at you with a quirked brow. “Do you think we look ridiculous?” You sigh out, looking down at yourself. 

“Of course not. We look amazing,” he frowns, looking at both of you. “Do you want to wait a moment?” He asks sincerely, his tone gentle, and his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. 

“No, no, I’m ready.” Nodding, he steps before you, turning the handle and passing the threshold as the door swings open. The once-muffled music blares in your ears with the uncomfortably humid air engulfing the two of you as Josh pushes past the dense crowd. His hand reaches behind him, encouraging you to take it while you weave between partygoers, the stench of their sweat and consumed alcohol reaching your nose. Your hand rests comfortably in his, his long fingers intertwining with yours and gripping tightly as you approach the cramped kitchen.  

You’re honestly surprised by the number of people attending the party; the sea of individuals is a mixture of Halloween costumes– clowns, zombies, pirates… Multiple pirates, actually. You notice a few costumes as references to films and even spot a couple dressed as vampires, though they’re Twilight vampires based on the excessive amount of glitter stuck to their skin.

“Here we are.” Josh’s voice comes out in an exasperated huff as he stops in front of the array of cheap alcohol, mixers, chasers, and red solo cups. “Your usual?”

“Yes, please.” 

Josh lets go of your hand and swiftly conjures up your usual drink, but you doubt you’ll be drinking much tonight. With parties this big, you prefer to stay alert, and you mostly end up people-watching– witnessing sloshed strangers embarrass themselves and act out of character. 

“Nice costume.” A deep voice says behind you, causing you to turn around to see who it is, but you’re unsure when you look at him. He’s dressed as Frankenstein’s monster and has an equally terrifying smirk on his face. 

“Oh, thanks. You too.”

“You here with anyone?” He questions despite your deliberate lack of interest.

“Yes, actually.” Just as Josh finishes making the drinks, he butts into the conversation, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him as he hands you a drink. You’re aware this is his way of asking the stranger to politely fuck off, but you can’t control the heat that creeps into your cheeks. Josh isn’t scary in the slightest, but the man still backs off, silently apologizing while backing away. 

“Thank you for that.” You sigh, bringing the cup to your lips and taking a sizable gulp. 

“Of course. Looks like I’ll be needing to keep an eye on you tonight.” He chuckles, leaving his arm wrapped around your waist as he reaches for his drink. This wouldn’t be the first time, and certainly not the last, that you and Josh acted couple-like to avoid the unwanted attention of others, but something felt… different. 

