#fic: now watch me bloom
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mitsuki91 · 9 months ago
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Everyone is bold and read smut in public with a straight face, myself included...
But today I unlocked a new features: writing smut with a straight face in front of my coworkers 💪🏻😎
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wildlyfreemoon · 7 months ago
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i just rewatched fate the winx saga lmao
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aberooski · 8 months ago
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I love my gx winx au and I love that it's just bits and pieces of me being like oh that's fun and not having any semblance of lore or plot. It's purely contained to the character designs I've drawn for the girls.
#it will stay contained to art too it's not something I'd ever write#like I know absolutely nothing about this au of mine but I'm obsessed with it all the same#like I learn something new about it every time I've drawn something#I don't draw a lot for it yall have seen everything I've done and it's usually just a drawing of alexis cuz I love her design lol#but like I'm doing panels for it rn right? and like it's just coming together like the story of what's happening atm#and that's like the only story there actually is rn but it's just falling into place#so I can actually make something of substamce out of this tiny concept I had for a drawing I wanted to try because I had an itch and it grew#that doesn't really happen to me anymore like I haven't felt a spark like that since I wrote OUAD#nothing I've written since has felt the same#and like I said this isn't something I would write into a fic or anything it would just be too much but it's really everything to me rn#something I can come back to and dip my toe in whenever I really feel like I need a spark again and it just makes me happy#I grew up with 4kids winx club so another reason I'd never write anything for real is because I refuse to watch any other version#like I've tried I just can't do it my mind rejects any other version so I only know the universe to a point anyway and but that was my thin#it made me so happy as a kid and it still does now like those are my girls and they mean the world to me and being able to play#within that space with other characters I'm obsessed with and combine into something that miraculously works is amazing#I need to draw more stuff for this au I guess is my whole point#I need to see what other things can..... bloom....... (heh) within that space and what will just manifest before me#I need that something to make me feel that spark again because I don't want to lose it forever and I think I'm starting to find it again#life has just been knocking down over and over lately and it's destroyed so much of my mental state and honestly randomly deciding to try#and actually draw actual stuff for this au has been so healing. I almost feel lighter#it feels stupid amd silly to say but it's true#abby's just rambling don't mind her
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silkjade · 1 year ago
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WICKED DRAGON, LAY WASTE TO ME
⤀ synopsis: neuvillette has always been the gentlest of lovers—and so tonight you ask him not to hold back ⤀��cw: afab!reader, unprotected + rough sex, size kink, praise, overstimulation, breeding + creampie, marking, monsterfucking (dragon cock), cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, dumbification, mentions of mates, lil bit of dom!neuvi (??) but he is still sweet — mdni || ꒰ 8.4k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: leviathan fic for leviathan neuv ( i’m not talking abt his constellation ) rbs + feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡
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“Well? What do you think?” You come home, twirling before him in a gown, different than the one you had left in. The short hem at the front lifts mischievously, teasing just a peek of what lies underneath, while the longer, flouncing layers of skirts behind you, wrap flirtatiously around your legs. Neuvillette feels his throat run dry.
“Navia and Clorinde thought it was high time I changed my look, and you know I can’t ever say no to Chioriya Boutique.” 
While he’s spent the better part of the night reviewing court documents in the parlor, you have been out with Navia and Clorinde, who he thinks have perhaps plotted to kill him. ‘Girls’ night,’ you had called it.
Draped in a vivid palette of the finest fabrics, decorated interchangeably with delicate metalwork and dainty ribbons, the blush on his pale skin is ever-present as he rakes his eyes up and down your body. The dark, patterned stockings, squeezing your thighs just enough, so that supple flesh spills obscenely over the top, the tight, whale-boned embrace of your corset, accentuating the curves of your waist, and pushing upwards the swell of your breasts…
A coy smile graces your features when you catch how his throat bobs in his silence. Giggling, you lean down, tracing the tip of your finger up the contours of his neck, skimming the gentle curve beneath his chin until you’ve tilted his gaze to yours. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, got nothing to say?”
How can he even think, much less find the right words to say, when the familiar scent of your perfume fills his head with indecent, lascivious thoughts? Everything about you is intoxicating, almost insidiously attractive, so would it suffice to say that he’d much rather see your pretty, new dress abandoned somewhere on the floor? 
That first pulse of arousal translates into the first twitch of his cock, and oh how he wishes to kiss away your teasing little grin, but his lust-driven eyes are drawn to the miniscule movements of your bodice sleeve, predatory as he watches how it begins to shift, ever so slowly, off your shoulders. 
“If you don’t like it, then perhaps…” You loosely roll your shoulder, letting the sleeve slide right off. “…you’d like to help me undress?”
That, he will gladly do. His hands fly to your waist, dragging you down into a straddle over his hips. 
“Temptress,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck, distracting you with a featherlight kiss as his nimble fingers waste no time in undoing the delicate clasps of your bodice, leaving the heavy outer garment to tumble off your shoulders, abandoned in a pile at your waist. 
Cool air licks at the now exposed skin, though it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his lips as he slots his mouth against yours, gently coaxing you open with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut in honeyed complacence, allowing Neuvillette to kiss you slow and sweet; impassioned, ardent, each kiss an oath of love and longing and lust. 
Desire blooms like romaritime flowers upon water, and you just know the tension underneath his placid exterior, is ready to burst. It’s prevalent in the way his muscles grow taut, tense beneath your every touch, fighting to hold himself back as your legs squeeze around his hips. Demonstrated, again, by how he pulls apart your corset, impatient and haphazard as he unlaces each cross, before tossing it to the ground, forgotten. And of course, only you can attest to the searing sensations of his escalating kisses—gentle wisps, once faint and docile, now wanton and heated with depravity. 
You can already feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the wetness that’s begun to form between your legs; maybe it’s the anticipation, but despite the layers of clothing you’ve already shed, you find it even harder now to breathe, especially as he holds you so close, body pressed against yours, while he traces the bare curve of your neck with his lips. 
For one with such a carefully crafted visage of elegance and poise, Neuvillette becomes sloppier as his restraint fades and lust seeps through the cracks. Something about you drives him wild, draws out the more carnal side of him that he so desperately seeks to hide away from you, who he could never even dream of hurting. 
But perhaps he’s spent too much time amongst humans. Or perhaps he understands their nature more than he had initially believed, for he makes the most human mistake of all in letting his control slip—enough that his fangs graze upon your sensitive skin, sending a shiver that reaches all the way down to your core, eliciting a moan so mellifluous, he cannot help but utter a sigh of strained content as the undeniably sweet sound reaches his ears.
“If we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back,” he mutters, tongue laving over the spot in apology. It doesn’t help that you voluntarily crane your neck, offering him even more access in your heated bliss. His fingers dig into your waist in a silent plea to still your rolling hips. 
“So don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t hold back tonight.” Desperate to have him closer, you arch into him, the loose material of his shirt firmly clasped in your hands, deepening the kiss with a quick tug, a silent request for him to let go, but he immediately halts his movements, pulling away in hesitance. 
Oh Neuvillette. Your sweet Neuvillette, who in spite of his stern exterior, is the gentlest of lovers—always so tender with you and steadfast in placing your pleasure before his. You know of his draconic origins, know that he holds back in fear of hurting you, but for all the times he’s pleased you to the fullest extent, you only wish to do the same for him.
Your hand reaches to cup his face and he leans into your familiar touch, steely eyes soft. “It’s okay, I trust you.”
It’s already difficult denying you anything on a normal basis, so how can he, now that you sit, straddled over him, determination colored in your bright eyes, and with nothing but flimsy cloth left between the two of you. His eyes linger at your chest, the scooping neckline of your lace slip doing nothing to hide the smooth crests of your collarbones, begging to be marked. 
Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and attempts to swallow his doubts, before exhaling. He can no longer ignore the tightness in his groin, and to you, it’s clear that the obvious erection poking from beneath his trousers, speaks much louder than the uncertainty storming in his eyes. Perhaps he just needs one more push…
Your fingers come to curve around the sharp lines of his jaw, unwavering as you tilt his head up into your gaze. “Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”
His heart threatens to leap out of his chest in a flash of excitement, gratitude, desire; it’s far from the first time you’ve lain together, but to choose to bear such vulnerability before him, to surrender yourself to a full-fledged dragon… He glides his hands over the round slopes of your shoulders, easily sliding off the straps of your slip as he goes. The silk garment collapses down your torso, piling atop your forgotten dress. 
“If that is truly what you wish…” He presses an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin between your breasts, and the warmth of his breath runs a chill even colder than the night air. His whispers hide a growl, and despite the blush apparent at the tips of his pointed ears, his hold on your waist tightens. One hand slides down to grasp at your rear, and you can feel him smile against your lips, the rattle of a faint chuckle rippling in his throat before your breath hitches as he picks you up in his arms, and carries you off to the bedroom. 
He sets you by your shared bed, tearing off his now wrinkled shirt, while you wriggle out of whatever’s left of your dress, until both sets of clothing are discarded somewhere on the floor, and you’re finally left in only your panties and your stockings.
Immediately, his hands find your waist, roaming up and down over your curves as he smothers you in hungry kisses, herding you along until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your shared bed. This Neuvillette nips at your bottom lip, not asking for, but demanding entrance into your mouth, and you have no choice but to let him in, what with the way he makes you whine as he sneaks his hands down to knead the globe of your ass, before lowering you onto the bed. 
The tingling sensations bloom in your stomach, buzzing with excitement while you ready yourself to surrender completely—pliant to his will, whatever it may be. Arousal swallows you like the sea and he has yet to even really touch you. Impatient, your hand wanders, though not far down enough before you’re caught in his grasp. 
“Patience…” he mutters, pinning your wrist beside your head, broad shoulders caging you in between him and the sheets. His other hand follows the natural lines of your body, tracing along the edges until he stops to fondle one of your breasts. 
It’s impossible to relax your speeding heart at this side of Neuvillette: less reserved in his touches, more candid in his wants. The untreated heat in your body makes sure to touch on every part of you, running like water through your veins, until you’re sure your dripping cunt is pulsing with a heart of its own. Unable to stand the ache any longer, you wriggle beneath him—rolling your hips and squirming until your knee unwittingly brushes against his crotch, eliciting a choked grunt from him, only slightly muffled by the fact that his teeth have dug their way into your exposed flesh. 
He immediately pulls away at the sound of your surprised yelp, eyes darting to and fro across your features in frantic search for even the smallest semblance of discomfort, completely missing the way your entire body had seemed to arch into his touch. His eyes finally settle at the light indentations now displayed upon your once unblemished skin.
“Forgive me,” he begins, “I should have been more careful.” Neuvillette is ever the gentleman, but his voice is clearly strained in a poor attempt at fighting back his instincts—instincts that demand a dragon to mark what is his. 
“There’s nothing to forgive.” A soft smile graces your lips as your hand reaches to cradle his face, curling around his jaw in hushed reassurance. It’s so easy to read the thoughts that plague him so. “It felt good, I promise.”
True to your word, his heightened senses easily pick up on the scent of pure arousal that drifts from between your legs, swirling in the air, and lulling him into a state he’s kept buried for so long, he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to hold himself back even if he wanted to. He admires your bravery for daring to poke at the slumbering beast; bravery he knows stems from a place of passion, but how can he release such inhibitions upon a mere human? So physically… fragile. 
“I meant what I said: I can take it. And I know you won’t hurt me so…” Your fingers clasp around his shoulders, pulling your lover down just far enough to whisper, low and sultry, in his pointed ear.
“Don’t you dare look down on me, o’ hydro dragon sovereign..” 
You lurch forward, manicured nails drawing light lines down his bare back, and he meets you halfway in a long, drawn out kiss. A quiet growl rumbles from deep within his throat, clearly aroused by the way you had drawled out his full title. He nips at your bottom lip, dragging out a single, short gasp before leaving to trail wet kisses down the column of your throat, never stopping until his lips hover over the very spot where he had previously made his mark. 
He doesn’t even have to touch you, just his presence, tangled with your own anticipatory excitement, invites a shudder so deep, you can feel it in your bones. The sharp edge of his fangs scrape along that still-sensitive patch of skin, lightly, as if testing the waters, though this time, he makes sure to take note of the quiver in your pretty little mewls. 
Slowly, he bites down again and a moan slips past your lips, forced out from the very depths of your chest as your fingers fly to tangle in his moonridden tresses. His hot breath seeps past the barrier of your skin, leaving every nerve privy to his effect, and combined with the building pressure, you’re left open for the stream of soft whimpers that leave the perfect ‘o’ of your parted lips. As he sinks his teeth deeper, you squeeze your eyes shut in the midst of all the pleasure.
“Do it again,” you gasp, “felt good… ”
And oh, he has absolutely every intention to, what with the way you’re putty underneath him. However, he must do something about how distracting your hands are when you tug at his hair: hard enough for him to groan with an ache so wanton, it sends tremors echoing down until his trousers feel far, far too tight. 
Neuvillette is neither here nor there when he alternates between kissing and sucking and biting at your tender flesh—anywhere is fair game when you’ve relinquished yourself to him like this. With how attentive his lips are along your body, you hardly even care for the absence of his hand when he reaches around to untie the ribbon in his hair… at least not until it’s too late and you're left bemused by the uncharacteristic display of boldness; after all, it’s all you can do when your wrists are suddenly so tightly bound overhead.
You whine as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue, while he ravishes the other between his fingers. Heat surges through you and the aching desperation congregating in your belly begins to boil; you’ve never felt so sensitive, never been more pervasive to his touch.
Inside. You need him inside of you. But with your hands currently incapacitated, you’ve no other choice except to buck into him, beckoning him with your hips in the hopes of redirecting his attention to where you throb. 
“Inside. Please. I need you. Need you inside.” 
He hums in acknowledgement of your wishes, tugging at the hardened bud with his teeth, successfully wringing another shaky cry from your throat, before he finally pulls at the delicate lace of your panties, and guides them down the length of your legs. You easily kick them off, but in his observation, his piercing gaze catches every thrum of your muscles as they tense underneath the hand that finally trails between your thighs. He drags his lithe fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, while his thumb rubs your clit in slow, but firm, circles. 
“My apologies for the wait.” Neuvillette kisses you right above your heart, where his acute hearing easily picks up how it palpitates as he dips his fingers into your velvet walls. “Allow me to make amends, my love.”
With the way your cunt gushes so copiously, it’s easy for him to slide all the way down to the last knuckle. He flicks his wrist, pumping fast and hard, scissoring you open before slipping in a third digit, drawing out mewl after pathetic mewl, as you fail to pull yourself together. The bedsheets twist beneath your incessant movements: simultaneously squirming not only from the initial stretch, but also to feel him deeper.
The discomfort is all too familiar, but with just the curl of his fingers, it washes away into unadulterated pleasure, just as it always does. But with your arms tethered, leaving you open and powerless, everything—every touch, every twist, every curl—feels tenfold.
Plus, no one would even believe you if you were to say that the chief justice had such a playful side in the bedroom; his fingers have explored your insides far too many times for him to just miss the little spot that he definitely knows by muscle memory. Whining, you buck your hips, senselessly grinding into his hand, hoping he’d get the message, hoping he’d quell your heat right at the source. 
But something dangerous and wild and primordial shines in the blue-violet glow of his eyes. For all the times you’ve made love together, he’s never seen you like this: so desperate, so needy for him. He pinches a nipple, hard, before locking your jolting hips down; a show of strength to remind you of your place. 
“Please, more.” Your voice rises in congruence with how you struggle against your ribbon-bound wrists. His fingers tease the spot again, this time with more force, and he watches as you keen and clench around him—helpless and at his mercy. 
With a curl, his fingers crook inside your silken walls, pistoning in and out, fast and hard. Arousal continues to build, turning the low squelches into distinct suctions. Every nerve in your body is ignited, seared by the heat as he laps at the overflowing wetness that seeps out of your entrance. A satisfied purr sounds in his throat, and the vibrations dare your hips to buck in spite of the iron grip that holds you down.  
It thrills him to see you steadily fall apart like this, coming so undone before him, dissolving under the weight of your pleasure. It’s just as you had wanted. More. So you can take it, can’t you? You can take more? 
Neuvillette slots your throbbing clit into his mouth, hot tongue relentlessly striking the swollen nub with viscous lashes, while his fingers continue to bully your insides with no intention of slowing down. Sucking harder, fucking faster—you keen at the added stimulation, back arching clean off the bed in blinding pleasure, unable to do anything more than let out jagged sobs as you cum.
Your entire body grows taut as he sees you through the end of this high, before finally drawing out with one last sleight of his hand, so that his fingertips might graze along the velvet top of your walls, bidding farewell with another shudder-inducing wave of euphoria. He exits his soiled digits, clearly pleased as he inspects the amount of slick that coats his elegant hand. 
“You’re absolutely divine.” He hums whilst licking up the side of his wrist, so as not to waste a single drop of your liquid pleasure. It’s intoxicating how exquisite you are, more decadent than even the most pristine of waters. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”
His offer is rhetorical at best, as he answers for you, already slipping his slender fingers into your open mouth, tangling them with your tongue, until the first bits of drool begin to dribble from your lips. 
He unties your wrists, releasing them from the ribbon’s hold; time and experience have proven that you’ll need something to grasp onto. In a haste, Neuvillette discards what remains of his clothes, and his cock springs forward in all its glory: long and thick, pale tip leaking and thrumming with desire. 
“You’re absolutely sure… ?” he mumbles, voice trailing off, almost embarrassed. He can no longer control the way his hips twitch in excitement, begging to bury his cock into your warmth, but for his gentle heart’s sake, he needs to hear you say it again.
You laugh out a soft ‘yes’ but just for good measure, you rake your nails down his chest, applying just enough pressure to tickle his nerves. “Use me,” you goad. “Come on. Be wicked, my dragon.” 
Neuvillette exhales, chuckling softly at humanity's arrogance. Wicked dragon. If that was what you wanted... “I wonder if you’d still say the same after I’ve finished with you.”
He pins you back down in one fell move, and aligns himself to your entrance, stopping after inserting only the tip. A delicate whimper leaves your lips as you wince at that familiarly sweet stretch, but you and your little cunt are both so eager to please—the continued arousal you churn out, weeping nonstop, and already clenching around just his cockhead. You wriggle into him, trying to fuck yourself deeper on his fat cock as you adjust to his size. 
Reaching up, you pull him into a seemingly reassuring kiss, hands smoothing over the framing pieces of his hair, before curving around his jaw. His lips follow yours, but as you pull away and the short pieces of his hair fall back into place, you notice how his slitted reptilian pupils are dilated almost round. 
“You wish for me not to hold back,” his voice comes in a low growl as he inches further into your cunt, “so please show me how resilient you are.”
It’s all the warning you receive before he slides the rest of his length to the hilt, burying himself in your creamy insides. A shattered sob tears through the room, and your arms fly around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, but it only pulls him closer as he leans more of his weight into you, pressing down and reinforcing the heavy plow of his merciless hips. 
Taking him all at once like this burns like wildfire. Pain from the sudden, rough stretch spreads hot and fast, the small embers bursting into a blaze of arousal as pleasure breezes through just as quickly—like air infinitely adding to an already devouring flame. 
“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, turning his head to reward a small kiss to your cheek. Your hole gushes, rushing to quell the heat, and the added lubrication helps you settle into his pace. Still, the dual sensations wash over you like the tide. It pulls you under, drowns you and consumes you with absolute ecstasy.
And just when you think you’ve grown accustomed, Neuvillette lifts your hips, aiming for the spot he knows will drag out the most wonderfully broken cries from your throat. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans at the vice grip as you clamp down around his cock. With each powerful thrust, he buries himself balls deep with a force that has your tits bouncing along to his rhythm, letting the wanton sound of your sobs ring throughout the room, loud enough to almost drown out the lewd noise of skin slapping upon skin. 
The coil in your belly is wound so tight that you’re sure it won’t be long until it collapses into itself. That it won’t be long until you yourself are about to implode, like a star ready to burst. 
“I’m going… going to…” Between the ragged breaths and the overwhelming sensations of ecstasy, you can’t even find it in yourself to think straight.
Neuvillette hums, his liquid smooth voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. “You’d do well not to break so soon.”
He thumbs your clit, drawing tight circles, ignoring the way you convulse beneath him. As your back arches, he drags the flat of his teeth from the edges of your collarbones, down through the valley between your breasts. 
Your entire body quivers, legs jolting by reflex to the intensity of your orgasm, vision blurring white as your lover continues to pound relentlessly through your high. There’s a layer of fuzziness over your mind that leaves you feeling as if you’re floating atop calm waters, but the fingers still thrumming on your abused nub are quick to drag you back into the salaciously dangerous depths of your own pleasure. 
A string of pitched whines follow in the aftermath, but the pretty noises you make has him throbbing even from within your tight hole. You ask him not to hold back, yet here you are before him, so small and pitiful, already writhing from the intensity—and he hasn’t even cum yet. 
Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, your body struggling for a break from the stimulation, but Neuvillette finds it quite adorable, in the way that a predator might toy with its prey. He slows his thrusts, but reaches deeper with every roll of his hips, each languid stroke hitting the exact spot that fills your sight with stars. 
The lascivious sounds of your soaked cunt perfectly swallowing his cock, followed by the slap of his heavy balls on your ass—he’s mesmerized by the way he disappears and reappears, and disappears again inside of you. His heart skips, and he bucks, breaking his rhythm. You undo him like no other, and it spurs him on that he too, seems to have the same effect on you. The way your pussy holds on to him so tightly, the helpless cries of his name amidst your hiccuped whimpering… 
He lets out a small chuckle, breath hot and ragged in your ear as he sucks at the inch of skin below. “Surely you can give me another,” he murmurs, the low grumble of his voice reverberating all the way down, until you can feel the vibrations in the hollows of your collarbone. 