That feeling remains persistent throughout the night, and while no one else bothers you, Josh still keeps his hold on you. His hands find your waist with ease, his eyes lingering on yours, and his body stays glued to yours while talking with mutual friends. You’re unsure if it’s the slight buzz clouding your senses, or if maybe his actions hold a deeper meaning. You’re not opposed to finding out, either. 

~~~~~~~~~

The last stragglers eventually stumble out of the house, climbing into waiting cars to take them home in their drunken state. Josh’s brothers have already disappeared elsewhere, most likely to avoid the lingering mess throughout the eerily silent house. The music is no longer playing, and the constant murmur of people talking has gone void, leaving you and Josh alone in the mess of a kitchen. Crumpled plastic cups make themselves home on the counter, and floor, while piling around the perimeter of the overflowing trashcan. Half-empty cups are left on every surface of the house; above the fireplace, the coffee table, the dining room table, and even the bathroom sink. It takes you both some time to collect every piece of remaining trash and pack them into larger garbage bags, but once you finish, the two of you lean against the cleared kitchen counter, admiring the somehow spotless kitchen. 

“Wanna stay the night?” Josh’s tone cuts through the silence of the kitchen, pulling you to look at him. You’ve both sobered up by now, and the exhaustion that’s built itself through the entire night consumes you. You’d be lying if laying in Josh’s bed doesn’t sound amazing right now, and it’s not like sleeping over is new for you, but still, you’re hesitant. The brief grazes, subtle touches, and flirtatious stares have you wound up, and you’re not entirely sure sharing a bed with him is a good idea. 

“Sure, why not.” Fuck it. 

“Perfect.” He smiles, flashing his faux vampire fangs, pushing himself away from the counter, and walking toward the living room. Following him, you depart from the counter, meekly mimicking his path into the next room and up the creaky staircase. The quiet house amplifies the sound of your heavy steps, your pulse matching as you come closer to his room. Why you’re so nervous, you didn’t know. 

Josh swings the door open, allowing you to step in first, and closes it behind you, rounding your stance and plopping on the edge of his bed. You opt for his desk, leaning against the sturdy piece of furniture, and crossing your arms. He looks confused, tilting his head, surely wondering why you’re keeping your distance from him. 

“Did you enjoy the party?” He asks, visibly pushing aside the previous thought. 

“Of course, I did,” A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips from his small talk, the sudden awkwardness causing heat to wrap around your neck. While you’ve known Josh for years, it feels as though something shifted during the party, and you have a suspicion he feels it as well. “Did you?”

Taking him in as he nods, his doe-eyes look up at you from his seated position, the blood dripping down his neck now dry and cracking, and his lips are peculiarly plump as the fangs push against them. He’s leaning back, his arms propping him up on open palms, and his legs are naturally spread. He looks… Good. Rising heat settles in your gut as the pitch-black of your pupils expands, and ironically, given your costume, your mouth waters, and your skin prickles with pure desire. 

You don’t exactly plan, or expect, the next phrase to come out of your mouth, in fact, you’re not sure where it’ll lead. However, you can’t help yourself when the stillness settles yet again between you, and he too looks like he’s expecting something… Waiting… His eyes are glossy, his eyebrows scrunched upward, and the minute twitch in his leg shows his anxiousness.

“Come here.” 

With a simple rushed expression, he’s off the bed and standing mere inches from you, your slouched position against his desk prompting you to tilt your head back. The rich browns of his irises are consumed by the darkness of his pupils, reflecting a chilling amount of lust underneath the surface. His chest rises and falls quickly, small huffs of air pushing past his partially open lips. Wild eyes filled with uncertainty search your features, his hands hesitantly reaching for your waist, just ghosting over the thick material of your corset. 

“Can I kiss–”

Without another word, your arms uncross, your hands grasping his face in a firm grip as your lips collide with his. A startled hum catches in his throat, his eyes going wide for a second before fluttering close, his body melting into yours and pushing you further into the desk. His hands find the courage to grab your waist, his fingertips turning white from the strength of his hold on you, and digging slightly into the rough fabric.

Your vampire fangs poke just behind your lips, causing you to part them, allowing Josh to brush his tongue against yours. He tastes exactly how you’ve always imagined… for an embarrassing amount of time. He’s sweet and smokey, and the lingering taste of alcohol dances along the corners of his mouth. It’s intoxicating. Insatiable.

His hips instinctively thrust against yours, fully propping you onto the flat surface of the desk. Your legs open for him, your skirt slowly hiking up your bare thighs as he settles between your spread legs. A small gasp pierces your lungs when you feel his hardened bulge pressing against your clothed core as he slowly grinds into you, deepening the kiss. 

Hunger takes over, the sharp edges of both of your vampire fangs nipping at reddened, plump lips. Your crimson lipstick has transferred onto him, smudging along the edges of his lips as he pulls away, his pupils blown and yours mirroring his. Chests heaving and lips agape, you pause, his hands subtly trembling against your waist and your hands sliding down his cheeks to his shoulders. 

“Keep going.” You whisper. Moving with haste, Josh reaches for the implants, struggling to take them off before you grab his wrist, stopping him. “Keep them on.”

A smug smile pulls at his lips, accentuating his perfect teeth paired with the dull sharpness of the fangs. He leans forward, dipping into your neck and planting soft kisses along the sensitive flesh. A soft breath brushes past your lips, letting out a silent sigh as your head tilts, allowing him more access to the expanse of your neck. 

Gentle kisses become open-mouthed, his teeth grazing the tender skin. A moan melts from you when you feel him sink his teeth into the skin just below your jaw, biting hard enough to leave a mark, but without drawing blood. He repeats this motion along your neck, pulling needier whines the harder he bites. Your hips absently buck into his, chasing the friction you so desperately crave. 

“Please, Josh. More.”

“Wanna enjoy this—” His words are mumbled against the crook of your neck as he switches to the other side, giving it as much attention as the previous. The unbearable heat that pools in your gut causes you to grasp at his waist, pulling him into you and rubbing his erection against your aching clit. A shared groan fills the silence of his room, and without much encouragement, he thrusts into you again, and again. 