Your eyes flutter, desperately blinking away the wetness that has begun to gather at your lash line. Sweet Neuvillette, your Neuvillette who reveres you more than he ought to and touches you like you’re made of glass. Even through the numbing haze, you know that for him, you’d give anything. 
A long, stuttered moan breaks out from between your lips. As if biding his time, he drags the entirety of his cock along your walls, the large vein that wraps around the length gliding along just right, that your back arches and your knees bend. It’s not that he means to move so tortuously slow, but you squeeze him to such an extent that in spite of his aching need to cum, he cannot help but try and savor the delicious way your walls are gripping for dear life. 
Neuvillette pulls out with the sticky squish of your slick. His throbbing cock, long and flushed, glistens with the sheen of your juices. In the emptiness, you think that perhaps he’s taken pity on you and your now overly sensitive cunt, but that just isn’t fair. Not to him, nor you and your once again looming orgasm.
“You haven’t even cum yet,” you gasp, trying to argue through baited breath. The whole point of this was so that he could feel just as good as he always made sure you did. So why would he—
“I know.” 
You can feel him as he lifts you, flipping you over like you’re nothing more than a doll, and manhandles you onto all fours. Limbs weak, mind frazzled, you’re barely able to hold yourself up, so when he realigns himself at your entrance and slams back through your folds with just as much power as before, you quite literally fall apart. 
“Too much?” The low chuckle in your ear is dangerously taunting, wickedly amused and with no sign of its usual sweetness. You’re able to muster a pitiful whine, but the way your entire body trembles tells him everything he needs to know, as he reangles you mid-thrust.
“I believe you said you could take it.” With a particularly powerful snap of his hips, your arms buckle, and you collapse onto the mattress. The intensity continues to send you jolting forward, but his reaffirmed grip on your waist holds your hips in place.
Nothing deters him as he ruts into you, hitting deep new angles that have your fingers grasping at the sheets while your cunt grasps onto his cock. With every slap of his skin against yours, his tip threatens to kiss your cervix, the aftershocks rippling through you until they’re released as broken sobs, muffled into the bed. 
How unfortunate that such noises, so very sweet to his ears, would be hidden from the world. Tangling his fingers along your scalp, Neuvillette tugs at your hair, lifting your head back so as to hear the pretty melody you sing when your cries ring around the room. Good. Just as the whole of Fontaine should recognize a dragon’s mark on your skin, they too should hear it’s he who pleasures your body so.
Little bits of drool trickle out of your open mouth, your eyes rolling back as he keeps up the brutal pace. Everything feels too overwhelming, yet so tantalizingly good, that your back curves and you’re creaming around him again. 
Electricity shoots through your veins, your lungs desperately racing to catch up with the rapid beat of your heart. The stars painted across your vision drop down to your stomach, exploding with an intensity that rattles you to your core. It’s a flood with no remorse—taking and leaving nothing in return, easily washing away any and all thoughts, until you’re left mewling the name of the only one who could ever give you such a sweet taste of heaven. 
But Neuvillette continues to thrust into you, and as he, too, nears his peak, his tireless strokes finally melt into something a little more forgiving. Just a little. The long drag of his cock slides so smoothly against your slick walls, gentle enough to fool your delirious mind into loosening your grip around him. 
What trickery from the wicked dragon who slams his hips forward with enough force so that your body jostles with every push and pull as he hits all the right spots again and again. Trapped under the weight of his body, all you can do is feel: the heat of the room smothering all your senses, the fervorous thrusts pushing you to your very limit—all you can do is feel and take it as he kisses the spongy head of your cervix, leaving you without a semblance of sanity, blabbering indiscernible nothings that beg to milk him dry.       
“Want more,” you keen, voice as broken as the crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks and melt into the pillows. “Inside. Wan’ it inside.”
Neuvillette laughs, low and airy, strained as his grip tightens, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough that it’d be sure to leave bruises come the morrow. “Is that what you want?”
“Please, please I–” You stop to let out something between a pant and a moan. “Want you to, h-hah, cum inside, wan’ your cum inside me.” Your walls clamp down even harder, as if attempting to trap his cock deep inside you forever, as if you weren’t already tight enough around him. 
White fills his vision, and white fills your womb as Neuvillette cums to the knowledge that you love this. He takes in the sight of you, his precious treasure, now reduced to the likes of a common whore: legs quivering, ass in the air, cunt filled to the brim and leaking from where the two of you merge. All for him. By his doing. 
Such splendor automatically evokes the instinct to claim you in a way far beyond that of human understanding… but you’ve already let him indulge more than enough tonight; he couldn’t possibly ask for more. 
You whimper when you feel him stir again inside you, careful as he brushes past your too-sensitive folds, but even such simple movements hazard to relight the flicker of arousal once again. Every ridge and vein, drawn out so agonizingly slow, sends an inadvertent shiver down your spine until he finally pulls out with a squelch.  
There’s no hope in tearing those sharp, reptilian eyes away from your puffy cunt, abused and messy and leaking with your combined fluids. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, trying to suppress his urges as much as he’s trying to swallow down the desire quickly boiling over in his belly again. Cumming inside you—no, breeding you—was a privilege. For dragons such as he, it’s a ritual reserved only for mates, and given the difference in your physiology, he had never allowed himself to do so—at least not until now, that is. 
In his defense, you had begged for it, and how could he ever deny the very one whom he has entrusted his heart to—especially when you were so beautifully fucked out and unraveled on his cock like that. And perhaps he’s lived among humans long enough to forgive this indulgence as a paradigm of fleeting desire, though nothing of what he feels for you could ever be considered fleeting. 
He parts your folds with two slender fingers, giving himself a better view as his cum now seeps out with suent access. You whine again when you feel him drag his digits down the sides of your pussy lips, catching the overflow before it can fall onto the sheets, and stuffing it right back into your little hole. No point in stopping now, if he’s already committed his sin.
From your half-lidded gaze, you manage to steal a glance at your lover, and judging from the erection that still stands stiff as a rod, he has yet to be satiated. In the attempt to break through the shadow of delirium, you lift your head, shifting your weight back onto your elbows, and forcing your battered body to turn just the slightest bit over. 
“You’re still hard,” you note through staggered breath, “We can go again if you want.”
Neuvillette looks down as if he hasn’t already been feeling the near painful arousal throbbing in his groin. Of course he’s still hard—how could he not be; you’re so complacent before him, offering yourself to him like that. But perhaps he is too soft-hearted, for he only lets out a reassuring hum as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. 
“You were beyond perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “It… might not be pleasurable for you if I continue anymore. I can finish myself.” 
Lovestruck, you shake your head. “I can take it r’member?” Your large eyes, red-rimmed and dreamy, plead for him to use you—use you to his own content, use you so that he’d feel just as good as he always makes you feel. You nibble at your bottom lip, bashful. “You can even use your other form if you'd like...” 
Your words catch him off guard, and he immediately stills in a half-hearted attempt to collect himself as another wave of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through his entire being. Neuvillette swallows hard before letting out a slow, shaky breath. His cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath the creamy skin that now seems to gleam with a soft shine, revealing scattered patches of effervescent cerulean scales. You affect him more than you could possibly know, revitalizing such carnal urges that ignore his will and allow his body to react so enthusiastically.
“You’re sure…?” His normally polished tone is husked in a defiant strain. Despite the way his pupils are blown wide and wild with lust, conflict still swims in the shallows of his expression, made clear by the way his voice rasps as he desperately claws to retain even a semblance of his composure. 
The tips of your fingers trace the blue streaks that protrude from the crown of his silver head, now hardened into twin ribbons of ivory; his horns, delicate but strong, glow a luminescent azure—so warm and inviting in its radiance… You grasp them tight, pulling him down with you, as you fall back into the bed, his lips pressed against yours. Of course you’re sure. He’d never hurt you, your Neuvillette would never ever hurt you.
“Devious…” he whispers between kisses, your tongue and teeth clashing in a waltz of their own, as his body drapes over yours. 
It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in this form, crossed somewhere between a human and a dragon, as beautiful as he is powerful. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve ever attempted to take him like this. He’s bigger in this form—you can already feel it as he grinds up between your legs. Longer. Thicker. Ribbed and embossed with the same pearlescent blue scales. Beautifully intimidating, just like the dragon sovereign himself. 
And as you continue to marvel, he lets his cock rest across your lower stomach, sizing you up. His fervor shines through in the way he’s already leaking a mess of sticky precum atop the smooth skin of your belly. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat, clearly enthused. 
“This is how deep I’ll be,” he muses, almost apologetic of the incoming stretch you’d have to endure. “I’m beginning to wonder if I can even fit inside you.” 
Would it be wicked of him to admit, even to himself, that he enjoys the way you wriggle and cry just taking him in his human form? And yet… he’s forced to steady his breathing in a poor attempt at grounding himself—a task near impossible as you roll your hips up, ardently shaking your head no, outright ignoring the last out he offers.
“I will… make it fit.” They’re the last words you manage to wrangle out before being overtaken by the need to be full and filled. There’s no reason you should be so terribly, terribly hollow, when he’s right there. Neuvillette chokes back a laugh; your unyielding determination sends blood rushing to his erection, desperate to feel your velvet walls crowd around him again.
Finally relenting, he teases your entrance—running his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness, before slapping your clit with the tip—reminding you just how sensitive you still are. Gasping, you jerk away from the stimulation that once again taunts your nerves. Your hole, however, clenches around nothing, eager to please. 
But perhaps you’ve greatly underestimated just how big he is, because he barely makes it past the threshold of your folds, before the pleasure pain of the stretch begins to take over. That, and the overstimulation from your previous orgasms, already have you instinctively trying to snap your legs shut, but the firm hold on your thighs forbid you from doing so.
“Ha-ah N-neuvi—” A twisted sense of pride swells in his chest at the way you can hardly speak as your breath hitches and your lungs desperately search for air. “’s too big,” you sob.
He gives you a momentary reprieve to adjust, while his hand snakes down to run sloppy circles over your clit.
“More?” he whispers. 
It takes you a minute to respond, but he waits until finally your voice shakes with the violence of each hiccupped sob. “More.. please…”
A baritone hum sounds in his throat as he pulls forward, pressing wet kisses to your jaw in a quiet reassurance, effectively sliding a couple inches deeper, as he does so. “You can take it, my love. You’re so pretty like this.”
Your arms wrap around his neck, your hold eliciting a long, low groan from the dragon. Wherever you squirm, he follows, pressing more of his weight onto you, burying more of his cock into you. Each ridged inch that slides past your folds, seems to push the thoughts right out of your head, letting them dissipate into thin air until you’re left mindlessly moaning sweet praises to his name. 
Desperate to accommodate the unfamiliar enormity of his dragon cock, your walls ripple and tense around him, back arching into him, wanting to feel ever closer to the love of your life, determined to push your cunt to its limit for him. For your Neuvillette. 
Neuvillette. Neuvillette. Neuvillete. He’s all you can think about; him and his monster cock that seems to split you so deliciously open. It’s wave after wave of heat that sets your insides ablaze, soothed by the waters of arousal that have you begging for more, and restarting the cycle until he finally bottoms out, and you feel as if you’ve been electrified. You squeeze your eyes shut, but with the way his bulbous tip prods at your cervix, your mind goes blank, and the tears fall regardless. 
“There…” you pant, eyes glassy from the euphoria of feeling so incredibly full. “’s all in.”
“Yes,” he praises, softly. “Look at you, so nice and tight for me.” 
He wipes the salt from your cheeks, distracting you with a delicate kiss. His fangs are more prominent in this form; you can feel them as he grins against your lips, whilst whispering breathy nothings that tell of how good you are for him, how perfect, how he should be so lucky to have you like this, to have you as his. 
When your body eases enough, he pulls away, though the subtle shift of his cock still drags a pitched whine out from your lips. If he’s to be honest, he cannot tear his gaze from where the two of you are joined. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, to see how he splits you open, to feel how you mold into the shape of him, to imagine just how much your little cunt had to stretch so that he might rest comfortably inside.
Though, comfortable might be an overstatement due to the way your muscles tense and release so tightly around him, clamoring for more of his attention.  Eyes darkening with lust, Neuvillette smooths a hand over your abdomen, cerulean scales cold upon your skin.
“Can you feel me right…” He draws a clawed finger delicately across the skin of your belly, where his cock rests parallel underneath. “Here…”
He leaves more than just a faint line of red where his talon rakes. Yes, you want to say. You can feel the faint prickle of his claw on your skin, you can feel how the sharpness sends a shiver ringing through your body, and of course you can feel how he’s sheathed his dragon cock right into the very depths of your cunt, deeper than anyone’s ever been, deeper than he’s ever been… But the only sounds that spill through your lips are another stream of broken sobs, fever touched by how close you are to cumming just from being filled.
“Go on, darling. Cum for me.” He can feel you pulsing around him, clenching and unclenching in search of sweet release, yet he makes no additional moves to help you, leaving you to your own devices.
At this point, you can no longer tell if you’re making things better or worse, as every little movement knocks you into reaction—like dominoes toppling over until every piece of you has been unraveled. You writhe atop the soiled sheets for any sort of friction, but it’s too much when his tip knocks against the entrance to your womb. So you shift away, letting the ridges on his shaft graze against your syruped walls, inciting another wave of need. The scales continue to tip between ‘too much’ and ‘more’, until you finally work yourself into a delirious orgasm, on nothing but his cock inside you and your own incessant squirming. 
As you continue to ride out your high, Neuvillete finally begins to move, tearing himself away from your fluttering vice grip with a tremulous moan, because fuck you’re still so tight around him, still so warm and wet even after cumming for what? The fourth time tonight? Pressure lands heavy over your frame as he begins to rock into you, folding you in half as he does. 
He fucks you slow and even, stretching you out even more with every new stroke. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as this new position affords him the privilege to reach impossibly deeper. Despite his shallow thrusts, each drag of his cock still blooms an ache from all the hidden spots that he has no choice but to touch, though it’s quick to pass, as pleasure continues to coil in your belly. 
It’s so much all at once. You can’t take it, it’s too much. But the soul-shattering euphoria of being so utterly full, is unparalleled. You want more, you need more.   
“My pearl,” he whispers, though his voice is gruff, “my heart… I want to hear you.” 
And so you oblige him, wailing something broken and pitched and strangled, at the sudden snap of his hips, at the way he bumps into your cervix and seems to rattle your organs about. 
“F-fuck,” you cry, without thinking. Not that you can anyway, when the push-pull tide of his thrusts raises you to new heights of delirium. “H-ah god, fuck Neu–”
Another sharp, jutting thrust cuts you off as the dragon above you snarls, clearly agitated by your crass choice of words. “There are no gods to help you here.” Not in Fontaine where he rules, and certainly not here in his home.
There’s a feral wildness that shines in his bright vishap eyes, and his possessive streak flares—dragons have no natural inclination to share after all. It’s clear in the way his pace changes: faster, harsher, more ragged—a ferocity befitting of an elemental dragon ruler. But titles aside, he’s still your Neuvillette, and every move he makes is still laced with a tenderness, so as not to break you more than he already has. 
“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat.
“Yours. ‘m yours, Neuvillette.”
In and out, in and out. His long strokes guide the ridges of his cock back and forth through your tender muscles, leaving you to mumble mindless nonsense as you convulse and keen beneath him. Whatever pain you had felt earlier has long chipped away into undeniable pleasure as you near the precipice of yet another orgasm. Eyes glazed over in all consuming ecstasy, all you know to do is to chase your lust, and so your hips grind back, rolling together like waves in a storm. 
Amidst the flagrant wet sounds of your rabid fucking, you cum again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll, muscles tight as they tremble from such rapture—so lovely, so beautiful. Your siren call of pretty cries spill from your lips, intermingled with weak babbles of his name. You’re so breathtaking like this in your post-climax haze: fucked out and cloudy-eyed, panting into the cool air as his slowed thrusts still rack up an aftershock of shudders.
Neuvillette bows his head, once again trailing wet kisses across your collarbones, before pausing to hover his lips right over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his warm breath a familiar spot of comfort in this maddening pleasure. Perhaps it’s some sort of sixth sense unique to only the most attuned of lovers, ones whose souls seem to harmonize in perfect resonance, but there’s hesitance in the way he suckles at the spot, fangs ghosting over your tender skin.
“S’okay… you can do it.” Your soft, dreamy sighs of approval are accompanied by the languid tilt of your neck, jeopardizing more of your delicate skin to the dangers of his teeth. “You can mark me… w’nna be your mate…”
Choking back a moan, Neuvillette pistons thrice more into your cunt—pulling out until just his tip remains, and then plunging back into your gooey insides, sending you into another round of dizzying convulsions. His own orgasm follows, seeing stars as he places an amorous bite to the crook of your neck using only the flat of his teeth. 
With how deep he’s buried, ribbons of his cum shoot right into your womb, spilling out into every cavity, and painting your interior white. Warmth blossoms from the inside out. Your heart is full, mumbling happy nothings of ‘mates’ in between sniffles, while a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock, thick liquid oozing from where he ends and you begin. His own chest rises and falls in jagged patterns, but his only want is to seek your lips, to drink in your mewls, and exchange sweet kisses, so that your soul and his, may meld together as they dance in the shape of your breaths intertwined.
He strokes your hair, planting easy kisses all around as he unplugs himself, letting loose the flood of cum that seeps out of your hole, but you whine at the loss, wanting nothing more than to be ever close to your newly consummated mate. Neuvillette only nuzzles into your neck, deep purrs of content reverberating from his chest as he lazily rubs his scent all over you. Meanwhile, a quick swish of his sapphire tail up the sticky underside of your thigh, teases another pulse from your cunt, and by reflex, you push out another dollop of white. 
A small tap tap to his shoulder distracts him from his scenting, and he looks up with a tilt to his head and a small furrow to his brow, his normally sharp eyes full of earnest concern, relaxing only once he finishes reading through the bleary, dulcet tones of adoration that glow in your half-lidded eyes. You poorly suppress your little giggles—although he often disagrees, your lover really can be quite adorable. 
Fontaine’s Iudex Neuvillette is elegant, poised, and meticulously polished… but here in the quiet night hours, in the privacy of your hearth, your Neuvillette is unruly-haired and damp-skinned from satiating the beastly desires of his still tender heart. You reach out a tired arm, first brushing back the pieces of hair that cling to his skin, then wrapping your palm around to cup his face. 
“Was I a good mate?” Your hand slips down from his cheek to play with the tips of his silvery hair. “W’nna be the best for you.”
“You already are the best for me.” His hand, no longer clawed nor scaled, brings yours back up for a kiss to your knuckles. “The only one for me.” 
He rolls off of you, sweeping you into his embrace, as he carries you off to the bathroom. Your head rests heavily against his chest, but your happy hums and quiet murmurs of ‘good,’ tell him that you have not drifted off into slumber just yet.  
“You truly are a wonder,” he breathes, dipping his head to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “And it would be my honor to have you as my mate… but not tonight.”
His instincts had urged him to do it, to permanently claim you as his, and mark you as a dragon would, but his heart vehemently disagrees. The most sacred bond known to his kind is an ultimatum in your relationship, and it is one he refuses to be the sole architect of, so perhaps the two of you can revisit this conversation again once you’re more clear-headed; his answer would remain the same anyways.
edit 10/2024: please Do Not Follow if you are “just here to read,” with the expectation that i will post more fics of this caliber, or any fics At All. this is mainly a selfship blog with VERY occasional writing, thanks.
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notes2: writing this took years off my life, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ! as always, thank u sm for reading, and reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡
notes3: here is a little visual of how i imagine the dress at the beginning to look like, but of course you can always imagine it however you like since i’ve purposely left it rather vague : )
© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform
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the-kr8tor · 2 months ago
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Hiiii 🤭
Hopping here to request a Reader x Ekko where they're just two love birds and R sneaks into his "office" because she just missed him :( and then one thing leads to another and they're kinda carried away by each other.. that until duty calls up and R watches Ekko switching from loving future husband to the Leader of the Firelights
Love you!!!
Hihihi thank you sm bleaky for the idea!!! Another fic straight from our dms 🤭 I hope you like it, pookie ❤️
Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader
Word count: 1.9k
Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, reader is a childhood friend turned lover, Firelight! Reader, lovestruck! Ekko, no s2 spoiler, cw suggestive, FLUFF!
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ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ
The hoverboard whirrs softly from under you, with the moonlight peeking through the leaves of the beloved tree, bathing you in its dappled silver glow. The breeze carries ashen smoke amidst the scent of sweet dew filled flowers.
You lean forward slightly, guiding the board gently towards the open window of the tree house where a certain someone is burning the midnight oil on his workbench. You perch yourself over the window, careful not to make any noise as you slither your way inside. Hopefully staying as a surprise for Ekko.
He felt you before he heard your grunt and the unmistakable sound of your head bumping on the windowsill. Smiling tiredly, he twists in his chair to look at you fondly while you cradle your poor head from the recent bump.
“You know I gave you a key for a reason.” You can practically hear his amusement from his tone.
“Where's the fun in that?” You chuckle, palm patting at the blooming headache. “I thought I'd surprise you.”
Ekko roams his eyes over you as your smirk grows wider with every second he ogles you. “I think you forgot the surprise.” He points at your empty hands, tilting his head to the side in case you've got something hidden behind you.
“Ekko, I'm the surprise.” You wink at him, arms raised to your sides in a ‘here I am’ gesture. He shakes his head with a smile, watching you as you saunter towards him. “You should be asleep.” Your hand finds its place on his cheek, he looks up at you, eyes soft under the warm light of the desk lamp. He leans against your touch, lamenting at the way you gently scratch at his nape. “You can do this once you get some rest. Your board will still be here tomorrow.”
He swears he can fall asleep with your tender touch and voice lulling him to slumber. “I can't,” he sighs, reluctantly pulling away from you to return his attention towards his board that glows softly with green light. “we have something planned early tomorrow.”
Your heart softens for him and his determination. “Am I part of that something something?” Sitting down on his desk, far enough to give him space to work but close enough for you to poke his leg with your foot.
“Not this time,” he glances at you, finding you huffing in place as he screws in the blades tightly. “You still got that shoulder thing.”
“This shoulder thing is alright now.” He raises a brow at you, head shaking lightly. You sigh, surrendering. “Fine, it's acting up again, but it's technically better.” Ekko hums in reply, elbow deep inside the hoverboard. “Kind of. Can I at least help? I don't like feeling useless.”
His hand cups your knee, thumbs tracing swirls on your skin. You can feel how warm his hand is from under his glove. “Just sit there and look pretty for me, okay?” Smirking, he pats you once before returning his hand back to his work as you pout and huff at him. “And you're never useless. You're still healing, trouble. I don't want you getting hurt out there because of a busted shoulder.” A flash of you falling off your board with a sickening crunch fills his vision with dread. He turns towards you fully, tapping his wrench on the wooden table, and gentle eyes softening up at your features. “You'll have your time, I promise.”
You nod, watching as the green hue flickers over his concerned face. “Okay, but you owe me.” You cross your leg over the other while he smiles and turns towards his machine again.
“How many IOUs is that now?” He asks, glancing between you and the board.
You nudge him with your foot, “too many, Ekko.” You say his name with a sing-song lilt, effectively taking his attention. “What?” With a teasing smile, he stares at you wordlessly.
“You're distracting me.” His eyes follows the curve of your jaw up to your lips. Heart stuck in his throat, and eyes glued onto the soft skin. He lays his tools down. Abandoning it immediately.
“Oh,” your shoulders slump slightly. “I'll leave, just get some sleep, okay?” Hopping down, Ekko stops you with his hand on your thigh. “You need something?” You place your hand above his own as he squeezes you.
“Yeah, sit back down for me?” He says it seriously, as if he needs to talk to you about something important.
You straighten up, following his instructions. The desk creaks under your form, and as you wait for his very important words, he stands up from his seat, kicking it away before cradling your face gently in his gloved hands. The rough fabric sits on your cheek, but his touch is softer as he gazes at you with those eyes you've always loved ever since you two were still running around playing pretend.
“Now you're the one distracting me.” You whisper, index looping around his overalls to pull him towards you. Placing him in between your legs, as he leans forward with his head tilted slightly to find the perfect angle of your lips. “What were you saying, Ekko?” Teasing, he inhales deeply, lips merely an inch from your own.
“Let me…?” He says before you crash your lips against his own, answering his cut off question. Your eyes close as he smiles, mirroring your expression. You both kiss in sync, hearts beating in the same pace.
You hear him chuckle softly as your lips fall into a medley of rhythm with his desperate kisses. The kiss runs deep and long, teeth clashing, noses meeting, and hands caressing every angle of you as your own hands roam up his bare and lean arms, until you find penchant on the back of his head. Fingers weaved around his hair, not pulling away, no, pushing him further against you as the air grows hotter around you with every breath you take.
You're home in his arms. And all you can think about is him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs against your slightly agaped lips, leaning away for a moment to take in air and to remove his gloves to feel you fully.
You stare at him through half lidded eyes, cheeks searing hot and stomach throbbing with ache. “Yeah...” Your voice is shaky at best, legs wrapping around him whilst your chest heaves.
Just as you say it, he meets with your lips once again, taking your breath away as you give it willingly. This time it's softer and gentler as he kisses you tenderly. Your head hits the wall with how much he's kissing you, so with his palm sliding behind your head, he cushions you from the blow as he continues to kiss you fervently as if he hasn't gotten a taste of you in years.
“Ekko.” You sigh out as he kisses the curve of your lips, tracing its shape with his own. “Ekko.” Your tone grows breathlessly as he slowly makes his way towards your throat. “Ekko—” His lips were just about meeting with your warm skin when a knock interrupts you both. “Shit.”
“Damn it.” He murmurs, chest heaving, pupils blown out as he gives you one quick kiss against the side of your neck. Definitely not the final one.
You pat his cheek with a lopsided smile, thumb brushing along his kiss bitten lips, wiping away the sheen you've left. Ekko pecks your thumb before moving away from you. He fixes your rumpled shirt, just as you notice that you've smudged the white hourglass paint on his face. Whoops.
“Ekko, you've got…” you gesture towards his nose, trying to tamp down your laughter.
His blown out eyes widens, lungs still trying to intake oxygen from the strenuous activity. His nose scrunches up when he sees you having the same smudged paint on your face. Smile tamped down by biting his lip.
He looks behind you, where a small mirror is hanging just beside your head. He sees himself looking disheveled, hair sticking all over the place, face paint smudged into an odd shape.
Chuckling, the knocking grows louder. “I've got you, don't worry. I won't let your reputation get tarnished.” You take a handkerchief from your pocket, effectively wiping away the smudged mess on his face as much as you can.
“Did you get it?” He's still breathless when he asked.
“And…there. I've got them all.” You get a thankful peck on your cheek for a job well done.
But before he could move away from you, he takes the handkerchief in his hand to wipe at your (his) own smudged face paint. He tucks the fabric away in his pocket, maybe you'll come looking for it one day, effectively giving you an excuse to come visit him sooner rather than later.
Ekko now moves away, clearing his throat but the evidence of your shared previous activity is still evident on how much he inhales and how his hands are so clammy that he can water the tree with the sweat on his palms.
“C–come in.” He curses under his breath at how his voice cracked at the start. The door squeaks open, revealing his right hand man, Scar, waiting at the doorway.
His golden eyes glance at you, Ekko hides your equally disheveled form with his body, blocking your obviously kissed lips and your rumpled clothes. Scar raises a knowing brow, eyes speaking a thousand words.
“Hi, Y/N.” He says gruffly, lips subtly curled into a smirk. You wave shyly above Ekko, afraid that you'd let out incoherent words while you're still reeling from his warmth. “I can come back later.”
Ekko’s seriously considering it. “Is it important?”
“Everything's important with you Ekko.” Scar's eyes turn towards you with the word ‘important.’
Ekko sighs, slightly disappointed. “Right, what happened?”
His whole demeanor changes into what most people would think when they hear about the notorious leader of the firelights. His posture straightens up, and the air around him oozes authority. The man in front of you isn't just Ekko, your love and confidant, he's Ekko, the feared leader of the firelights, and the boy saviour. But you can still see his previous sweetness from how his eyes still smile when he remembers your soft lips upon his own. He's still your Ekko through and through.
“It's the chem barons, they blew out an entire building.” Scar briefs him, and you read the room as their conversation grows more serious.
If you listen to any more, you'd want to join in so you decide to leave before you could give your two cents like always. Ekko was right, your shoulder wouldn't help much with a full blown fight. So you're just gonna stay away, for now at least, until you're fully healed to be of help. For his sanity and your wellbeing.
You take a deep breath, still heaving from his kisses, hopping down from the table even with your wobbly legs. Ekko looks at you in the middle of the conversation, hand reaching out in case you fall down. Scar watches with amusement at the scene in front of him.
“I'm good,” you say quietly only for Ekko to hear. “We'll continue this later, okay?” You say louder this time for both of them to hear. With a wink, and a hand grazing his back, you leave him standing there, aghast at what you've blatantly said.
His own mind betrays him at how *later could go. Ekko has to hold onto the chair next to him to stabilize himself lest he melts in front of Scar, who's absolutely trying to reel his laughter in that he's about to pop a vein on his forehead from how hard he's trying.
As you close the door behind you, you hear his booming laughter and Ekko's unmistakable groaning behind the door.
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rafesangelita · 5 months ago
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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ kook!sweetheart!reader walks her first runway for her own lingerie brand, and of course rafe has to have a front row seat.
warnings: rafe being a supportive bf, suggestive ending
a/n: trying a new fic layout, i hope you all like it as much as i do <3 lol i had the hardest time trying to decide on the song i wanted to use for this fic
you couldn’t believe the day was finally here. ever since you started your lingerie line, you wanted to have a runway show to showcase the beautiful pieces, and all thanks to rafe, he was able to make that possible. while your boyfriend insisted on being backstage with you, you told him to wait until you walked out for the finale, wanting to surprise him in full glam and a set you have yet to release. to say you were excited would be an understatement— you were literally having your very own victoria secret show.
with fashion bloggers, magazine editors, and most importantly; rafe, the man who believed in you more than yourself, being in attendance, you just wanted everything to take place smoothly. “oh my god, you look amazing!” you glanced up from the small vanity mirror, meeting kelce’s girlfriend’s gaze. “me?!” your eyes widened as you shot up from your seat. “look at you! kelce is going to lose his mind.” you laughed, admiring the way her makeup sparkled under the studio lights.
“you think so?” she smiled, both of you swallowing nervously when you heard a ‘okay, we’re on in five!’ over one of the staff’s walkie talkie’s. “oh, god, just what i needed to hear.” you joked. she hugged you before joining the rest of the girls in line. outside in the crowd, rafe was already taking pictures like a proud facebook mom, shushing kelce and topper once the lights dimmed and the music started. the intro to britney spear’s ‘gimme more’ began playing, the crowd letting out a series of ‘oooh’s’ and ‘ahhh’s’ when the first model walked out.
rafe was only recording for your sake, his eyes strictly set on his hands as he patiently waited for your entrance. everything that the models were wearing was something he had already seen on you behind closed doors. rafe couldn’t help but feel his chest bloom with pride as he looked around the beautiful venue. despite him paying for everything, you were the one who worked with the planner and coordinator to bring your vision to life.
and what a vision it was.
you had spotlights lining the runway, glitter littering the glossy flooring. various props were also placed on the sidelines. “look, here comes y/n!” rafe arched a brow at his friend, kelce clearing his throat awkwardly. “don’t get too excited, now..” rafe grumbled, eyes locked on your silhouette. the music reached it’s final bridge, your lingerie clad body illuminating the stage. rafe had no words. you were wearing wings like the angel you truly were, the rhinestones and embellishments on your set reflecting under the now multicolored lighting.
“you’re beautiful, babygirl!” rafe shouted, his eyes widening as you got closer. you looked ethereal. not one hair was out of place, your makeup done flawlessly to enhance your natural features. you caught sight of him, sending a wink his way before blowing him a kiss. “she’s getting it tonight.” he held a hand over his heart, watching the way your hips swayed as cameras flashed from every direction. rafe stayed standing up until you disappeared behind the stage, his smile reaching from ear to ear.
“now that’s a show..” he adjusted himself in his pants, posting you on his instagram with the caption; ‘she’s perfect.’
eventually, the event came to a star strucking end, your boyfriend meeting you soon after with a huge bouquet of pink roses. you couldn’t help the sudden wave of emotions from washing over you at the sight of him. “oh, rafe!” you threw yourself into his arms, being careful not to ruin your makeup. “you were so amazing out there, baby.” he rubbed your back. “yeah?” you pulled away, pecking his lips. “fuck yeah.” his voice dropped a few octaves, his hand finding the curve of your ass. “can you take those angel wings home?” he whispered.
“yes.. why?” you smiled mischievously. “cause i need you to walk for me again. naked this time.”
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lixiesfreckless · 5 months ago
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Breathless | h. j.
➸ synopsis: Was it dumb? Yes. But when has that ever stopped you and Jisung?
➸ starring: han jisung x female reader
➸ word count: 2.5k
➸ general content: best friend!jisung, accidental Friends With Benefits reference, both characters are dorks, jisung is kind of a menace(uncharacteristically good with women), smut
➸ warnings: sexual content, swearing, fingering, protected sex, very tame bondage
➸ rating: 18+ MA
➸ author’s note: watched FWB today and was gagged when the literal opening line of this fic was used in the movie in the exact same context. it came out in 2011! how does that even happen—anyways enjoy this old fic since it reminded me of it lolllll
♫ this fic has a soundtrack! Feel That - Junny
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“What the hell are we doing,” he giggled into your mouth, peeling off your outer layer as he pushed you into the comforter. Your hands fumbled with the buttons on his flannel, desperately trying to get rid of the unnecessary fabric between you two.
“I don’t know, but I kinda like it.”
It had all happened so fast; one moment you and Jisung were lazily watching whatever talk show that the tv program was playing and the next, you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.
This was probably the most reckless decision you two had decided to make since you became friends in middle school. Why on earth would best friends be trying to undress each other in the late hours of the night?
“Wait.” You pushed him away slightly and let go of his shirt. “Is Hyunjin coming home anytime soon?”
“No.” Jisung chuckled, lifting the edges of your band tee. “Him and Seungmin are on Jeju Island, they won't be back until next week.” You nodded, raising your arms for him to take off the shirt before pulling his neck towards you again, resuming your heated kiss.
The rest of his buttons came undone quickly, your hands desperate to feel his burning skin under their fingertips. He leaned back to take the fabric off, chucking it to a random corner of his room, before freezing at the feeling of your hands tracing his abs.
“When did you get built Ji?” You whispered, staring at the subtle definition in his skin. A light scoff left his lips before he rolled his eyes, leaning forward to cage you with his toned arms.
“I’ve always been this way baby.” He raised an eyebrow, eyes trailing all over your exposed skin.
“Are you trying to be sexy?”
“Is it working?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
You didn’t have to tell him twice, him attaching his lips to yours immediately and letting his hands roam your skin.
As much as you hated to admit it, you loved the way his fingers traced foreign trails up to your jawline. Touching you like this wasn’t something you had previously wished he did, but now you felt like you should have been doing this all along. His skin felt so warm on top of yours, your fingers pressing around the back of his neck to gain leverage into the kiss as he groaned in contentment.
Your bra came undone rather quickly, and you’re reminded that Jisung is somehow very experienced, a thought that made you visibly shudder under his fingertips.
“Wait,” you broke the kiss, and he took this opportunity to kiss your jawline, each press leaving you more and more desperate for his touch. “I don’t really know any of your likes or dislikes…in bed I mean.”
His lips hovered over your neck for a moment, as if he were trying to decide what he should and shouldn’t tell you.
“I like hair pulling and scratching,” he answered, lips pressing under your ear. “And don’t call me anything weird.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you nearly moaned, trying not to lose your mind over how his thumbs were dipping under the waistband of your jeans and massaging your hip bones just right.
“And you?”
You fell silent, face blooming red as you remembered what turned you on the most. And he noticed quickly, stopping his leisurely painting session on your neck at your reluctance.
“Hey, this is a two way street you know.” He pulled back to look you in the eyes, seemingly ignoring the beet red tone covering your cheeks. “I’d feel horrible if I overstepped-”
“...bondage.”
“W-what?”
“I have a bondage kink-”
“I know what you said,” he laughed, leaning off of you to rest on his heels. “I’m just shocked that sweet little y/n likes being tied up-”
“Shut up,” you mumbled, looking away from the topless brat.
“If you insist.”
His leather belt came off next, nearly making you scream in both excitement and horror from his newfound knowledge about you. But he simply set it aside, climbing back over you and dipping back into your neck.
You instinctively let out a sigh as his lips went back to caressing your skin, his hands now smoothing their way up your waist as well as his teeth dragged against your collarbone.
“Hickeys?” He asked, though positive that you wouldn’t deny him the pleasure of doing so.
“Please.”
The boy wasted no time in landing one right at the curve of your breast, lips working hard to redden the skin underneath them to get the color he wanted. Your hands rushed to his head, holding him tight against you with tufts of his ash colored hair between your fingers.
He let himself relish the sensation of you tugging on his roots for a brief moment, humming against your skin before he stopped sucking, reaching for the belt that he left beside you.
You could feel your skin tingle as he removed your hands from his hair, holding them in one hand as he wrapped them with his belt with the other, before expertly tying them with the leather band. He then raised your arms so they were above your head on the pillows, leaving your torso completely at his mercy.
“Can you keep those there for me baby?” His voice had a sultry kind of quality to it; one that you couldn’t find in yourself to resist as you nodded breathlessly.
He then went back to the task at hand, licking and biting and sucking everywhere on your upper torso, making sure to leave enough marks for you to not think that what was happening was just a fever dream. And he made sure to revisit your lips every so often, swallowing all of your little moans every time he thought you’d earned it.
Working his way down, he tugged the rest of your bra off, letting it drop to the floor and kissing around your left nipple while flicking his thumb over the right. You gasped, immediately pulling on the belt restraint around your wrists.
“Sensitive, are we?” He smirked, and you’d sworn that if it were anyone else, you’d choke the hell out of them.
But this isn’t just anyone. This is Han Jisung, and guessing from the surprises this night had already brought, he’d probably like that.
So you settled for a moaned yes in response, and what a good decision that was; not even a second after he had his lips wrapped tight around your nipple while letting his fingers play with the other. Your back arched prettily off the comforter, pushing your chest further into his grasp as he chuckled against your skin.
Thighs pressing together as to provide yourself some friction, a senseless string of pleads left your mouth, begging Jisung to please get on with it because it felt like your body would burst into flames if he kept going. But he didn’t stop, no; the hand that was pulling against your nipple dipped lower to find the button on your jeans, a small indication that he did intend on going further tonight.
Even though you were already over the moon with what had happened already.
Whether he was being intentionally slow or it was just difficult to undo your jeans with one hand, you did not know; but he finally worked the button free, quickly pulling the zipper down afterwards to allow room for his hand that would need to fit inside momentarily.
“Let’s see what we’re working with here,'' he mumbled, smoothing his hand from your abdomen to the top of your underwear, pausing slightly to check for any hesitance before pressing on.
“Oh, god…already?” Your face couldn’t possibly have gotten any redder as he ran a lone finger along your slit, catching the wetness that pooled there immediately. “We’re just getting started-”
“Then hurry up, Ji,” you whined, clenching your thighs to get some friction.
He smiled, suddenly aware of his weak spot for your begging before finally adding friction to the place where you wanted it most.
This wasn’t his first time pleasuring a woman– you were aware of that much –but it took him a minute to figure out what you liked and where you were the most sensitive, essentially playing with you until you made the right sounds. Once he started getting it right however, it finally dawned on you just how much trouble you were in, your chest heaving and toes curling at his ministrations.
It wasn’t long before he changed the game, bringing two fingers inside of you and curling them just so, and an obscenely loud moan left your mouth to his delight.
“Good?” He questioned, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t moving too fast for you as he leisurely pulled his fingers out.
“G-Good, don’t stop-” You were cut off by another moan, and decided to give up on speech altogether as you felt another bubble up in your chest.
He took it a step further, lightly leaving pecks across your bruised chest, and then a step further, purposefully pressing his palm against your clit every time he delved into your core.
Not only was it good, it was also unfair and even embarrassing, considering how quickly he was bringing you to your peak.
He had you twisting, clenching, whimpering and writhing under his grasp within three minutes, and even if he stopped it wouldn’t prevent the white wave of euphoria that was approaching.
“God, Jisung, I-”
You broke under him right then and there, shaking and gasping as your release overtook you in blissful waves of pleasure. Jisung helped you through it, pressing his fingers into you until your moans turned into whimpers and your shaking into trembling.
It took you forever to completely come down from your high, but Jisung used this time to get himself ready, leaning back on his heels and unzipping his own pants as you tried to catch your breath. You could almost feel him smiling at you before you opened your eyes, chest still heaving as he flashed that shit-eating grin in your direction.
“That good, huh?” he chuckled, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough so his length could spring free.
“Oh fuck me.”
“One step ahead of you.”
A cold shiver ran up your spine as you finally registered what he was doing, your core clenching on nothing despite it being only a minute since you came. In any other situation, you would have snapped back at him for being so snarky, but with the hollow feeling in your core being somewhat uncomfortable, you figured that keeping your mouth shut would have him filling you faster.
One condom later and you were seconds away from the anticipated moment, watching through lidded eyes as he carefully brought your wrists down to untie them. Your pants were next to come off, and his soon followed, but only halfway; you assumed that your impatience had finally caught up to him.
And you couldn’t even blame him—he looked painfully hard after the show you had put on for him.
He pumped himself only three times before leaning over you again, and then a strange look crossed his face as he froze.
“Wait, I’m okay to do this right?” He asked, looking between your eyes and where your hips met. “I just realized I never asked-”
“Han Jisung if you won’t I will,” you pleaded, urging him on, and he gave you a crooked smile before drawing in a deep breath.
He pushed inside of you slowly, ignoring every painful urge he had to quickly bottom out inside you and alleviate the burning need in his lower abdomen. A string of hushed curses left your mouth; this wasn’t your first time, but it might as well have been with how much the feeling of being stretched out was overwhelming you.
He made it to the end with a small whimper, dipping his head forward into your shoulder as he tried to steady himself.
“Can I move?”
“Knock yourself out,” You whispered, eyes squeezed shut from the sensation of adjusting to him fully.
He started out slow, each drag of his cock against your walls eliciting a low whine from you as he rolled his hips against yours. One hand pinned your hips to the bed, while the other held him up next to your head, giving him the option to lean down and capture the skin of your neck between his teeth whenever he pleased.
“You feel so good, fuck,” he groaned, grinding deeper into your core with every thrust. At his words, you could only pull his face down to meet yours, silencing him with a kiss in hopes that he would talk less. Otherwise, his pleasure-ridden voice alone would bring you to climax.
He happily kissed away all of your moans and whimpers, sucking on your bottom lip until you both were panting too much to keep a cohesive liplock.
His hips were starting to slam against yours now, that erotic sound of skin on skin slapping finally reverberating around the room and joining the chorus of your moans. Your toes curled, body barely able to process the pleasure building inside of you as moans helplessly tumbled out of your lips.
“Tell me what I h-have to do to get you there,” he choked out, worried that he might not get you to finish again in time.
“Fingers- ah, please-”
He knew exactly what you meant, moving the hand that was on your hip to your clit and gently rubbing it in the way that had you moaning his name before.
His breaths became heavy and his thrusts started to lose their rhythm; both things that you were sure were signs of his release drawing near, but you could barely focus on that when yours was practically hurtling toward you, threatening to spill you over the edge before he broke.