A consistent string of moans and silent curses blows into his ear as he grunts against you, his hands traveling to the outside of your thighs and gripping tightly to gain momentum. You could finish just like this, the tingling sensation already building deep in your cunt, your walls pulsing with arousal. But you want more. Need more.

With a squeeze of your legs around his hips, he pulls away, his eyes examining his work; red two-dot marks litter your blotchy skin with small developing bruises alternating between bite marks. From the smirk on his kiss-plump lips, he’s satisfied.

Watching intently, his gaze travels down your body, his eyes lingering on your restricted breasts pushing against the corset. You open your mouth to speak, but you shut it when he sinks to his knees, his face level with your aching cunt. His eyes hold yours, silently asking for permission as his hands hook in the waistband of your skirt. Nodding fervently, he tugs gently, pulling the stretchy fabric of the skirt and your underwear down. 

He swallows thickly when his eyes settle on your glistening cunt, and if it were possible, his eyes become a black void. Nerves climb your throat as he leans forward, the soft huffs of his breath sending a chill down your spine. Slowly, he presses firm kisses along the inner of your thighs, occasionally sinking his teeth into the plush flesh. Strained whines melt off your tongue, your eyebrows scrunching the closer he gets to where you want him. Finally, his tongue darts between the fangs, swiping leisurely up your slit and nearly causing you to double over from the unexpected pleasure. 

“Oh, god—” Shallow gasps expand your lungs while your hands fly to his curls and grip gently, encouraging his movements. He works faster, exploring your velvety folds and humming when he tastes your arousal spread on his tongue. His eyes roll back as they shut, his lips nuzzling against your clit and sucking harshly, making you throw your head back. “Fuck!” 

The sound of his slurping and your drawn-out moans are borderline pornographic, but you can’t bother to consider the thought of anyone hearing. His movements are strategic, being mindful of his teeth, as he rhythmically flicks the tip of his tongue against your swollen clit. 

“Josh— Fuck, I’m so close!”

Just when your peak heightens, the squeezing of your walls quickens, and your hips sporadically grind against his open mouth. You’re so close and your breath hitches, stopping completely as the coil tightens—

He pulls away and your climax disappears just as quickly as it came. A frustrated groan grumbles deep within you, and he snickers, getting up and standing between your writhing legs. 

“Why’d you stop?” Your words are winded, your chest heaving from your heavy breaths. 

“I need to feel you.” His lips are shiny with your arousal, his chin sporting the same shine, and his eyes stay on yours. It’s enough to distract you from his hands fumbling with his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, then pulling them down to free his erection. Holding his gaze, sharp breaths enter you both when he rubs his tip between your slick folds, spreading your arousal along his sensitive tip and prodding at your weeping entrance. Your legs open further with your fingers still tangled in his hair as he pushes his hips forward. Inch by inch, your walls accommodate his impressive size, stretching around him and pulling him in the deeper he pushes. He lets out a groan with a breath you weren’t aware he was holding as he bottoms out, his forehead leaning against yours while he catches his breath. 

A beat passes before he finally pulls back almost completely before thrusting back in slowly. Shaky breaths fill the space between you and his hands rest on your waist for reassurance, squeezing lightly. He remains the unhurried pace, allowing the dull ache to melt into pleasure, and the scolding heat returns to your gut. Restraint is present in his rhythm as he holds back, his jaw clenching as he chases for more. 

“Faster.” You tell him, holding his curls tightly as he moves quicker, thrusting into you roughly. The desk rocks from the vigorous movement, and you wrap your legs around him, keeping him close as your climax rebuilds itself. 

“Feels so good. So wet.” He mutters, his eyes squeezing shut as he thrusts harder. “Been thinking about this all night.”

“Shit– Me too.” You admit, “For so long.”

“Yeah?” His forehead leaves yours at your admission, his eyes boring into yours. 

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” 

From such simple words, your orgasm is at its peak and you can no longer hold it, but based on Josh’s thrusts growing sloppier, he’s not far behind. His grip on your waist becomes stronger, more desperate, as if he’s trying to hold on longer– to keep going. 

“I’m– Fuck!” Before the words can leave your lips, your climax crashes into like a ton of bricks, leaving you hopelessly out of control of your body. Your head tilts forward and your open mouth latches onto his clothed shoulder, your fangs piercing through the soft material and sinking into his muscle. Your cries are muffled as your walls spasm around his cock, waves of arousal coating it as he continues to thrust into you, his orgasm hitting simultaneously.

“Oh fuuuck.” His words come out in a prolonged whine, his head thrown back as he finishes inside of you, milking his orgasm while his erection twitches with every pump. As if he’s unable to stop, he lazily continues, pulling exasperated whimpers from you both. “S’too good.” 

Releasing his shoulder, specks of blood stain the white fabric, matching the fake blood that drips along the front of it. You examine him; his hair is a mess– a product of your tugging– his cheeks are bright red, and his eyes are hooded. He looks, well, fucked. And you’re sure you mimick his expression; brows furrowed from overstimulation, lips parted, and skin marked by him. 

When neither of you can take anymore, he hesitantly pulls out, and a single moan escapes you from the lack of contact. A shiver travels down your spine when you feel the mixed orgasms spill out of you and onto the desk, leaving you a mess. 

Josh is quick to find a towel, wiping the surface beneath and gently cleaning off your sensitive cunt. He assists you in sliding off the desk and your legs are immediately wobbly when you put your weight on them. Pulling you to the bed, he sits down on the edge, encouraging you to sit on his lap, straddling him. Not a single word is shared between you, though it’s not uncomfortable. 

With his head tilted back to look up at you, you kiss him tenderly, earning a soft groan from him. Unable to help yourself, you grind your naked cunt on him, and you’re pleasantly surprised when you feel his erection returning. 

“Already?” You chuckle, breaking the kiss and quirking a brow.

“Well, you know what they say,” He smiles, flashing those damn fangs, “Vampires don’t sleep.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

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