“Jisung, I c-can’t—” Words finally left you as you felt your whole body start to tense up, and Jisung let out a loud moan from the sudden tightening around his length.
“Come. Come all over me baby,” He whispered breathlessly, using the last bit of his stamina to thrust harder into you, until you couldn’t take it for another second.
You came undone for the second time that night, shaking and moaning beneath him as he pounded into you twice more, before he caved as well, just barely holding himself off of you as he emptied his load into the condom. Careful to not wait until he was too soft, he pulled his length out of you, subsequently falling onto the sheets next to you as he caught his breath.
“So I take it we’re not just friends?” He mused, a cheeky grin poking out from under the sheets. You slapped his back playfully, rolling away from him before he caught your hips with his hands, pulling you flush against his warm chest.
“Shut the fuck up.”
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humanpurposes · 6 months ago
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Nightblooms
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It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely? // Main Masterlist
Aemond x unnamed female character
Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death
Words: 9.7k (she's a bit of a monster)
A/n: my humble offering of another Aemond brothel fic. I hope you like :) You can also read this on AO3 if you feel so inclined.
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He remembers the bed, the thin curtain draped around it, the slight breeze that drifted in on the night air and made it flutter. The throw was richly decorated, red, black and brown, and he picked at the thin threads of embroidery with his fingertips until his skin was red and white. 
The heat in the room was unbearable, the stench of wine, incense, his own sweat clinging to his bare skin. He was weary to breathe the air in, to tarnish himself any further than had already been done. 
He flinched as the door opened. The madam was back, now wearing a gown and all her gold jewellery. A silhouette stood behind her, he couldn’t see them properly, concealed in shadows. 
“You are shivering, my Prince,” she said. 
He could feel it, his knees brought up to his chest and his arms clinging around his legs. His clothes were neatly folded in a corner, his eyepatch atop the pile, he just hadn’t managed to reach for them yet.
“Have some wine if you like,” the madam said. 
The silhouette stepped into the flickering candlelight. In years to come her face would fade from his memory, but she was young, perhaps as young as him. She was dressed like the other whores, in a loose gown of blue silk that exposed glimpses of her skin, her shoulder, her thigh through a slit in the skirt. She held a pitcher of wine and a cup in her hands.
“She is undertaking her own education,” the madam said, noting how long Aemond’s eye had lingered on the girl. “She’ll help you bathe and dress.”
He made no sound of protest. The madam took the pitcher. He could smell the sour scent of the wine as she poured it. Already a few cups deep, the numbness of alcohol was starting to wear off and a pulsing pain was blooming in the back of his head. The madam placed the cup on a table and then she left.
The girl took a single step towards the bed. She lifted her arm, holding out her hand to him, as if he were some street dog to be tamed.
He scowled. His left eyelids were sewn shut back then, his wound mostly healed after three years, but still hideous enough that people would stare in shock at the sight of him, the ailing King’s maimed son. The Lords and Ladies of the Red Keep averted their eyes when they saw him. His mother looked at him with tears in her eyes. His father… the last time his father must have looked him in the eye was on Driftmark.
But this girl looked at him unabashedly.
If he had his wits about him he might have scorned her. Smallfolk like her should know their place, they should revere their Princes. He shouldn’t inspire pity, he should inspire fear and awe.
His stomach was turning. Anger coursed through his blood. His eyes were hot and stinging but he would not allow any tears to fall. And he was restless. It was all familiar to him, the frustration, the humiliation. He couldn’t bear to sit on the bed anymore, cowering like a child.
“I have a bath drawn,” the girl said. 
He had heard her, but he could not find the will to move, not for a few moments at least, moments which felt like hours.
“I have some cake as well. I find it helps me regain my strength… afterwards.”
He felt his head nod.
“It’s lemon, do you like lemon cake?”
“Yes,” he muttered into his knees.
He watched her fetch a robe from the back of a settee by the fireplace, draping it over her arm. “We only have to go to the next room, not far at all.”
He blinked as he looked at her. He felt the dampness on his cheeks, the stinging cold left in the trail of his tears as another breeze swept into the room. 
All the faces around him this night were unnerving. Aegon had been far too delighted with his so-called “gift”. He’d entered Aemond’s chambers with a snarling smile before he’d gripped him by his shoulders and dragged him through the stairways used by servants to stay out of sight. “You are a man now, Aemond. Time to get it wet.”
The madam had a calm gaze, soft lips and small eyes which considered him intently once she had taken the purse of coins from Aegon. The scent of her perfume was sharp and he could still smell it in his nostrils. His stomach lurched again. 
“Come,” the girl said.
Hers was the only face he found any ease in, and he could not explain why that was.
She held out the robe for him and asked before she secured the tie at his waist. She went to a small door in the corner of the room which he had not even noticed until then. It led into another chamber where the air was hot and humid but not as suffocating.
A basin stood in the middle of the room. She took out two small brown bottles and let a few drops of oil fall into the water, filling the room with a gentle, fresh scent. “Lavender,” she explained, “and rosemary. They are meant to be calming.”
He stepped into the water, glad to find it just below scolding. 
The girl kneeled by the basin, gently pouring cups of water over his hair, running it through with a sweeter smelling oil. She took his hand and allowed him to settle, scrubbing his skin with sugar, cleansing it with an amber soap.
When it was done she rested her chin in her hands at the edge. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
He’d stopped crying now, his limbs felt steadier, more his own. He nodded.
“I don’t feel myself until I’ve washed it all off. It makes me feel as though my skin is truly mine again,” she said.
He felt his hands over his arms, the sweat and the fluids rinsed away, the dead skin scrubbed smooth.
“Thank you,” he said. His voice was thick, unnatural in his own throat.
“Do not thank me yet,” she said with a small smile, and suddenly jumped up to her feet. She walked out of his sight, past his blind spot, but she soon returned with a small wooden box. She kneeled beside the basin and opened the lid to reveal three small cakes, dusted with sugar and topped with thin slices of candied lemons. “Take one then,” she said.
He bit down on the inside of his lip to hide his amusement at her impertinence. He did as she told him and ate half of one cake in a single bite. A pleasant sourness burst on his tongue, not like the wine, sweeter, zestier. She was right, his mind was starting to feel a little less numb, the life flooding back into him with every breath he took, lavender, rosemary and lemon.
“You have one too,” he said.
“I’m not meant to,” she said, “they’re for the patrons.”
Aemond lowered his chin to look at her. “Take one.” Now it was his turn to deliver the orders.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting between him and the cakes.
“If anyone reprimands you I’ll feed them to my dragon.”
Her expression ignited. “Alright,” she said with a sly smile.
They devoured the rest of their cakes and shared the remaining one. She insisted that he should have the other candied lemon.
“Do you really feed people to your dragon?” she asked, wiping the crumbs from her mouth.
Aemond licked the sugar from his fingers. “I’ve not done it yet.”
She seemed stunned at his answer, then she giggled. “Yours is the big one, isn’t it?”
“Vhagar. She was Queen Visenya’s mount during the Conquest.”
“I see her sometimes, flying over the city.”
“She is too large for the Dragon Pit,” Aemond explained, “she nests along the shore of the bay.”
“And roams where she pleases?”
“Never too far from me.”
“No,” she said, her voice wilting, “of course.”
He suddenly wondered what this sad, sweet girl kneeling beside him would do if she had a dragon. He could picture her on Dreamfyre, the mount of his sister. Helaena adored flying and would often guide her dragon to glide above the waters of Blackwater Bay and the hills surrounding King’s Landing. This girl would take her dragon further, he thought, she would soar up above the clouds. Perhaps she would take her dragon over the seas, to Essos, to the Summer Isles, to the far corners of the world.
He did not flinch from her when she offered him a towel and patted his skin dry. She fetched his clothes from the other room, the awful room where he could not breathe, buttoning his shirt with swift fingers, doing up the buckles on his jerkin.
She was not much shorter than he was. She stood close enough that he could smell the lemon cake on her fingers, and there was something sweeter and richer underneath. It made him think of fresh fruit and vanilla, rose petals and nightblooms.
Her eyes drew slowly up from his collar to his face, to the wound slicing through the space where his eye once was.
“Does that hurt?” she asked.
He was no stranger to pain. It had persisted since the incident itself, stinging and shooting through his skull. It once made him cower like a child, but of late it had lulled into more of a passing irritation. Had the extent of the pain subsided, or was he simply used to it now? “Sometimes,” he said. 
“How did it happen?”
The years had passed quickly since then. He remembered the joy he felt flying before the moon and the stars over Driftmark on Vhagar, the faces of his nephews and cousins in the dark. He spat cruelties at them. They shoved him, punched him, kicked him. He remembers the taste of his own blood, the crack of Lucerys’ nose under his knuckles, the dust in his eye and then a pain like fire piercing through to his brain.
Three years and he still felt clumsy in his movements. He would often lose his balance or misjudge his steps. He would miss objects as he went to reach for them, and he was still not quite used to turning his head so that he could see past his blind side.
He’d never had to say it out loud before, not all of it. It had been enough for Lord Commander Westerling to find his face covered in blood and the remains of his eye. He had told his father he had been attacked, but it went unheard to the pleas of innocence by the bastards and their mother. The maesters studied his wound. Cole told him he could regain his strength if he worked for it. Everyone else tended to avert their eyes altogether.
She was looking at it, trailing her fingertips over the edges of his scar and the twisted flesh of his eyelids. 
“It was the night I claimed Vhagar. I was returning to Hightide and they came at me, Jace, Luke, Laena’s daughters–” he suddenly realised these names meant nothing to her, but she did not seem discouraged.
“Go on,”
“Rhaena, well, Vhagar was her mother’s dragon. She wanted her, but I claimed her first. I was not afraid of them. Baela struck me first. Then Jace and Luke came at me, and Jace had a knife.”
She breathed a small gasp.
“Luke took up the knife. It all happened very quickly.”
“They did that to you, over a dragon?” She said, trailing her touch lower, over his cheek. 
He remembered the cool surface of the rock in his hand, hovered over Jace’s head. One of the girls shook her head, begging him to stop. And he did—  or he was going to stop…
That’s when Luke had slashed the blade at him.
“I was weak,” he said, brushing her hand away from his face. “It’ll never happen again.”
She tilted her head at him. Her eyes were glassy, like she might cry. Guilt tugged in his chest. He had not wished to upset her.
Then she took a quick breath and went to take up his cloak and his eyepatch. He placed them both on, covering his silver hair with his hood.
She beckoned him to follow with her fingers. They weaved through the close corridors and the few women and men they passed, some fully dressed, some wearing nothing at all. It felt ridiculous and somewhat unbelievable to see how unashamed they all were, women with their breasts out, men with their cocks hanging between their legs. 
His stomach turned again.
He reached for the girl’s hand. Her head whipped around and she held onto him, firmly. He didn’t want to lose sight of her, he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in this place.
Neither of them let go when they reached the doors. People were passing though so they kept close to the wall, face-to-face. 
“Can you find your way back to the Keep from here?” she said, only having to whisper.
Aegon had long since disappeared. Aemond had rarely been out into the city, save to accompany his mother to the Sept, or his siblings to the Dragon Pit. He was alone now, no guards, no wheelhouse, but the Red Keep with its turrets, battlements and flickering lights in the windows would not be difficult to locate. He nodded.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“What for?” 
“For what happened to you.”
His stomach turned again, less nauseating, more unsettling, uncertain. He supposed this would be the last time he saw her.
“Will you be alright, here?” he said.
She took in a sharp breath and she frowned as though she were in pain. “Yes. The madam is good to me. She keeps me fed and clean.”
But the things they must make her do…
“Go, return to your royal castle and your servants,” she said with a grin. “Far better that I am here and not starving in some gutter.”
So he did. He slipped through the door, his last memory of her being obscured by shadows, perhaps that’s why he could not recall the details of her face. 
Walking through the streets of King’s Landing, he had never felt so aware of his body, his skin under his clothes, shifting over his bones. His limbs felt slightly numb, his feet moving of their own will while his mind… was clouded. His head felt heavy and the noises around him were distant. No one paid any mind to the boy trudging over the dirt and cobbles, but he felt the eyes of the gods on him and it made him shiver. They had seen his sins. What if his mother knew where he had been, the things he had done? He imagined her brown eyes, filled with disgust rather than grief.
He could not look at Aegon for weeks afterwards. He shied away from his mother’s touch, especially on his legs, his knees. In the Sept he begged the gods to forgive him. He begged to forget it.
Years went by. Some nights when he felt a certain tension in his stomach and a stirring in his breeches, he’d think of it, the heat and sweat and incense. And after there was no relief, just an emptiness in his chest.
He could wash it all away, with drops of lavender and rosemary oil in his bath, with sugar scrubbed into his skin.
If there was one thing he wished to remember of that night, it was her. He still thought of that girl, a face obscured in shadow, when the servants brought out lemon cakes after supper, when Helaena insisted on walking through the gardens at sunset and the air was sweet with nightblooms. She pointed them out to him, the silvery white flowers growing in the leafy green bushes lining the path, their petals like little moons in the foliage. 
“How curious are these,” Helaena had said one evening, “they retract in sunlight, but in darkness they flourish.”
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Daylight dies with a golden sunset and night blooms with a sky of red and indigo clouds. 
The King’s body is now ash. Sunfyre had the honour of being the dragon to do it. It was a hasty affair, in the hours after Aegon’s coronation, when the chaos at the Dragon Pit still had their family and the Small Council stunned to silence. Aegon wore the steel crown as they stood on a cliff over the bay, waiting for him to give the order. The heads of his mother and his sister hung heavy, but Aemond did not avert his gaze from the flames. He felt the heat on his face, seeping through his skin. 
At long last, his father is gone. Aemond has not wept for him, nor does he feel a desire to. His father was once a young man, well loved, so he is told, but to Aemond he was always a frail old man. Save for the few times he ever proved his strength, and even then his strength was only ever resolved for his dearest child. 
Rhaenys will have made it to Dragonstone within a matter of hours, and Aegon’s ascension will not come without consequence. 
On the morrow he will fly for Storm’s End and secure the allegiance of Lord Borros Baratheon. His mother has assured him this will be a simple enough feat, swords for a marriage pact with one of the Baratheon girls, but a crucial one. His brother will not hold the throne long without Lords to uphold his claim and men to fight for it. 
He wonders if the Stormlands will live up to their name; how dull the entire affair will be if it only amounts to flying Vhagar through a downpour of rain. This is the war his mother and grandsire wish to fight, with letters and diplomacy. He is sure the dragons will become restless soon enough. Rhaenyra has been steadfastly sure of her own importance her entire life, and with Daemon at her side, she will not bend the knee without a challenge.
And what of Aegon, is he ready to fight for his crown?
When Viserys breathed his last and the pieces were all finally in play, Aegon had not been where he needed to be. Not in his rooms, not within the walls of the castle. He was squandering his duties, evading the position he was born to, as he always has done. Aemond himself was the one to drag him from the streets of King’s Landing to the Red Keep. Cole had spent hours with him, convincing him to take up the crown rather than fleeing on a ship across the Narrow Sea, to Pentos, to Yi Ti, some far corner of the world where the burden of being their father’s son would not weigh so heavily on his shoulders. 
The first place Aemond had thought to look for his brother proved to be a fruitless endeavour. The establishment was a familiar one, and with every step he took along the Street of Silk his memories phased into reality. The knocker on the door was the same. The madam was the same, the same long, auburn hair, the same gold jewellery, the same knowing smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. 
“The Prince is not here,” she had said. “His tastes are known to be less discriminating.” Of course. Aegon could pay for the most expensive, sweetly perfumed whores in all of King’s Landing, but instead he sullies himself with the scum of Fleabottom, rolling around in the dirt like a pig.
The madam’s gaze then turned to Aemond. She remarked how he had grown. It felt an obvious thing to say. He was no longer the child he was when Aegon first brought him there.
While he and Cole wandered the city in search of his wastrel of a brother, a thought passed through his mind. He thought of a face in the shadows of the brothel, steam rising, gentle hands, the scent of lavender, rosemary, rose, nightblooms…
She could have been there, on the other side of the door, within the walls of the establishment. She would be a woman just as he was now a man. Or she might have left years ago, to a better life, or perhaps a worser fate. Are the lives of the smallfolk not meant to be brutish and short? 
A hollowness settles in his chest, restless and hungry, like it’s writhing under his skin. He paces his chambers, reads until the hearth has died and the sky beyond the windows is black, but sleep will not come to him.
In the hour of the wolf, he dons a cloak and retraces his steps.
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Men are all the same. They strut into the establishment like peacocks, with an ego that outweighs their purse. They flash a few coins and ask for wine rather than ale, a symptom of refined taste. They run their hands over her body, her waist, her hips and her rear as though she should be grateful for their attention. They tell her uninteresting stories while they drink themselves into a stupor. They convince themselves that it is their charm and decent looks that have her leading them to a bed in a quiet corner of the pleasure house, or falling to her knees and undoing the laces on their breeches. The truth is that she will do what is asked of her, so long as they have gold. It is only motions of the body, and afterwards she can wash it all away. 
Until the next night… and then the next… and then the next…
Madam Sylvi has promised her to a Lannister tonight, a man of Lord Tyland’s household, no doubt paid well by the family he serves. He is supposed to be waiting for her but first she must pretty herself for him. She wears a gown of blood red that bares her back and her arms, that will easily fall away with the undoing of a clasp at her neck. She lets her hair fall freely and tints her lips and cheeks with rosewater. Finally she dabs her perfume into her wrists, her neck, on the insides of her ankles, a scent she has worn for years, sweet, rich and floral.
She descends the stairs by the door. At the darkest time of night the pleasure house is alive. Music hums over the laughter, the moans, the cries. The air is thick with the sourness of alcohol and the smell of sweat and sex.
A man with silver hair stands in the entrance hall, Sylvi beside him. They speak with their heads close together, as familiars? As lovers? Sylvi strokes his arm affectionately, with a look glinting in her eye that means she intends to bleed this Targaryen of all the gold he has.
It does not sink in until he looks up, his single eye meetings hers. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye, dark leather obstructing his hair and pale skin.
The eyepatch… it cannot be…
Sylvi had always said men come here to take their pleasure on their own terms. This had not seemed to be the case when last she laid eyes upon Prince Aemond. She had seen them enter, the young Princes, one taller, merrier, with purple wine stains in the corners of his mouth. The other was solemn faced and unsure, ushered into the arms of the madam before she led him upstairs. Sylvi had other patrons to attend to once the deed was done, leaving the burden of caring for the young Prince on her equally young shoulders.
She still remembers him hunched over himself and shivering, the distant look in his eye, frozen in a single moment of time. The most she had been offered after her first time was a cup of moon tea and an order to change the sheets for the next patron.
It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely?
“Her,” the Prince says, “I will have her.”
Her heart drops. She has reached the end of the steps and freezes, looking to Sylvi for instruction. Anticipation stirs in her gut, somewhere between terror and curiosity.
“I’m afraid she has been spoken for tonight, but I would be glad to–”
“I will pay double what any other man has promised,” Aemond says with an air of finality. This is an offer that cannot be refused. Perhaps the minor Lord will be disgruntled, but he will be compensated generously. Defying a Prince is treason. 
While Sylvi has gone to deal with the outbidded Lord, her legs carry her down the last few steps until she is face to face with Prince Aemond.
He is taller for a start, at least a head above her. His hair is longer, his face is slimmer and sharper, his lips are settled into a slight pout. He carries himself differently, proudly. Her eyes move over his leathers under his cloak. She is not meant to admire the men who seek her services. She is meant to take their coin and fulfil their desires.
“Some wine, my Prince?” she asks, nodding towards the inner chamber, the heart of the pleasure house where the musicians play and bodies mingle out in the open or behind drawn curtains. 
He offers her a cryptic “hmm,” and follows her inside.
One of the other girls stands in a corner, carrying a tray of full cups. She passes one to Aemond, his fingertips brushing over her skin as he takes it. 
The Prince studies his surroundings like a hunter looking for quarry, lips quirked, jaw tight, somewhat amused but silent. Something tells her he has not returned to the pleasure house in the years since his first visit. This is all unfamiliar to him. He sips his wine and takes a slow breath. No doubt he will prefer somewhere a little more secluded.
She takes his hand and weaves through the room, to one of the adjacent chambers lit by candlelight, large enough to fit a bed and little else.
With the curtains drawn the other sounds fade into nothing. She takes Aemond’s wine and sets it aside, coming to stand before him.
She keeps waiting for him to lean into her, to grab greedily at some part of her flesh, to claim her lips with his. Instead he stands stoically, his chest rising and falling from underneath the thick leather of his tunic.
“Are you not awfully warm, my Prince?” she says in a honeyed voice, one she has practised for years that usually feeds the lie she actually wants what’s about to happen. She trails her fingertips over the shiny silver buckles that conceal him from her, his body stiffening under her touch.
She takes a breath to steady the erratic beat of her heart and the wanting stirring in her belly. It is not often that her own forwardness seems out of place. 
She remembers the boy with silver hair. She remembers the scowl on his face, how it melted into confusion and fear. He had needed patience then and she was happy to give it. Because she was ordered to. Because she pitied him. Perhaps because she recognised something in his expression and the way he seemed unsure in his own skin.
She places a hand on his shoulder, testing the waters of how close she can get to him. He does not protest. His nose twitches as he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “Perhaps we should make ourselves more comfortable?” she says.
He places his hand over hers, guiding it to the top buckle at his collar. His expression is stern, his face bathed in golden candlelight and the shadows caught in the angles of his face. His eye is somehow soft but intent.
Undressing him is not to be rushed. She takes her time with every buckle on his jerkin and pushes it slowly from his shoulders. She untucks his undershirt from his breeches and he pulls it over his head. His skin is smooth, mostly unmarred, save for a small scar in the crook of his elbow that had not been there the last time they met. He is all muscle, lean and lithe. She places her palms at his chest and lets them drag down his abdomen, to the waist of his breeches.
He holds her wrists to stop her.
She looks to his eye, terrified that she might have overstepped.
Instead he kisses her. It’s gentle and chaste, his hand against the bare skin of her back, pulling her against his body. When she teases his tongue with hers he chases it, only for the kiss to become messy and clumsy. She cannot bring herself to dislike his inexperience.
“Wait,” she says, pulling away, putting her hands on either side of his jaw. “Follow my lead,” she whispers, leaning in to capture his lower lip between hers. They find a rhythm then. She shows him to move slowly, to be firmer. As their kiss deepens she allows herself to melt into his arms. Her hips are rocking against his, his hand trailing over her skin until he finds the clasp of her dress. The material falls away as simply as it should, leaving her bare before him.
He studies her the same way he studied the room. How many men have laid eyes on her since she came to this place? Too many to count, insignificant men, who have no names or faces in her memory. She has no shame in her nakedness, but there has never been any doubt in her mind that those men found her desirable. Being under Aemond’s scrutiny makes her tremble. She wonders if the sight of her pleases him. He has enough gold and enough pride to be selective. 
He had asked for her though. Why?
He’s staring at her. “They crowned my brother today,” he says.
It is not what she was expecting to hear. “I saw.”
“You were there?”
“No.” The gold cloaks did not empty the whorehouses when they were ordered to fill the Dragonpit with witnesses for the King’s coronation.
Aemond’s attention is on her body now. He reaches for her arm, tracing circles over her skin with his thumb.
She had not seen the King himself but she had seen the crowds flocking. She had heard the tremendous noise of crumbling stone, people screaming, a dragon’s screech. “I saw the dragon. People say it is an omen.”
Aemond’s face darkens but his attention is still on his own hand, now at her waist. With the other he pulls the eyepatch from his head and tosses it towards his discarded shirt. She does not get much of a chance to refresh her memory of his maimed eye before he leans into her again. His lips are at her shoulder, then her neck and it leaves her utterly weightless. 
“Your perfume is the same,” he mutters into her skin.
He remembers.
Aemond seems content enough following her lead. He lets her slip his breeches past his hips and take him into her mouth. He lets her sit atop him and grind her core against his hardened cock until her peak washes over her, blissful and warm.
When he starts to buck his hips and dig his fingertips into her hips she decides to give him respite. She sinks herself onto him with a soft sigh. It is a rare opportunity to chase a feeling rather than letting herself go through a rehearsed set of motions. 
His eye moves between her face and the space where their bodies meet, as if he cannot decide which is more fascinating. She is pleasantly surprised when he places his thumb at her pearl and circles over her sensitive flesh.
She loses herself in it, how deep he reaches, pleasure rising and tightening until it releases suddenly, violently. She falls forwards on her hands to steady herself. 
Before long Aemond lifts her off his cock, finishing himself with a stuttering groan and his seed dripping through the folds of her cunt.
He holds her close, caging her in his arms and bringing her into his chest. There’s a numbness that follows pleasure and she cannot bring herself to care that he is crushing her ribs. It doesn’t matter. She basks in the heat of his skin and the smell of him. 
He makes good on his promise of payment. The purse of coins he leaves on the bed before he leaves is worth ten nights with any other patron. 
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There is less pretence the next time he visits her.
It is only a day later. He comes in the middle of the night, his hair, coat and leather gloves soaked, but there is no rain in King’s Landing. They tear at each other’s clothes and kiss like starved dogs devouring scraps. Aemond holds her by her jaw and her neck. When she draws his teeth over his lip he grins.
Once he is bare she realises his skin is cold and he is shivering.
“You should sit before a fire and warm up properly–”
“No,” he insists, “I just want you.”
She chases her pleasure once more, Aemond’s hands bruising into her hips as he thrusts up to meet her, the coldness of his palms seeping through her skin. This newfound urgency is thrilling and she finds herself curling over her body as her peaks tears through her.
Aemond is not finished with her yet. He positions her beneath him, spreading her legs apart with two wide palms before fucks her with a brutal precision, and he does not stop until he has reached his own end, painting her belly and the tops of her thighs.
After, he takes her into his arms, positioning them both so that he lies under her arm with his head nestled on her chest, between her breasts. She strokes her fingertips through his damp hair, over his skin, all the places where lovers touch each other, his cheek, his neck, underneath his ear, his shoulder. With his arm draped over her stomach he clings to her like he may never know such intimacy again. His skin is still cold and yet she holds him close, determined that she will draw some warmth from him.
Hours pass. Days could pass and she’d be content to lie with him.
“The dragon was an omen, you said,” he mutters.
It takes her a moment to rouse herself. Her eyes had closed, her mind half asleep. “That’s what people are saying. A coronation marred by death must surely only lead to more death.”
She feels his arm tighten over her stomach.
“You’re cold,” she says.
“I was instructed to fly to the Stormlands.”
“Why?”
“To secure the support of Lord Baratheon. He has pledged his banners to my brother’s cause and in return I am to wed his daughter.”
His state suggests to her that he has not yet returned to the Red Keep.
“Is there to be a war?” she says. 
He remains frozen for a few moments.
“I believe war may now be inevitable,” he says. She feels his lips brushing over her skin.
“How so?” she says on a quiet breath.
“A boy is dead because of me.”
The coldness of Aemond’s body has decidedly taken root within her, like a fist closing over her heart and throat.
“Lucerys was there, at Storm’s End. Lord Borros shunned him from the hall but I… it wasn’t enough. I pursued him on Vhagar. His dragon is nothing to her, they didn’t stand a chance.”
She is not sure she wishes to hear of this, but a new kind of stillness has settled over her. She is too afraid to move, to disturb him. 
“He is the one who took your eye,” she says.
Aemond hums. “He never paid for what he did to me. My father was more concerned with the slanders against my sister than he was with me, with my blood spilled by my own kin.”
She closes her eyes, imagining the little boy from all those years ago is curled up in her arms. She runs her fingers through his hair, undoing the knots and tangles. She cradles his head in her arms so he knows he is not alone.
“His debt is paid now, I suppose,” Aemond says.
It is in the early hours of the morning when he finally leaves, the first glimpses of sunrise chasing night from the sky. She helps him dress and fastens his eyepatch over his head. He leaves another purse in her palm, a more than generous amount. 
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He comes to her nightly. He is an unhurried lover and fucks her slowly, hovering his lips above hers so that they share the same air, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together as if he wishes to smother her, or else crawl under her skin. She’d let him do it.
It is not simply her body he wants. When they are done he wants to be held, and then his thoughts slip from between his lips. 
He had not expected to return to the Red Keep a hero for slaying his nephew, but now he says his mother can hardly look at him. His grandsire, the Hand of the King scorns him for his recklessness, for his impulse for violence that now means the false Queen may strike at any moment. Vhagar circles the city during the day, she sees the dragon when she goes to the market. Aemond insists that his dragon could make short work of destroying any other who would seek to oppose her, but Rhaenyra has dragons to spare. He sits in meetings of the Small Council and watches in despair as the Hand and the Dowager Queen advocate for patience and diplomacy. 
“We should be marching,” he says one night, tracing his fingertips over her stomach. “We should secure the support of the Crownlands, adding their numbers to our host. Rhaenyra is isolated enough on Dragonstone, but we could cut her off from her allies completely.”
“And none would stand against you and Vhagar,” she says. Assuring him has become a learned skill these last few weeks.
“Alicent wishes for me to remain here, to deter an attack on the city.”
“That is sound logic,” she says. “The people of King’s Landing will be grateful for your protection.”
Aemond hums irritatedly.
“I for one would despair at the loss of our Prince,” she adds, ghosting her lips over his cheek, where his scar cuts through his skin.
For a little while he entertains her, turning his head to kiss her properly. She slips her hand between their bodies, taking hold of his hardening cock. He melts into her, chasing his pleasure as she strokes him.
“I am ready for more,” he says breathlessly. “I’m ready to fight.”
“As you have proved,” she says, coming to kiss his throat. 
In a single breath he is above her, pinning her hands by her head. He positions himself against her, rocking his hips so his leaking tip pushes against her pearl. He knows this about her now, how to draw her pleasure from her body. “Storm’s End was no battle,” he hisses into her ear. “Luke was a child. I want fire and blood.”
“Your time will come,” she says, her voice catching in her throat as he quickens his pace.
“The war must be inevitable,” he pants, “the realm will realise it soon enough. Aegon is the King and yet he is hostage to those with weaker wills.”
“You are his brother,” she sighs as Aemond slips lower to her entrance. “You can convince him to act–”
“Not now,” Aemond says, pushing into her with one sudden thrust. “Just take it, that’s it…”
He fucks her slowly, deeply, with his face buried into her neck. His desperation fuels her own desire, his hot breath against her ear, his pants and his groans. When he is finished he does not leave her wanting, trailing his lips and tongue down her body, her chest, her stomach, driving her towards her own peak with his lips and tongue.
“My grandfather takes my aspirations as insolence,” Aemond mutters to himself as he dresses. “He thinks me weak. He thinks I am still a child.”
“Then he is a fool,” she says, still buried beneath the throw on the bed.
“My mother and grandfather seized the throne, now they will not do what needs to be done to hold it.”
“Perhaps they fear what a war might bring.”
Aemond tuts. “The first blood has been drawn.”
“Do you not…” she pauses when he looks at her, his eye wide, anticipating something he will not wish to hear. “What if Rhaenyra comes for you? What if she seeks vengeance for her son?”
Aemond smiles like he has a secret and stalks slowly towards the bed, her stomach tightening in anticipation. 
In some ways, Aemond terrifies her. He has a presence of danger and bloodlust which fades away when she peels away the layers of his leathers. Without his eyepatch, in the warmth of the candlelight, he is the picture of Valyrian beauty, a man who belongs in histories and legends, not the living, breathing realm she exists in. 
He leans into her, taking her chin between his fingers to kiss her. She relishes it for as long as she can, knowing it won’t be enough to charm him back into the bed.
He pulls away, reaching into his pocket for a purse of coins. “Let her try,” he says as he places it beside her, “but I will not be easily ended.”
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The girls all share chambers, bedrooms and a washroom with basins and baths. She rises early in the morning to bathe, to drop her lavender and rosemary oils into the tub and scrub away the remnants of last night. Before, she would not allow herself to fall asleep until she was clean. Lately she finds an odd sense of comfort in the reminders of her royal patron. Her skin is littered with love bites and bruises, her neck, her collar, her breasts. It shouldn’t be like this. Usually she does what she can to forget the men she has been with.
They share their duties. This morning she is to help wash the bed linens, and find cheap grain and cuts of meat from the markets.   
The clothes she wears are modest, covering her arms and her neck, unflattering to her figure. Some people still eye her with disgust, with hatred. You can always spot a whore. What can strangers know of her? Can they see through her skin and see her sins as the gods judge them all from the seven heavens? It was not as if she had chosen this path for herself out of an endless number of possibilities. 
Sometimes she remembers the life she had before, a woman’s laugh, a particular taste on her tongue, a tune humming in the back of her mind she can’t quite piece together. She used to think the gods had forsaken her, but now she thinks they do not concern themselves with the lives of people like her. So she finds little point in looking to the past, of imagining a future for herself. She survives and that is enough.
Summer is nearing its end. There is no warmth to be found in sunlight obscured by clouds. People walk quickly, keeping their belongings in deathly grips. A woman with a babe in her arms begs the baker to accept one copper instead of five for a loaf of bread. A man despairs that the apothecaries cannot offer him a medicinal herb from Lys for his sickly daughter. The shipping lanes are blocked by the Velaryon Fleet holding the Gullet, and no ship can get in or out of King’s Landing. A woman cries for her son, a rat catcher, his body hanging from the walls of the Red Keep. 
She gets what she needs to, grain she will bring back to the kitchens for the cook to turn into plain tasting flatbread. A butcher sells her tough cuts of beef for a reasonable price to go into a stew. He worries that there have been no imports of salt or sugar. How is the city meant to preserve food for the fast approaching winter? 
“It’s the fucking war,” he grumbles, “why can’t the King just burn the ships so the rest of us can eat?”
In the distance she hears drums, the clatter of horse hooves against the cobbles. She keeps her basket tightly on her arm, not stopping to make eye contact with the people she passes, past the stalls, mules, the buckets of sewage and dirty water falling from windows above her head.
As she emerges from one of the side streets her way is suddenly blocked by masses of people. She had guessed some sort of procession was afoot. This is no celebration, it is lamentation. People weep and wail around her, a mass mourning that she does not understand, and yet she feels it in her chest and behind her eyes, an urge to cry.
Over the sea of bodies before her she sees two women in an open carriage, richly dressed with black veils over their faces. Petals fall from windows and footbridges. People cry the name of Queen Helaena and Dowager Queen Alicent. 
She finds a small ledge to lift herself onto at the base of a statue. What she sees could stop her heart. This is a funeral procession. Queen Helaena’s carriage follows the body of her son, wrapped in a green and gold shroud, with flowers woven into his white hair. For a moment she tells herself the boy is an effigy, that he could be made from wax or porcelain. 
“Behold the work of Rhaenyra Targaryen!”
The whispers follow her as she scurries back to the pleasure house. The Prince was slain in his sleep. Two assassins cut his head from his body. They made his mother and twin sister watch. 
Bile rises in her throat as she hands cook the cuts of meat, blood seeping through the wrappings. She swallows it down.
When Aemond comes to her that night he is more subdued than usual. He pulls her into his arms and she strokes her hand over his hair.
“My nephew is dead,” he utters. He sheds no tears, he seems confused more than anything.
Rhaenyra’s retribution had come then, swift and brutal, a son for a son. 
She undresses him but he leans away when she tries to kiss him. They lie back on the bed and Aemond settles his head on her shoulder.
“My brother is in a rage and wants Rhaenyra dead. My sister has not left her rooms; I tried to go to her but she would not speak to me,” he says.
“How did it happen?”
“There were two. One was a gold cloak. They found him at the gate of the gods with Jaehaerys’ head in a sack. He confessed the other was a rat catcher.” 
Now the bodies of a hundred men hang by their necks, though only one of them is guilty.
“Daemon sent them to kill me,” Aemond says, “but I was out.”
She rests her fingers at the pulsepoint on his wrist to remind herself his heart is still beating. “You were with me,” she says. She feels the guilt weighing in her chest. While she and Aemond had kissed and fucked and held each other, a boy had a lost his life, the very body she had seen paraded through the streets.
“In truth I am proud that he considers me such a foe, that he would seek to murder me in my bed.”
She cannot tell if she admires him for it or not, to gamble with life as though it means nothing.
Aemond is watching her, his hair loose and framing his face. “Do you think he fears me?”
She has never seen Aemond wield a blade. She’s never seen him ride his dragon, not up close. She’s never seen him fight with his fists. She’s never seen him slur his words and throw away threats in a drunken argument. He is always composed. He is always softly spoken, and in a way that terrifies her more than it should. They say the blood of the dragon runs hot. Aemond’s blood does not seem to burn, rather it simmers under the surface of his skin. 
“Perhaps he fears what else you might be capable of.”
Aemond is the closest she has ever seen him to tears. His eyelashes are damp and heavy, his seeing eye vibrantly blue and glassy. “You think me a monster,” he utters.
She could never say it, could she? But this is a man who took the life of his own kin as a reparation for his eye. Violence is carved into his face, beautiful, set with a gemstone, but it is there nonetheless. 
She brushes her fingertips over his cheek and plants a delicate kiss to his lips. After only a few moments he shrugs her off and repositions himself, curling into her lap like a child, clinging to her limbs and the fabric of her gown. 
“I lost my temper that day,” he says. “I should have known Vhagar would not relent. I am sorry for it.”
Her blood runs cold. Should she be glad to hear he is remorseful? He may not be a cold hearted killer, but destruction lives at his fingertips. 
She reaches for his hand and he takes it. His touch is gentle and hesitant. “There was no justice in what happened to you,” she says, “blood has paid for blood…” but where does it end? With Lucerys? With Jaehaerys? With the next?
Aemond says nothing. She feels his tears slip onto her legs, his fingernails forming crescents in her skin.
Remorse will not return Rhaenyra’s son to her, it will not bring back the little Prince paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.
She clings to him, hoping she can ease whatever torment plagues him, and banish what darkness consumes him.
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She never tires of the sight of him. His body bare, his hair tied away from his face, the uneven edges of his sapphire glinting in the lowlight, laid out beneath her. She runs her hands over his chest, tracing the lines that are familiar to her now. “I want to taste you,” she says sweetly, knowing he’ll already be desperate for her. 
He hums quietly to himself. By the slight smile threatening to break in the corners of his mouth, she knows he is content.
“On your knees then,” he says, and positions himself to sit at the end of the bed.
She runs her tongue over his length first, finishing with a teasing lick at the tip where he’s already weeping. She takes him into her mouth gradually, pushing a little deeper with every bob of her head. He is her Prince, he takes his pleasure from her and holds her hair from her face but it is she who sets the pace, who revels in his moans as his mind lulls. 
But he pulls her head away by her hair before he finishes. Suddenly she’s on her back and he’s kneeling over her with his fist moving furiously over his cock. He reaches for her breast and squeezes. In the morning when she bathes, she’ll look at the bruises and remember how he touches her. Her own had slips between her legs, tracing circles over her pearl at the thought.
This pleases Aemond. His brow hardens and his jaw falls. “Fuck, are you going to finish with me?” he whispers.
She nods in reply, her breath catching as a whimper in her throat. 
His grip on her breast tightens. She winces at the pain and it only fuels her own pleasure. She succumbs to her senses, chasing the feeling in her gut that only wants for release. Her fingers work frantically over her wet and wanting cunt.
“Make yourself come for me, that’s it,”
She obeys him with a cry, her body reduced to a shaking, dazed mess as Aemond reaches his own end. She watches his seed spurt from his cock, warm as it paints her skin.
He has habits, she’s noticed. He does not spill inside her. Of course, with the nature of the establishment there is no shortage of moontea, but she never questions him when he removes himself. He prefers to see it on her skin. 
Targaryen bastards are not uncommon in King’s Landing, commoners with silver hair. It is said Prince Aegon himself has sired many on the women of Fleabottom. Perhaps the idea is distasteful to Prince Aemond. He is discreet. He does not bring drinking companions with him to the pleasure house and he keeps his hood up as he enters and exits. 
He takes a cloth and wipes his seed from her skin. She bites back another jolt of anticipation in her spine. She would take more from him, but instead he lies beside her, curling into her embrace, tucking his head into her chest. 
He could fuck her quickly and be done with it, it would be more efficient. He could take a different girl each time. He could have one brought up to the castle. Yet since the day of the King’s Coronation he has found his way into her arms to her each night. In these quiet moments she lets herself think there is a reason for it.
They trace their fingertips over each other’s skin and he tells her things she shouldn’t know, that the King has named a new Hand in Ser Criston Cole, that while Queen Alicent seeks to avoid open war, Aegon wants to fly headfirst into it.
“It’s not his place. He’ll not stand a chance against Meleys or Caraxes.”
The names are strange to her. Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke, a reminder that some Silk Street whore is not meant to understand the realm he exists in. Other times it feels like an honour, like he’s gifted her a part of himself, a glimpse into his mind.
“He is no warrior, but he wishes to live up to his namesake. He wants for glory alone; it is a reckless pursuit but he would risk his life for it.”
“He is the King, is it not his war to fight?” she says. 
“He is not capable of it,” Aemond says, “but I…”
It is not a thought he dares to finish.
King Aegon wears the crown of the Conqueror, or so people say. She’s never seen a real crown. She’s seen paper ones worn by the mummers in the square, and she’s seen girls wearing wreaths of flowers on their heads for the festival of spring. They are only delicate things. Real crowns are made of gold, silver and steel. As Aemond’s eye flutters shut he looks divinely peaceful, but unsettled where his sapphire continues to stare at her. She pictures a crown of spring flowers fashioned from steel and imagines it upon her Prince’s brow.
Footsteps thud upon the stone floor, too close to the curtain, closer than anyone should dare to come near. She lifts her head as it’s drawn back.
It takes a moment for them all to realise what’s happening. Several faces stare at her– at Aemond. One of the men has silver hair, shorter and choppier than Aemond’s. He bares his teeth as he grins.
She sees a flash of fury in Aemond’s face as he turns to face them.
The silver haired man starts to laugh, the sound shrill and unpleasant. His friends do not join him. “Aemond the fierce!” he cries, pointing, staring.
Ameond parts himself from her instantly. He retreats as far as the edge of the bed, hunched over himself, his knees in the crooks of his elbows. He keeps his head hung, not looking at the men and the leader of their pack. He does not look at her, he does not look at anything. 
She sees the child he once was, frightened and confused. 
The man staggers towards the bed, clearly half out of his mind by the smell of wine drifting from him when he perches on the bed. On instinct she covers her breasts, devastated to realise her robe is out of reach.
“And here I thought you were as chaste as a fucking septon! You know,” he says to his companions, “I brought him here for his first too. And how far you’ve come, curled in the arms of a whore like a greenboy!”
There’s a bite to his– the King’s words, a cruelty that only makes Aemond shrink further into himself. Her heart aches for him, that she cannot help him. 
“Are you tired, brother? Did you fuck her like a hound?” An idea he emphasises with an impersonation of a hunting dog.
Aemond doesn’t move or speak.
Still in hysterics, Aegon turns his gaze to her, unashamedly lingering on her chest and her legs. “Hard luck for your squire, Ser Martyn,” he says, drawing his tongue over his lips, “as pretty as this one is, she is very much occupied.”
His laughter is the only sound in the chamber and it pierces her skull. 
Aemond starts to shift. Helplessly she reaches out her hand, unsure of what it is she intends to do. He doesn’t take it. He doesn’t even look at her.
He stands before the King and his companions. His humiliation has melted away. In the place of the boy is a man who speaks calmly and clearly. “Your squire is welcome to her. One whore is as good as another.”
He strides from the chamber and she is entirely forgotten.
Or so she wishes that were true. There are still four men in her midst. And she is still, for all the hours she has spent in Aemond’s company, a whore in a pleasure house. 
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I've kinda given up on taglists, sorry <3
A/n: I'm quite happy with this! I've been playing with the idea in my head for a few weeks, then I saw episodes 2 and 3 and it just had to happen. Would be very cool if you wanted to let me know what you think :)
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beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago
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hi, this idea kind of comforts me but it makes you feel uncomfy just ignore this request.
but since you do poly 141, I was thinking of a fic where reader comes from a bad abusive family but she doesn't talk about it and thinks it's normal. and the 141 tries to get angry/frustrated with her because they are concerned for the fact she is fine with people treating her badly or not prioritising herself they come to realise it's just how she thinks. and they remind her that she now doesn't have to survive and fade into a background or is a burden and that she can live and be happy.
i know it sounds complicated and specific but I kinda have this really serene picture in my head that if that happens everything will fine AHAHA idk. but again if this idea doesn't correspond with your writing or feeling or comfortability please just ignore this. apologies if it made you feel uncomfortable.
hope you have/had a nice day or night!!♡♡
I hope you have a nice day/night as well!! And i hope you enjoy this! CW: past abuse, past emotional abuse and neglect
You met them first through a mutual friend, an unplanned introduction that turned into something you hadn’t quite expected: a tentative relationship, but one that had happiness blooming like the flowers and greenery you tend to. It was unconventional- a group of elite soldiers who spent most of their time between missions scattered across the world and a civilian- but when they returned, it felt like they brought your home with them.
You still didn’t understand why they liked having you around. You were just a florist who helped them with decorating their new house, or who listened when they needed a friendly ear. You didn’t ask for anything, and they were kind enough not to question it even if you'd seen their displeased little frowns and furrowed brows whenever you'd refuse.
But recently, you noticed them getting… concerned.
It was Soap who brought it up first, his frustration seeping into his usual easy smile.
It happened after you’d offered to run a series of errands, insisting they rest after a mission. As always, you tried to downplay your exhaustion, helping them settle in their home, making sure everything was clean and in order for them before you even considered sitting down.
Soap watched with a frown, noticing how you brushed off the heaviness in your movements and the bags under your eyes, doing your best to tend to them, such a sweet thing. But after you finished, he gently grabbed your arm.
“Dove, why do you do this?” he asked, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.
“Do what?” you replied, a little too quickly, trying to pull your arm back almost instinctively. Almost like a habit.
“Act like you don’t need anything. You haven’t even eaten today, and you’re lookin’ after us like we’re helpless. What about you, aye?”
You stared at him, unsure of what to say. You didn’t know how to explain that putting yourself last was just what you did. That it felt right, somehow, to stay in the background, to make sure everyone else was fine before even thinking about yourself. It was normal, no? It was how you were raised, and your parents only ever insisted that discipline was needed.
“Just… used to it, I guess?” you finally mumbled.
Soap’s brows drew together, but before he could say more, Gaz stepped in, giving you a gentle, worried look. So Johnny... wasn't the only one who thought so?
“It’s not right,” Gaz said, frustration simmering in his tone. “You’re allowed to put yourself first, you know?”
You shrugged, glancing away. Allowed. You hadn’t thought of it that way.
Price was the next to notice it, his observant eyes always catching the little things: how you’d flinch ever so slightly when they raised their voices, the way you stayed at the edges of conversations, nodding along but rarely chiming in. It had been the same when they'd met you, but he had assumed- hoped- it was merely you being naturally shy.
But this clearly went beyond that.
One night, as you were tidying up after dinner, John approached you, folding his arms across his chest. He stands close, but not too close.
“Why don’t you sit with us, love? Someone else can do the dishes. You barely let us help you cook or set the table either.” He says, his voice gentle, but with a hint of a command.
“I’m fine, John. I really don't mind.” You answered quickly, quietly. You couldn’t meet his eyes, a reflex you’d developed over years of keeping your head down.
He tilted his head, as if trying to see past the answer you’d given him. “No, my love,” he said softly, but with a firmness that made you pause. “I think you’re used to telling yourself that, but I don’t think you believe it.”
You froze, unsure how to respond, feeling something painful stir in your chest. The idea of asking for anything, for taking up space- of needing more than what little you had- seemed wrong. Like wanting was a burden in itself. But it is. It's what you've learnt and been taught.
John sighed, his eyes warm but sad. His hands raised to cup you face slowly, gently. “You’re not a burden, you know that, right?”
You gave him a small, shaky smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah.”
The next time, it was Ghost.
He was usually silent, lurking in the shadows, watching with that keen, unreadable gaze that only ever softened for you and them. But one evening, as you were dropping off supplies at their base, Ghost noticed you hurrying off after you’d finished. He easily caught up with you just outside, his hand gentle as it grasped your shoulder.
(Yet it still had you flinching.)
“You don’t have to go, birdie.” He murmured, voice soft but clear. You met his gaze, startled by the gentle concern in his eyes.
“You… don’t mind?” you asked, trying not to look too hopeful. You always worried your company might be too boring, unproductive. Unwanted.
Ghost shook his head. “If anything, we mind when you don’t stay,” he scoffed quietly. Then he sighs. “We’re worried, you know. About how you treat yourself, luvie. Like you don’t deserve anything more than the bare minimum.”
You swallowed hard, his words hitting deeper than you’d care to admit. He waited, patient, a pillar of quiet understanding.
“I just… it’s what I know,” you finally whispered, unable to look at him. “Growing up, I was never… important. And I don't have to be! I'm not demanding it, I promise-”
He was silent for a moment, and then he took in a deep breath that cuts your frantic mumbles off, as if finally understanding something he’d long suspected. “Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “you’re with us now, birde. You are important.”
Something warm spread in your chest, something unfamiliar yet comforting. You managed a nod, finding a small sliver of strength in his words, and a little smile forms on your face- leaning into Ghost's knuckles so lightly caressing your cheek.
After those days, things began to change more and more. For the better.
Kyle would check in with you every day, insisting you take breaks with him, sharing laughs over simple things. Soap began inviting you to meals, not taking no for an answer, piling food on your plate until you couldn’t help but indulge. Those two especially adored taking you out to sample new cuisines, delighting in getting you to be more open with your expressions and reactions.
John and Simon would go on walks with you, listening to the little stories you’d been hesitant to share, showing you that your presence mattered to them as much as theirs did to you. And slowly, day by day, they chipped away at the walls you’d built around yourself. Showed you that what your family raised to be wasn't right, was cruel to you.
One evening, as you sat on the couch in the common room, leaning against Johnny's shoulder, Kyle leaned over, a gentle smile on his face.
“You know, love, you don’t have to survive anymore,” he said softly, meeting your gaze with a warmth that made your heart ache. “We want you here because you make us happy. Just as you are.”
The words felt foreign, but you let them settle over you, warm and safe. Kyle gave your hand a gentle squeeze, reassuring, a silent reminder that you didn’t need to hide.
“We’re here to take care of each other,” Soap murmured, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, “and that means you too, aye?”
You gave them a tentative smile, feeling that familiar ache soften just a little.
Simon, sitting nearby, nodded in silent agreement, and John leaned back in his chair, giving you a small, proud smile. “You’re one of us, love,” John said quietly, his voice steady. “And as long as you’re here, you’re part of this family. We won't just let you fade into the background. That isn't fair to a dove like you.”
And looking at them now, at the love and gentleness they held for you, it wasn't hard to believe their words.
Maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found a place where you belonged.
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astridthevalkyrie · 2 months ago
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“You think people ever look at us and wonder why you would be with me?” Rafayel had frozen in place, his hand mid paint stroke as he gazed down at you from his ladder. You’d been curled up on the couch, watching him comfortably while your thoughts took a depressing turn that was anything but comfortable. “No,” he’d said, “absolutely not. No one in their right mind would think that.”
contains: afab reader, edging, rafayel making reader praise themselves, rafayel speaks in hindi, probably ooc and with grammatical errors sorry i wrote this all in like one hour at 10 PM and i was crying for half of it
it's been a while since my own insecurities have actually given me the creative kick to write something like this, so sucks to be insecure i guess, but yay fic!!!!
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Insecurity. What a bitch.
It’s life-ruining, at its worst. It makes you look into the mirror and imagine even the reflection looking back and sneering at what it sees. It makes your heart pound as you walk in public, wondering how many people would smile once they get the privilege of losing sight of you. It makes you sob at night when you’re alone, mind knowing that there is no one in the world who is uniquely terrible, but your heart convinced that you’re the exception.
It makes you say something, accidentally, to your boyfriend.
“You think people ever look at us and wonder why you would be with me?”
Rafayel had frozen in place, his hand mid paint stroke as he gazed down at you from his ladder. You’d been curled up on the couch, watching him comfortably while your thoughts took a depressing turn that was anything but comfortable.
“No,” he’d said, “absolutely not. No one in their right mind would think that.”
If you’d been more acute in the moment, you might have heard the warning in his voice, the irk of a god who has just had his most precious jewel taunted.
But you’d continued instead. “They would. You’re so handsome, so gorgeous. Ethereal. Not to mention incredibly talented. And I love you, and I think we’re really compatible personality wise, but looks…you have to admit you could do a lot better.”
It was then you’d began to note how it felt much hotter in the studio than it had a few minutes ago. Like there was an unseen furnace, prickling with an angry fire about to grow into an inferno.
Rafayel’s voice had been, ironically, icy. “How could I do better than you?”
“C’mon, be real, Raf.” It had been hard to keep the pain out of your words, and impossible to keep the thoughts choking you inside. You’d started to plead, some part of you convinced that it would help if he would simply agree that your every insecurity was valid. “I’m not a supermodel. I’m not a genius. I’m not an angel, either. There’s nothing about me that’s extraordinary. Not like you are.”
And then he’d moved.
And now, you’re still on the couch, crying out brokenly with nothing to grip onto, as his hand holds your wrists above your head, and his cock thrusts in and out of you in the most maddening pace you’ve ever experienced.
He’s never been like this. When you plead, Rafayel gives in. He is weak to you, as he’s shown time and time again. But not today. No matter how much you beg with teary eyes for him to go faster, he shakes his head, slowing down even more. With a punishing growl, he pushes all the way in, and all the way out, leaving your drooling cunt clenching around nothing.
It’s torture. Pure and simple.
“What was it you said?” he breathes harshly, leaning down to press hot kisses on your neck that burn so perfectly you sob. “Ethereal? Talented? A supermodel?”
“Rafayel,” you gasp. He ignores it. His eyes are a violent shade of purple, the most dangerous you’ve ever seen them. There are scales blooming all over his body, as though denying you is the key to awake this dormant side of him, to make you submit.
“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers, biting and leaving a fresh bruise planted on your skin. “Just tell me what I want to hear. Go on.”
He pulls out and you feel the tears running down your cheeks.
“Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”
In.
“Say, ‘I’m gorgeous.’”
Out.
“Say, “I’m fucking ethereal.’”
You can taste salt from your own sobs, both from being denied, and from the unimaginable cruelty of having to praise yourself. It’s impossible. You want the reward so bad, but you can’t claw your way to it, because the rules are too imposing. The conditions, blinding.
“Be real,” he taunts, repeating your own words back to you, “come on, start easy. ‘I’m pretty.’ Go on.”
Heaving in a breath, you taste the bitter words on your tongue. “I-I’m pretty.”
Your back arches off the couch as he rewards you with his fingers on your clit, rubbing soft circles while he’s inside you. “Mmhm. You are. And?”
“Please, Rafayel.” You’re clenching so tight around him, and you can see from how he shudders that it pains him just as much as it pains you, this wait, this little game of keep-away. “Please don’t make me—“
You’re cut off by his hand cupping your cheeks, and his lips stealing a salty, breathless kiss. “Meri pyaari gurya,” he groans, kissing you again, “meri chand.” Kiss. “Meri humsafar.” Kiss. “Mine, mine, mine.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. "Do you think I keep anything that isn’t worthy of the Sea God?”
You shut your eyes, crying harder. The logic is loud, but your thoughts are louder. He’s only saying it to reassure you, he’s only saying it to be nice, he’s only saying it because he pities you…
“Meri dulhaniya,” he saves for last, because he knows it’ll break you, “I have nowhere to be. I’m fine staying buried inside you, all day and all night, while your sweet little pussy gushes for me. I’ll bring you to the brink, again and again, but I won’t let you cum, my pretty muse, because either you admit that you’re the most beautiful human in this world, or I’ll fuck it into you till you forget otherwise.”
Trembling, you open your eyes. There is nothing but conviction in his gaze. Conviction, and hunger.
And you realize two very important things. One, that your stamina is nothing compared to his, and you will never hold out against him, and two, that is not something one does out of pity, but out of unyielding, undying adoration.
“I’m,” you swallow, cheeks burning, “beautiful.”
A sharp thrust of his hips makes you moan his name, mouth falling open as he kisses you deeply, and you swear you can feel him hardening even more inside you.
“I’m gorgeous.”
“Yes,” Rafayel hisses, fingers rubbing your clit to match his thrusts.
Eyes rolling back, you cry out, “I-I’m…”
“Fucking ethereal,” he provides, and you think you can feel fire flicking from his lips on your cheeks.
“Fucking ethereal,” you whine, pulling him into a kiss this time.
His hips slam against yours and you cry out against his mouth as his tongue ravages yours. There is nothing Rafayel hates more than someone misunderstanding his art, least of all the art itself.
Your toes curl and your nerves are electrified, everything fading away except you and Rafayel, and his cock and his fingers and his lips, and the couch he’s pounding you into, and you tug at his hair and practically scream as you cum.
He’s still softly licking at your lips as you come down from your high, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The air escaping you is light, and for the first time in a long time, there is nothing stuck in your chest, a soft fluttery feeling replacing the heaviness that you’ve been carrying what feels like your whole life.
Gazing back up your lover, you cradle his face, noticing that his lovely purple hues have morphed into an even lovelier pink, only a second before you notice he hasn’t cum yet.
“That’s a good start,” Rafayel whispers, capturing your lower lip between his teeth and tugging.
It bounces back into place for him to kiss softly, before he continues, “Now, let’s try ‘most beautiful human in the world.’ If you get there, I might consider letting you have a break.”
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sacredsorceress · 5 months ago
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Meet Cute with Logan Would Include... || Wolverine Headcanons
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pairing: logan howlett (wolverine) x mutant!f!reader summary: you're a new teacher at the school and logan is interested in you from your first meeting a/n: i'm admittedly projecting with the fact that reader teaches history but just a little blurb because logan's been on my mind and i need to get work done <33 lmk if you want me to make this into an actual fic!! warnings: none, all fluff
masterlist | inbox | tip jar (ko-fi)
when you first arrive at the school as a teacher (and late blooming mutant) charles introduces you to logan
logan has a typical scowl on his face and glances at you up and down
so you begin to worry that you've worn the wrong outfit or presented yourself poorly and now an infamous wolverine dig is about to be thrown your way
but instead, he takes a puff of his cigar, and looks back at charles
"you have a rule about only recruiting good-looking teachers or something?"
and what an array of relief (and butterflies) do you get from that
"yes, very funny, logan. however, y/n here has a phd. I've brought her on to teach the students"
"yeah? and what's your "gift"?" (mutation)
he has a coy look on his face
"oh logan, that's a bit personal..." you said with faux seriousness. "buy me a drink first."
for the first time, you saw him smile. a chuckle reverberated in his chest.
"fair enough."
after that interaction charles escorted you out of the room but as you went, logan's eyes were trained on you.
intrigued, he took another puff of his cigar and smiled to himself.
on your first night there, once all the children have gone to sleep and all the adults have gone to their own rooms for the night you hear a knock on your door.
and guess who it is?
you hate to admit it but god, does he look so hot and suave standing in your doorway.
logan's hair is in a typical mess and his flannel has a few more buttons undone than it did this morning,
and although he's rough around the edges and not as necessarily openly friendly as the others, he exudes confidence- especially as he leans against your doorframe.
"you said i owed you a drink."
although he takes you to the diviest dive bar in town, you have such a good time.
after a little bit of awkwardness, the two of you found your footing and you end up talking (flirting) for hours
well, in actuality, you do most of the talking but boy does he like listening to you talk and watching your eyes light up while you laugh at some of your own stories
on the way back to the mansion, he opens the car door for you
"thank you."
"don't mention it" (he's blushing a little)
on the ride back he tries to be as smooth as possible, one arm draped over the passenger seat while the other rests on the steering wheel
he keeps taking quick glances at you as you hum along to the song on the radio and even though you just met he's already thinking about how he could get used to this
he walks you back to your room and as much as he wants to make another move (and you do too) he doesn't want to mess up your relationship before its even started
i mean, you're living in the same place?? what happens if you don't like it?? and you end up hating him?? now his suave demeanor has crumbled under the weight of realising this is actually real and not a game
"I'll.. uh... be down the hall if you need me."
"thanks, logan" you smile softly and he thinks its the first time anyone's done that in over a decade and meant it
when he starts walking down the hall, you call out in a whisper
"oh and logan!" you pause. "sweet dreams."
before he can say anything the door of your bedroom shuts
a stupid, silly grin coats his face so big that he rubs his hand across his cheeks in fear anyone would catch the big bad wolverine becoming a softie for the teacher he's got the hots for
although you've just met, you've got him wrapped around your finger and he can barely believe it
shoving his hands in his pocket, logan shakes his head and laughs on the way to his own bedroom
"fuck."
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aemondsbabe · 1 year ago
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Stick it Out to the End
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summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance
pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 12.7k
a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🩷 my masterlist
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
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Michael
Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing. 
Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day. 
The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129. 
Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this. 
Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs. 
He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end. 
Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid. 
He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him. 
“What the –”
Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –
Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed. 
His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness. 
Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises. 
“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”
Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy. 
Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael. 
“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”
Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation. 
“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”
The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”
“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.
The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”
Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively. 
“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”
“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.
“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.
“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”
A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line. 
“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?” 
“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head. 
After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.” 
The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.
Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet. 
“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”
The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”
“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”
Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.
“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”
“Look, I’m –” 
Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.
“Problem over here, lads?”
“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.” 
Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.
“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room. 
Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.
“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.
As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command. 
His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.
“Oi!”
“W-What?” 
“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.
He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”
The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.
“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”
“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.
“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!” 
The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.
“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”
“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”
Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door. 
Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind. 
Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?
This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots. 
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You
A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term. 
“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night. 
You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet. 
The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached. 
You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from. 
Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles. 
Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.
“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint. 
She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”
Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants. 
“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear. 
“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”
You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub. 
Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you. 
Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis. 
“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.
“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.
Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else. 
“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”
His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.
“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”
“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.
“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”
“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin. 
“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. 
You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”
“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”
Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”
“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”
“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”
He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”
You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling. 
“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator. 
“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.” 
Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”
“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.
You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub. 
“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.
“W-What?”
“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”
He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”
“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy. 
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True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms. 
The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile. 
“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.  
Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly. 
“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud. 
“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk. 
“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink. 
His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad. 
“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes. 
“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away. 
You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously. 
“A normal amount?” 
“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”
“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”
You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”
His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip. 
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”
Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.
“I –” 
“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat. 
“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.
“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”
He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”
His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” 
“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”
“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.
“How do –”
“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.
“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”
“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.
“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”
“N-No, I really don’t think –”
“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.
Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.
“Oh, really?”
“I… I have to fuck you –”
“Mhm?”
“And prove I did somehow.”
“How interesting!”
He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.
“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”
A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist. 
He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”
Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”
He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”
“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”
“Well, I –”
“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”
“I… I suppose.”
“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”
“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more. 
You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”
He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don��t really know what I’m doing.”
You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”
He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”
You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?” 
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him. 
“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.
You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced. 
You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.
Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch. 
“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher. 
“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties. 
“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair. 
You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.
He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand. 
Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily. 
You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length. 
He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”
“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.” 
“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear. 
“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.
He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper. 
You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”
He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs. 
“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly. 
“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise. 
“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees. 
Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck. 
“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast. 
“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.” 
His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head. 
“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.
Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more. 
You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?” 
He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?” 
He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny. 
“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out. 
Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head. 
“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit. 
“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions. 
Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!” 
Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit. 
“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips. 
Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop. 
“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin. 
“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving. 
He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue. 
“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin. 
“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him. 
“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down. 
You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.
You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit. 
He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock. 
Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest. 
Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. 
You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you. 
“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters. 
“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.” 
He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips. 
You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy. 
Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”
“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle. 
“W-What?” 
“You have a phone, yeah?” 
“…Yeah?”
“One that can, like, take video?” 
“Yes?” 
“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers. 
“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly. 
“Film me.” 
“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased. 
“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?” 
“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“
“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?” 
He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.” 
“Yeah? You wanna?” 
“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.” 
Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips. 
He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again. 
“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans. 
“You don’t want to anymore?” 
“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.” 
“‘N what would that be?” 
“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest. 
He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest. 
Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.” 
He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home. 
“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.” 
“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.” 
He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly. 
As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you. 
You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster. 
“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.
“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot. 
“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones. 
The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him. 
The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours. 
That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer. 
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The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath. 
Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk. 
“Something funny?” 
“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest. 
“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss. 
“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk. 
He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush. 
Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs. 
“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile. 
Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?” 
“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…” 
You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?” 
“W-Well, yeah, but —“
“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.” 
“What does that mean?” 
“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.” 
His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. 
He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?” 
He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment. 
“You’re sure?” 
“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.” 
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Michael
Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly. 
He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him. 
“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time. 
11:47 AM. 
He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor. 
“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look. 
“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!” 
“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame. 
Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly. 
He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more. 
He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.” 
Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!” 
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It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud. 
Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort. 
The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime. 
Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.
Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael. 
He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath. 
“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.” 
The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up. 
“So, initiates, what’ve you got?” 
The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.” 
The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for. 
“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.” 
The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall. 
“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?” 
Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.” 
The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him. 
“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”
“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown. 
“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”
“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”
“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”
Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video. 
The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again. 
The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open. 
The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system. 
Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.
After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard. 
“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”
He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.
“Welcome to Bullingdon.”
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Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned. 
He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers. 
Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings. 
Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.
“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.
“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.
“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”
Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”
“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”
“Can you blame me?”
“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”
“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 
“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up. 
Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. 
Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory. 
He has the real thing now.
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taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
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soo0hee · 2 months ago
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Home At Last
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Pairing — Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader x Choi Seungcheol
Summary — Jeonghan couldn't wait coming home to his loved ones. Especially when this was what was waiting for him...
Genre — smut, established relationship, idol!au
Warnings — penetrative sex, unprotected sex (be safe babes), fingering, heavy makeout session, tell me if i missed sumn
Word Count — 1.1k
Rating — nsfw
Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!
A/N — This was very heavily inspired by one of the daily thot discussions i had with @svtiddiess , you're welcome babe and no, i still can't write smut ;D
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Shivering, your eyes fell shut. The gentle touch of Jeonghans fingers trailing down the skin of your back, slow and barely there, down your spine as you stood in the middle of your bed room.
The giant window gave you an amazing view of the city of Seoul. A view you weren’t able to concentrate on at the moment.
Dressed only in the dress shirt of one of your boyfriends and a black pair of lace underwear you had their focus solely on you.
“God you drive me insane my love…” Jeonghan whispered against the shell of your ear, making you swallow down the breathy moan that had threatened to escape. “Such a good girl for us, our lovely baby…”
“Hannie…” you whined, not able to form coherent words when his lips met the sensitive skin of your neck. Dark marks were covering your throat, blooming in a beautiful combination of blue and purple Seungcheol had left just a few hours before.
The rapper was watching his lovers with dark eyes from the bed, perched up against the headboard and a hard on standing tall in his boxers.
“Always so good for us.” He almost growled and you swore you could feel your knees shaking at his raspy tone.
“Did you miss me, baby? Missed how my fingers felt while I was away?” Jeonghan pressed another kiss to your throat, arms wrapping around your form from behind.
You nodded quickly.
Yes, you had.
Not having Jeonghan for the last few weeks had taken a toll on you. Of course you had Seungcheol but both you and the leader knew that your little trio was only really complete when it was the 3 of you.
And now that he had finished his base training, he was finally home again.
Seungcheol hadn’t told you about Jeonghan coming home, wanting to surprise you and god did he not regret it. The happy spark that brightened your eyes when Jeonghan walked in were well worth it.
“Good, because I missed you too.”
He stirred you towards the bed.
Seungcheol thoroughly enjoyed the sight. His shirt hanging off of your shoulders and his boyfriend kissing every inch he could reach while leading you to him had his dick twitching.
He reached for your hand, waiting for you to take it.
“Hello pretty girl.” He hummed watching you crawl on the bed and to him. He groaned when you settled on his lap, pantie clad pussy settling right on his dick. The thin fabric of your and his underwear the only thing separating you.
Jeonghan shrugged of the black silk robe he had been wearing, revealing his naked body underneath before joining you and his leader and lover. The shirt you were wearing fell to the floor beside the bed.
You moaned, the friction of you grinding against Seungcheol sent heat up your spine and caused another loud tortured groan from them man underneath you.
“Do you hear that, my love? Hear how good you’re making Cheol feel?” Jeonghan mumbled against your skin, never quite stopping his kisses while cupping your breast from behind, thumb flicking against your nipples.
You keened into the kiss you shared with Seungcheol.
“Please fuck me?” you gasped out, soaking wet.
Both men chuckled and let their eyes meet over your shoulder.
“Do you hear that Hannie? Our baby want us to fuck her… think we can do that?”
Jumping out of your skin when Jeonghan cupped your damp pussy with his hand, fingers rubbing your clit through your panties. “Can’t wait to be inside of our good girl again. Missed fucking her so much.”
The way they talked to each other like you weren’t even there left you breathless. Like you were nothing but a dumb toy for them to use as they pleased.
Soon you were all three stark naked, Seungcheols dick fucking into you with vigor. His big hands on your waist, helping you bounce on him with Jeonghan enjoying the show, hand jerking himself and raveling in the noises that left your mouth at having your boyfriend hit that special spot inside you dead on with every thrust of his hips.
Your high pitched, breaths paired with Seungcheouls low grunts was music to his ears.
Jeonghan felt himself grow impatient.
He had been away for weeks, depriving himself of the sweet noises you made when they had you falling apart in between you. Depriving himself of the faces of pure pleasure you made when him and his boyfriend had you at their mercy. Depriving himself of the warmth he felt when he was with the 2 people he love most…
“Think you can handle us both baby?”
You whined when the leader stopped thrusting, eyes snapping over to Jeonghan who was watching you like you were his pray.
“Of course she can, right sweet girl?” Seungcheol said and lifted you of his member to turn you around before sinking back into you.
He knew that Jeonghan wanted to see your face when he fucked you and he was unwilling to deprive the other of this pleasure.
Jeonghan finally claimed your mouth with his. His kiss oh so different compared with your other boyfriend but just as hot. Where Seungcheol was wild and rough, Jeonghan was sinful and sensual, a mix that balanced each other so well that you felt like you could cum just thinking about it.
“Ready?” he asked and lined his dick alongside his partners before slowly pushing in. Your head fell back at the sensation of being split open on 2 cocks simultaneously.
You felt Seungcheols hand on your thoat and clenched around them both, causing them to moan loudly at the sensation, making Jeonghan lose his cool and thrust in. The wetness between your legs making it a smooth glide and you almost came on the spot.
“Ah-hh, mommy pl-lease!” you pleaded for them to ruin you.
Neither of the men could hold themselfes back anymore. They started ghrusting with a sense of desperation they hadn’t felt in a while and you reached for something to hold onto while being at their complete mercy for the moment.
They could feel you tightening around them, thrusts growing erratic as all 3 of you hurtled towards your releases.
“Cum for Mommy and Daddy.”
Hearing Seungcheol rasp into your ear was like opening the flood gates. You came hard, followed right by them spilling their seed deep into your pussy while riding out the high.
Drops of sweat had started collecting on your forehead, yet neither of them hesitated to place calming kisses to the skin there as they showered you with praise.
“Did so well, for us. Such a good girl, taking both of us like a champ.”
“You’re finally home…”
Both smiled down at you and Jeonghan sighed in relief. The stress of the last weeks falling of his shoulders.
“Yes, I am.”
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maxlarens · 7 months ago
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Hi ! As a pescatarian girly and as someone who has recently started to like Lando, I kept thinking about him with pescatarian!reader, because you know opposites attracts and also it made me think of the olive theory from 'How I met your mother', can be fic or smau
(also I'm the anon who requested the Charles fic and I was wondering if you gave names or emojis to your anons 🤔)
ahhh hi😇😇 thank u sm for sending another ask in. verrryy into this! ive never watched himym but i HAVE heard of the olive theory and genuinely think it can be so true. i also think like sharing food/giving certain parts of ur meal to ur partner is so sweet so i loved this a lot🥺🥺
also, tbh i have never had a consistent enough anon to name them/give them an emoji so i would loveee LOVE to do that🙏🏻 pls let me know what i should call u❤️ (and if anyone wants to be a regular/semi-regular anon and give themselves an emoji/name pls do!!!) ANYWAY alright i hope u enjoy— it’s a just a short ficlet 😌💖
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LN: quid pro quo
pairing(s): lando norris x reader [read on ao3]
word count: 1.2k
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“Eugh,” Lando says, feigning a gag as he looks at the plate of food set in front of you, “That’s disgusting. I don’t understand how you can put that in your mouth.”
Slowly, you raise an eyebrow at him, looking between your plate and Lando’s screwed-up expression; you point at your food, “Salmon? You think salmon is disgusting? Are you joking right now?”
He shakes his head fervently, a grimace still stuck on his face, “It’s gross.”
A laugh, loud and guffawing erupts from your mouth as you realise he’s being entirely serious. He’s fixated on your meal, frowning as if the fish has severely insulted him in some way. Quickly, you clap your hand over your mouth, concerned you’ll offend him if you keep laughing like that. This is one of a handful of dates you’ve been on together— clearly the first you’ve ordered seafood on— and you’re still trying to make a good impression on Lando.
“Wait,” you collect yourself, breathing deeply so you don’t fall into a fit of giggles again, “You’re not allergic are you?”
“No,” he shrugs, “I just hate fish. You’ve never heard that?”
You snort a little indelicately, already going back to eating your salmon, “‘You’ve never heard that?’,” you tease, “Do you think I stalk you on the internet, Norris?”
He grins that small sheepish grin you like so much as a light blush blooms on his cheeks. You’re very fond of him really. He’s cute in a scrappy kind of way; he’s funny and charming, a little bit dumb sometimes; and he’s into you, which is always a bonus. You’re not together— not quite— just seeing each other when you both have time, but it’s been going very nicely if you do say so yourself.
You like him.
He likes you.
Lando rolls his eyes, and purses his lips in an attempt not to let you see the smile that he’s trying to hide, “Don’t you? Stalk me on the internet?”
“Never,” you answer resolutely, thinking blatantly of that night after you’d first met him when you fell down a rabbit hole, spending a good hour watching thirst traps of him on Instagram before coming to your senses, “Not once.”
He hums, unconvinced, “Alright.”
Alright. You make a face, almost stick your tongue out at him but think better of it at the last second. He laughs— giggles— at you. You look away from him, down at your plate, trying to hide the smile that spreads and spreads behind your hair. God, you like him. You’re trying not to let it get away from you. You get the impression that he’s not huge on relationships, and you’re trying hard to be casual about him. It’s difficult— mostly because everything feels so easy when you’re together.
“So,” you start as you push a forkful of salmon and leafy greens around your plate, “Hate to break it to you, but I’m a pescetarian.”
“Um,” Lando asks around a mouthful of half-chewed food, “What’s that mean?”
You stifle a laugh, “Like a vegetarian, but I eat seafood.”
He swallows and makes another face, similar to the earlier one. You can see this is hard for him to process, he clearly dislikes seafood to a degree that you hadn’t quite understood until now. It’s funny. It’s another thing to add to the growing list of reasons you fancy Lando Norris. Though you would think that as a pescetarian you’d want him to like fish, but you suppose by not eating them he’s just saving all the sea animals that you’re not— quid pro quo.
“What about, like,” he waves his fork around, evidently still wondering why you’d eat seafood voluntarily, “just being a vegetarian?”
You shrug, “Vegetables are boring.”
“Right. Better than eating fish though.”
“I like fish.”
He shakes his head, “I don’t get it… It’s— they’re slimy and they smell and they’ve got fucking beady little eyes. It’s not natural.”
“Okay,” you laugh brightly at his despondent expression, “I do need to eat them, unfortunately. Otherwise, I’d probably die of malnutrition, or I dunno, scurvy.”
He groans, hanging his head so that all you can see of his face is that mop of brown curls. You think of your second date when you’d kissed him for the first time in your stairwell and how you’d threaded a hand into it— and they were soft and not heavy with product the way that you hate. The way he’d smelt like expensive cologne and tasted both smokey and sugary at the same time, just like the whiskey and cokes he’d been having at the bar. There’s a soft smile playing at your lips when he finally looks up.
“Does it bother you?” you ask, “That I eat fish.”
He shrugs, shakes his head in a non-committal way that could be either answer and does that little grin again. The one that means he’s going to say something that you’ll find either unbearably cute or embarrassingly funny.
“Yes,” he says, grin not subsiding, “How am I supposed to kiss you when you’ve got fish breath.”
Your eyebrows shoot up and a shocked laugh bubbles from your mouth, you try to ignore the stirring feeling in your gut at the words how am I supposed to kiss you in favour of responding to his lack of tact Try, being the keyword there. It somersaults in your head, how am I supposed to kiss you he said, like he was thinking of doing it again. Which, okay, of course, he’s thinking of doing it again. You understand what this is— but there was an unmistakable fondness there that you just can't shake.
Anyway, you push thoughts of kissing him aside, he’d still accused you of having fish breath, “Wow,” you say dryly, with no malice at all as much as you try to feign it, “You say that to all the girls?”
He blushes, his tan cheeks turning a very pleasant red as he properly realises what he’d said, “Shit. No— oh my god— I’m sorry. I just meant—”
You wave him off, laughing, “I know what you meant. You’re good, Lando.”
“Phew,” he lets out a breath of relief, his nervous laughter punctuating the air between you, without meaning to he says, “God, I thought I’d just fucked it.”
You furrow your brows and frown, confused, “No. You couldn’t.”
You watch him scrub a hand over his face, embarrassed, before it falls away and he gives you a sheepish little grin that says he’s happy to hear that. Toothy, eyes squinted and carving dimples into his cheeks. Your face feels warm and you smile back, biting your bottom lip on the smile so it doesn’t grow and grow to cover your whole face.
Later, after you’ve finished lunch and spent too much time talking over a too-sticky table in your favourite pub, Lando kisses you up against a tree in the park by your apartment. You put your hand in his soft curls and you smell cologne and taste what he’s been drinking as he presses his tongue into yours. The coarse hair of his moustache brushes against your lips and you kiss back with equal gusto. You pull away when it feels like you two are veering into too inappropriate territory for this public park. He chases you, but you laugh softly, pressing a perfunctory closed-mouth kiss to the corner of his mouth. He groans, laughs, and puts his forehead against yours.
You hum, “I guess my fish breath doesn’t bother you so much, huh.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, “You’re never going to let that go are you.”
You shake your head ever so slightly, “Not as long as I live, Norris.”
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1K notes · View notes
mmeskywalker · 10 months ago
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|| new years and blooming hearts
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summary: you’re in pansy’s dorm getting ready to go to the slytherin new year’s eve party. only, you’re a hufflepuff… you arrive to the party and the tension between you and THEODORE NOTT is palpable; so palpable in fact that matteo and enzo decide to help a brother out (by making theodore so insanely jealous that he arrived to his breaking point.) through breathless laughter, cold stares and tough crowds, you find yourself by theo, oddly enough during the countdown til midnight.
word count: 6.6k+
a/n: this is lowercase intended. i just wanted to write about theodore nott/lorenzo zurzolo because he has me in a chokehold. also, i read a fic with a similar concept to this but i can’t find it. if anyone knows which fic i’m referring to, please tag the creator in the comments.
- please imagine theodore with an italian accent, thanks!!! 😓
warnings: italian!theo. jealous!theo. angsty. friends to lovers. slowburn. oblivious reader and theo (they’re both clearly in love). love confession. tension. heavy kissing. pansy x blaise.
6:00P.M.
“okay… so what i’m hearing is that you hate me and want me to die.” you flinched at the dress pansy held to your body, your nose twitching as you dramatically gagged.
it was yellow with black stripes, reminding you of the bee movie you had previously watched with her and your friends in the slytherin common room.
pansy was cackling beside you; her hair hanging low in her face as loud snorts tumbled from her nose. “no—no you have to hear me out,” she cackled. “it’s perfect! it’ll match your house and everything, baby.”
“you know what else is perfect?” your lips twitched into a malice smile.
“what?” she was still laughing, hardly able to contain herself as she ran her fingers through her hair.
grabbing your wand, you pointed it toward the dress. “evanesco!” you quickly shouted, a smirk now adorning your lips as the fabric disappeared from her grasp.
“you’re no fun,” she pouted, her laughter ceasing before giggles bubbled right back up again. “i’ll tell you what, i think i do have a dress for you to wear. trust me?” she asked, still giggling as she cocked her head to the side.
“i don’t know…” you teased, “are you going to pull out another bumblebee catastrophe?”
“no, i promise.” she interlocked her pinky with yours, the laughter finally dying down.
after a moment, you sat on her bed, your head leaning against the headboard as you waited for her to find what she was looking for in the mess she called ‘closet’.
your fingers danced around your wand, attempting to spin it around your unskilled grasp—only for it to end up dropping to your side. you blew out a stream of tense air. “have you found it yet?” you impatiently wailed.
“hold on,” she replied, annoyed.
after holding on for what felt like half an hour — two minutes max — she found the dress she was looking for
and it was beautiful.
it was a black dress with spaghetti straps that would clearly hug your body; long, plain, but gorgeous; just what you wanted.
“pans, it’s perfect.” you said, excitement rushing through your veins before it pained back down. well shit, you thought as your heart practically pounded in your chest.
tonight was the slytherin house party hosted to celebrate the new year. you’re a hufflepuff, a hufflepuff that managed to befriend the group of slytherin that everyone wanted but couldn’t become friends with. you knew most of the slytherin house disliked you, but your friends were feared, nobody dared to say too much about you to your face.
how sweet of them, you thought.
“yeah, it’s nothing special, but paired with a few gold accessories and your pretty face it’s going to look great!” pansy set the dress on the blanket beside you, her hands smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles before meeting your gaze. “woah— hey what’s wrong?” she asked.
“uh,” you stuttered, looking toward the dress once, twice, before making eye contact with her again. “nothing’s— wrong?” you said, clearly trying to convince yourself of that matter rather than her.
you weren’t too emotional, always being able to hold a strong ground, but you had your days; like most hufflepuff. you guessed that today was one of those days.
great.
“baby, what’s wrong?” pansy asked again, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “you know i’d never seriously make fun of you, right? you can talk to me,” she laughed softly, looking at you with an understanding gaze.
“it’s stupid.” you muttered, a smile creeping on your face despite the heavy turmoil in your chest. “i don’t even know if i should be going to this party… i don’t belong there.”
pansys brows furrowed. “whose making you feel like you don’t belong there?” she was upset, that of which you could tell.
“uh, everyone?” you responded as if it were as plain as day. “well, not you and our friends of course… but everyone else. they so-obviously don’t want me at their party, and i understand that; i mean, i’m a hufflepuff.”
pansy rolled her eyes. “screw them,” she said. “i want you there. matteo wants you there, enzo, draco, and blaise, all want you there.” her eyes glistened in the dim candlelighting, squinting as she drawled out her last sentence with an undeniable tease, “theo wants you there.”
pansy has known about your little crush on theo for years. it started in third year, when he began calling you that nickname you’ve just recently learned the meaning to: soffio.
it meant puff; a simple word that referred to your house, but it made your heart flutter.
he gave you that nickname
and it meant the world to you.
however, your delusions were just delusions. he didn’t know how much that name meant to you because he made it out of ridicule; a teasing ridicule, but ridicule at that.
“whatever,” you rolled you eyes, your thumb brushing away the singular tear rolling down your flushed cheek.
pansy smiled, getting out of bed, grabbing your hands to pull you off of the mattress as well. “you’re coming tonight,” she sing-songed. “and you don’t have a choice.”
7:30P.M.
"are you ready yet?!" pansy yelled against the bathroom door, pounding on it as you stared at yourself in the mirror.
your eyes shifted down the length of your body.
the dress looked just as good on as you imagined it would in your head, and if you were being honest, you're more-so holding her up to stare at yourself a little longer.
cocky, but whatever because you felt and looked amazing.
“one second!” you shouted, fluffing your hair up softly to make it look as if you ‘rolled out of bed’ in a perfect, flawless type way.
you could hear the sarcasm dripping from her tone as she counted, “one,” but you had already opened the door.
she looked stunning as well, wearing a long-sleeved, dark green dress with three gold rings forming a line down her slightly exposed chest.
“pansy, baby, you look so freaking pretty!” you squealed, your hands intertwined with hers mid-air as you both grinned at each other like overly-excited school girls. “me? oh my gosh, what about you?!” she said, her hands moving to your shoulders and rocking you gently as her eyes glistened. “you look so, so gorgeous, y/n!!!”
“i think theo’s going to have a mannerism,” she teased and you rolled your eyes.
“whatever,” you giggled.
. . . . . ╰──╮꒰ 🤍 ꒱ ╭──╯ . . . . .
8:00P.M.
two hundred slytherin and one hufflepuff,
two hundred slytherin and one hufflepuff,
two hundred slytherin and one hufflepuff,
but you’re only focused on six of them.
the six you felt safest around:
pansy parkinson (duh),
matteo riddle,
lorenzo berkshire,
(somehow) draco malfoy,
blaise zabini,
and theodore nott.
obviously, you didn’t walk in unnoticed.
matteo immediately sat up from the couch, making his way over to you as he watched you walk in with pansy. “funny seeing you here,” he teased, “how’s my favorite hufflepuff doing?” his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in closer to kiss the top of your head.
“yeah, yeah,” you rolled your eyes, laughing as you pushed him away. “and i’m okay, a little nervous, but i’m all good. y’know?”
“nervous?” matteo asked, cocking a brow.
you shot him a look and he quickly understood. “ah, no need to worry about them.” he promised, “they’ll be dealt with if they do anything.”
your forehead wrinkled slightly as you shot him a weary smile. “thanks.” you replied coolly, noticeably unsure of his intentions.
from across the room, theo’s eyes lit up, his frown transforming into a soft, bright smile as he made his way through the thick crowd to get to you. “soffio, you’re here.” his lips brushed against your hair, his arms wrapped around your head, pulling your cheek flat against his chest.
his italian accent was thick and heavy, harder to understand as his voice muffled into the depths of your hair, but you still felt a blush crawl over your flesh.
“theo—“ you muttered, your voice just as muffled as he pulled you even closer, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other threaded through your hair, “i thought you weren’t going to show up, bella, i was worried,” he then whispered.
matteo shot him a look.
“theo you’re crushing me!” you giggled, your hands crawling up his chest to create a little distance between the two of you.
his large hand gently caressed your cheek; four fingers stroking your jaw as his thumb lingered in its original place, now smiling as he pulled away. “mi dispiace,” he whispered before turning his attention to the friend making his way over.
"i'm surprised you showed up," blaise drawled, leaning against the wall with an amused smirk. "thought you'd run the other way once you heard who all was coming." despite his words, there was warmth in his gaze as it met yours, a spark of admiration glinting in their depths.
“oh, shut up,” pansy hit his side, rolling her eyes. “if you scare her away i’ll beat your ass,” she then whispered, eyes squinting as she playfully bit down on her words.
“relax, ma.” he chuckled, his hands falling to her hips, squeezing them gently as he leaned down to kiss her, “let’s go get a drink, yeah?”
“and that’s my cue to leave,” pansy playfully hit your thigh, shooting a quick glance to theo as if she knew something you didn’t, “don’t do too much without me.”
you shivered as you watched her walk away, your mind racing at what she could have meant; knowing her, it could be anything.
draco entered the room then, scanning the gathering with a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. he hesitated when he spotted you surrounded by the others, finally shrugging as if it wouldn't bother him either way before striding over. "y/l/n," he greeted coolly, shooting a smug look at matteo and theodore. "happy almost new year."
you wrinkled your nose at draco, a playful challenge lighting up in your eyes. "happy almost new year to you too, malfoy."
lorenzo approached last, his gaze taking in the group with a slow appraisal before he settled on you. there was something unreadable lurking behind his dark eyes, a mixture of surprise and a slight hint of desire. "quite the turnout," he murmured.
weird, you thought.
"aye, quite the turnout," matteo replied, chuckling softly as he placed a hand on lorenzo's shoulder. there was a brief moment of tension between them as they glanced toward you and theo, a silent understanding passing between the two of them before both men simply let it slide.
what seemed to you as theo ignoring their odd behavior, he turned to face everyone, clapping his hands together. "ah," he grinned, his voice full of mirth. "glad you decide to join us, lorenzo." theo patted his side.
lorenzo grinned, patting theo’s side in return, “wouldn’t wanna be here with anyone else.” he replied before looking toward the brunette woman he felt eyeing him down. “except maybe her,” he then smirked.
you heard matteo sigh, muttering a series of curse words as draco snickered beside him.
“whore,” draco spoke as if his commentary were a compliment, but lorenzo was too busy undressing the girl with his eyes to notice.
“well go up to her,” you groaned, rolling your eyes teasingly as you pushed him away from the circle. “don’t be a puss; drinking her up from afar is an unattractive trait, berkshire.”
he stumbled, his palms brushing down his white suit before glancing over at matteo. then, he turned around to wink at you playfully. “oh, you’re in for it later,” he chuckled. “wish me luck, love.”
‘good luck,’ you mouthed as he began to walk toward the girl, the tension in the room shifting.
theo scowled at lorenzo, three fingers rubbing against his thumb as matteo teasingly brushed the italian’s side. “chill,” he whispered, a shady smile playing on his lips.
“do not tell me to chill,” theo’s voice rose. “i am chill, no need to tell me to chill if i am already.”
your brows furrowed slightly, confused as to why theo snapped so suddenly. “everything okay?” you asked, your thumb rubbing soothing circles against his bicep before he blew out a sigh.
“yes, soffio,” he shakily assured, finding the hand you placed on his bicep, sliding it into his palm, and kissing your knuckles gently. “i’m— i’m okay.”
matteo grinned brightly as an idea struck his mind. “alcohol, anyone?”
8:30P.M.
you were trying not to spill your drink as you made your way back through the crowd. yeah, you were wearing a black dress, so you guessed that a stain wouldn’t really matter… but you still hated the feeling of wet fabric against your skin.
“ow,” you muttered as you bumped into matteo’s chest. don’t worry, you did not spill your beverage.
you were about to apologize until you noticed lorenzo standing beside him, now turning to stand behind you. your brows furrowed to the bridge of your nose. staring at them intensely, you asked, “uh, what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“we’re going to help you out, girlfriend,” matteo smirked, his eyes a dangerous game, his tone slithering directly into one ear then finding its way out the next.
“like i said,” you scowled. “uh, what?”
“do you want a new years kiss or not?” lorenzo asked, his palm finding your waist to keep you steady as you tried to walk away.
you slapped his hand. “not from you, berkshire.” you spat.
“obviously not from me, idiot.” he rolled his eyes. “from theodore.”
your eyes lit.
matteo cocked his brow, “there might be one before new years though if he doesn’t crack.”
this time, you did spill your drink—a little of the liquid dripping from the rim of your cup as your hand jerked forward. “what are you talking about, matty?” your voice dripped with disgust as you then slapped lorenzo’s hand away from your waist, “and let go of me.”
“do you like theodore or not?” matteo asked, clearly annoyed.
“none of the bullshit either, sweetheart.” lorenzo dragged. “everyone can tell you’re crazy about the guy, there’s no point in hiding it anymore.”
“you know what they say…new year, new confessions.” matteo cocked a brow, waiting for you to come clean.
you huffed, the need to correct him strong as you rolled your eyes. “they don’t say that,” you said, but you were now looking toward the ground… “okayyesiliketheo,” you muttered.
“what was that?” lorenzo asked, a teasing smile apparent on his lips. “one more time for me, love?”
“yes; merlin, yes, okay! i like theo,” you bit in a faint yet deadly whisper. “what do you want from me? a cookie?”
matteo smirked, looking around before taking a step closer to you, “atta girl.” he said, “enzo and i’ve been thinking,” - “not a good sign.” - “girl, shut up. we were thinking and we know a way to get theo to confess his feelings.”
before you could ask how, you felt lorenzo’s proximity come closer as well. “he’s protective over you, that we all know.”
you couldn’t necessarily see enzo roll his eyes, but you could hear the eye roll in his tone.
“we’re going to make him jealous.” matteo added.
lorenzo nodded, “precisely.”
he stumbled, his palms brushing down his white suit before glancing over at matteo. then, he turned around to wink at you playfully. "oh, you're in for it later," he chuckled. "wish me luck, love."
'good luck, you mouthed.
“see, you were playing along before you even realized.” matteo nudged your shoulder playfully and you finally laughed, easing up a bit.
“you really think this is going to work?” you asked, a little unsure of the whole situation.
to that, lorenzo scoffed. “i know it’s going to work.” he stated. “darling, theo is head over heels for you; you’re all he talks about. let’s just consider this to be theo’s wake up call.”
9:00P.M.
you’re now wineless.
you downed three cup-fulls of the substance to take your mind off the fact you’re sitting on lorenzo berkshire’s lap at a party; a guy you’ve always thought of as a brother.
“i’m sorry.” he whispered against the side of your head, “i know how uncomfortable this may be for you.”
“not uncomfortable,” you responded, your head now resting against his shoulder, and that was the truth. you weren’t uncomfortable, “this is just different.”
he nodded, his gaze lingering on theo’s hand as he watched his knuckles turn white around a glass. “somebodies getting angry,” enzo chuckled. theo never contemplated anything when it came to you, must be the italian in him well, except maybe when it came to confessing his feelings. you watched as he began to walk toward the two of you. “prepare yourself, love.” enzo then warned.
“lorenzo,” theodore smiled, a forced smile, one that laid heavy on his chest. “how about you come on a walk with me, yeah? i want to speak with you privately.”
his eyes found yours—they were heavy and disappointed. your heart sank further, but you only held onto lorenzo a little tighter.
“woah, heyyy, what’s going on here?” matteo quickly intervened, gently patting theo on the back as he looked at you and lorenzo. “i didn’t know you two were a thing!” matteo sounded astonished, his mouth dropping as he chuckled. “theo, buddy, isn’t this wonderful news?”
the scowl on theodore’s face was apparent as he muttered, “considerati fortunata, puttana,” (consider yourself lucky, whore.) under his breath, but he quickly nodded. “yeah, such great and—wonderful news, mio amico.”
“you think?” lorenzo smirked, giving your waist a gentle squeeze before kissing your neck, cheekily staring at theodore as your hand entangled into his brunette hair.
theodore’s eyes darkened as he sipped his alcohol, an angry noise bubbling from his throat. “yep.” he bit, “it’s fucking wonderful.”
“now that’s good sportsmanship.” matteo rubbed theo’s back before continuing. “hey! i have an idea. why don’t we go dancing? how does that sound, lovebirds!”
you slid off lorenzo’s lap and he was quick to follow suite, his arm sliding around your hipbone, pressing your back against his chest. he had to be strongly willed because the way theodore’s gaze burned through his skull wasn’t easy to ignore.
at least you couldn’t ignore it.
it made you sick to your stomach.
theo set his glass on the table. “you do that—i’m going for a smoke.”
9:30P.M.
theo didn’t go outside to smoke.
instead, he was leaned against a wall, a cigarette planted between his parted lips as his eyes stuck to yours like glue; watching you dance against lorenzo rather than him.
you decided not to make eye contact with theodore because if you did you’d end up stopping the plan right then and there.
“enzo,” you muttered, your gaze struggling to stay on the ground as his chin rested on your head, swaying to the music with his hands on your waist. “hmm?” he hummed.
“could you, um,” you stuttered, your eyes fluttering to theodore’s and immediately regretting it. “turn me around.”
he nodded, his gaze now facing theodore’s pained one as you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck to comfort yourself. in return, he gave you a squeeze. “i know how hard this is for you, love,” he whispered, “but trust me, it’s going to be worth it.”
“are you sure?” you asked, your mind beginning to race. “because he hasn’t done anything other than stare. i mean, who stares at the person they supposedly have a crush on as they dance with your best friend?…oh my merlin,” you muttered, reality hitting you. “i’m dancing with his best friend.”
you tried to back away but lorenzo’s grip tightened around you, “y/n.”
“i’m going to hell,” you continued. “this is it for me. i’m literally the worst person alive. hell. that’s my future. h. e. double hockey stic—“
enzo squeezed your hips, signaling that he’s about to kiss you. “now?!” you shouted in an angry whisper. lorenzo nodded, his eyes darting toward theodore’s again, watching as he began to make his way over.
“now.” he confirmed and your stomach backflipped.
a hand came to your cheek, lorenzo’s thumb covering your mouth as he kissed that rather than you; to the unassuming eye, the kiss was passionate, stomach hurling curling.
any girl would die to kiss lorenzo berkshire; slytherin’s number one heart throb.
just not you.
but boy did you put on a show.
theodore stopped in his tracks, his hand reaching forward as a communication indicator but falling back to his side in defeat. he turned back around.
good thing you didn’t see that because you would’ve chased after him, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him passionately; not his fucking best friend.
10:30P.M.
you were comfortable dancing with lorenzo when theodore’s eyes weren’t burning through the two of you; laughing as his hands ghosted over your hips, dancing to the music as friends rather than ‘lovers’.
you almost forgot about the whole plan.
“thought that she… was with theo.” a slytherin you didn’t recognize commented.
“must be a pass around.” another smirked, and your heart sank even further.
you stepped away from lorenzo, emotions stirring as you made eye contact with the group talking about you.
their commentary came to an end as you watched matteo approach them in your peripheral vision. you didn’t hear much bickering after that, but regardless, your vision began to blur.
looking around, you noticed everyone staring at you, and you took another step back.
“hey— hey!” lorenzo was close to you again.
“what?” you bit. “this whole thing, this whole plan is stupid and i want to stop.”
“y/n.” he chuckled, looking around awkwardly, trying to place his arms around you waist but you smacked him hard in the chest, sending him slightly backward.
a small gasp tumbled from his parted lips.
you didn’t shout, but your voice graveled as you continued to walk into him. “i’m.” you hit him again. “not.” again. “doing.” again. “this.” and again. “anymore!”
but his arms stayed around you.
“i want to stop!” you were crying now, going limp against his chest as your throat burned. “please, please let me stop, enz… please.”
enzo drug a hand to your lower back, doing what he knew he needed to do. “don’t worry. i’ll go find pansy.” he whispered before kissing your temple.
10:45P.M.
“pans,” you cried, your mascara staining your cheeks as you burried yourself in her arms. “this was a mistake—i shouldn’t have agreed to their stupid plan.”
“hey,” she whispered, her fingers gently massaging your scalp. “we’ve all fallen for their antics before, don’t blame yourself too badly, honeybee.”
you shot her a look and she cocked her head, smiling empathetically, “not the time?”
“i’ll tell you what,” she whispered again, casting a small spell to rid the mascara from your cheeks before pulling your shoulders back to look you in the eye. “don’t leave. give it until midnight like planned, and if it goes wrong…” pansy took her phone out, a recording of both matteo and lorenzo stopping you earlier to explain the plan playing on screen.
she then smirked, “i’ll show him this.”
“when did you take that?” you asked, your fingers trailing down the length of the phone before looking at her skeptically; eyes still swollen.
her gaze shifted toward the ground, “let’s just say i was um… in on the whole thing…”
“don’t worry, though.” she says, brushing the final tear on your cheek away with the base of her thumb as she smiled. “they came to me so things wouldn’t get all fucked up… they care about you y/n, and they care about theodore, they don’t want to ruin this thing you have with him, okay?”
you nod, and she hugs you one last time before you have to go and find lorenzo.
11:00P.M.
“you seem tense, y/l/n,” draco found you before you found lorenzo.
his gaze drifted toward theodore, who was currently yelling at matteo—who was currently yelling at matteo. draco’s eye widened, astonished at the sight laid before him, “and i think i know why.”
“no, no, no, fuck!” you shouted, about to run toward them before the pair of hands you’d become so acquainted with today found your waist a-fucking-gain.
“do not.” enzo spat. “just be patient.”
draco raised his brows, clearly not even wanting to know as he silently left the scene.
“he’s going to kill him!” you shouted, struggling in his grasp, “let. me. GO.”
enzo rolled his eyes, “has anyone ever told you that you’re a stubborn little asshole?”
you paused for a moment. “hm, yes,” you nodded. now let me go.”
he held on tighter.
11:15P.M.
“no, no , no,” theodore’s fingers ran through his hair, “what is he doing to her, matteo? he shouldn’t be dancing with her like—like that! she’s a lady!”
theodore wasn’t yelling at matteo, his movements made it look as if he were upset, but he wasn’t. well… not at matteo at least.
matteo, being such a good friend, was letting theodore rant to him about how much he valued you and your friendship.
otherwise known as: matteo wanted to milk theo to his breaking point.
“dancing with her like what?” matteo asked, staring at you and lorenzo as he swayed and rocked his hips against yours. “seems to me like they’re having a little fun, if you know what i mean.” he winked playfully.
“jokester.” theodore drawled, pushing his shoulder. “i don’t like seeing her with him.”
matteo cocked his brow, “yeah and why’s that, buddy?” his head tilted to the side, “are you… jealous?”
theo looked astounded, immediately shaking his head in denial. “no, of course not.” he said, his cheeks turning a brighter shade of red as his anger grew palpable. “but she shouldn’t be here with that imbecille.”
“here we go again,” matteo rolled his eyes, groaning. “you never think anyone is right for her, dude. you have to give it a break.”
“a break,” theo threw his hand flat out in front of him, his forearm horizontal against his stomach. he drew it out, creating an invisible line. “she disserves someone that respects her, not a man like lorenzo.”
becoming harder to contain himself, matteo raised a brow at theo. "you mean deserves?” he grinned, continuing to drawl, “and who says he isn't the one for her?"
theo appeared as if he were on the verge of snapping. that caused matteo to chuckle, clasping his hands together as he grinned. “aw, what’s wrong, theo?” he playfully pouted, “you don’t like seeing them together? you poor, poor thing,” he puffed his lips. “guess you can’t do anything about it now.”
theo's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched as he glared at matteo. "this isn’t right," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "that boy is not good for her, and you know it."
matteo raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back from theo. "whoa, whoa, calm down, buddy," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "i’m just messing with you. I know you care about her, but you can't control who she chooses to be with."
theo's gaze never left matteo, but he slowly relaxed his posture, his anger simmering down. "don’t mess with me right now, matteo," he warned, his voice still tense. "this is y/n we’re talking about; that boy will corrupt her!”
matteo shrugged, a smirk still playing on his lips. "maybe she likes the bad boys," he teased, gesturing toward you and lorenzo. "maybe she's into a little danger and excitement."
theo scoffed, muttering a curse under his breath. matteo raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to his friend, his tone becoming serious.
“you love her, buddy.” he said softly, his words filled with gentle understanding, “i know you do; trust me, i’ve seen the way you’ve looked at her since first year. just talk to her.”
the moment stretched thinly between them, theo's face twisting with an agonizing mix of emotions. things became tense, and both men glanced over to where you and lorenzo danced in the distance.
“i need a drink,” theo muttered.
11:30P.M.
“this sucks,” you groaned, looking at lorenzo only to find that his gaze is back on the brunette girl from earlier. you watched him, rolling your eyes before taking that chance to slip away.
music blared throughout the common room, it was upbeat and happy, but your focus drifted toward the window as you sat on the ledge.
you could feel the weather seeping through the glass, a gentle coldness caressing your cheeks as you took a deep breath in.
you sighed heavily, rubbing your temples with your fingertips, trying to clear your thoughts as you stared out into the misty night. winter breezes blew through the open windows, accompanied by the distant sounds of laughter resounding from behind you, but for some reason, you couldn't enjoy yourself.
a part of you longed to rejoin the festivities, while another wished for escape entirely. lost in thought, time seemed to blur until suddenly, draco’s voice startled you from your own thoughts.
"i wasn't aware the fireplace emitted such an enticing scent." he commented dryly, leaning casually against the window frame beside you. "or did you just need another excuse to avoid lorenzo back there?"
you repeated, "an excuse," you blew out a string of air, turning to look at draco with a raised eyebrow. "or maybe i just needed a break from the chaos."
draco smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "chaos?" he echoed, leaning back against the window frame. "i thought you enjoyed these kinds of gatherings."
you shrugged, looking back out into the night. "sometimes," you admitted, "but not when i'm stuck in the middle of a bunch of drama."
draco's smirk faded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. "don’t be too hard on yourself, y/l/n," he said softly, his tone more serious now. "you're just trying to figure things out, like the rest of us."
you hesitated, biting your lip as you considered his words; words that you never thought you’d hear from him. "maybe," you murmured, glancing back at him. "but it's hard when everyone else seems to have it all figured out."
draco's gaze softened, and he reached out to gently take your hand in his. "we all have our moments, y/n," hemumbled. "don't fall through to others. just focus on what makes you happy."
his eyes flicked toward the party, a hint of sympathy in his gaze. "trust me, even the most confident among us struggle on occasion. and that includes myself." he added, smirk reappearing briefly.
you sighed, examining his hand holding yours, his grip firm yet comforting.
"it's hard to believe sometimes," your fingers curled around his, returning the pressure. "everything's getting complicated."
"maybe," draco mused, "and that's alright. life would be boring without consequences and complications." he smiled, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.
for the first time, you felt a pang of pity for him- not because he was malfoy, but because he was human.
draco’s eyes drew over yours, then they glanced toward theodore who was cocking his head in your direction. the boy seemed to follow you everywhere, not letting you get too far when anyone approached you.
“i better get out of here before your real boyfriend starts to think i want any trouble,” draco chuckled.
you looked up at him, "what?" he waved, his brows angled in an amused position as he grinned. "i'll see you later," he chuckled.
you hesitated, your gaze flickering between draco and theo, who was still watching you from afar. you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for this whole evening.
"yeah, see you later," you murmured, pulling your hand away from draco's and standing up.
draco nodded, his smirk never wavering. "don't let theo get too jealous now," he teased before turning and disappearing back into the party.
you watched draco walk away, a mix of amusement and confusion playing on your face. you couldn't help but feel a little flustered by his teasing, but you also couldn't deny that he had a point.
11:45P.M.
you looked up at the clock, contemplating on whether or not to just go back to your dorm. you were tired of pretending, and it wasn’t like enzo was coming back to you anytime soon. he had that girl pressed against the wall, his lips violently sucking the sweet spot under her jaw, her legs wrapped around his waist.
“fifteen minutes til new years,” an overhead announced, “head outside for the firework show, or don’t, whatever!”
their voice was cocky, but it caused you to finally crack a smile as you headed toward the door. you weren’t going to mope, but you also weren’t going to bother your friends who were clearly busy with their lovers or one-night stands.
the music was still loud outside, blaring messages from her by sabrina claudio through the speakers as you stood by a fountain.
sitting on the ledge, you watched the water, the stillness of it causing you to relax.
somewhere behind you, you heard footsteps crunching on gravel and snow. slowly, you turned to see theodore walking toward you hunched down into his coat.
his eyes met yours and a sympathetic look crossed his features. "i couldn't stay away," he whispered, further approaching until he was sitting on the ledge next to you.
though it pained you, you smiled at him, wanting to say a million things but you voice falling flat as he shifted around nervously.
“you must be freezing,” he then commented, pretending to just now notice your spaghetti strapped dress as he slid out of his jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders and carefully draping it over yours.
"thank you, theo." you murmured, wrapping the familiar fabric of his jacket around you, the scent of him clinging to it.
theo glanced away, his jaw tightening before he spoke again, seeming to collect his thoughts.
"happy new year, soffio," he said cautiously, focusing his attention back on the fountain.
you mirrored his gaze, feeling a tear pool in your eye. your throat burned as you swallowed. "happy new year," you whispered back, hesitating before tentatively reaching out to grasp his hand.
theo's features softened, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "is it true," he asked quietly, casting a quick glance your way, then looking back sharp to the water.
your breathing hitched, swallowing the lump in your throat. "is what true, theo," you whispered, fixing your gaze on his profile.
“you and lorenzo,” he replied, the sentence like poison on his tongue.
you held back a small breath, shaking your head vigorously. "no," you managed after a heavy exhale.
"then why did you leave me to be with him earlier?" theo questioned stiffly, his own whisper evaporating in the chilled air. you closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh.
his grip on your hand tightened, though you didn't pull away.
"it's not like that," you mumbled, struggling with your emotions. "it’s complicated..."
your voice trailed off, uncertainty clouding your judgement.
“so tell me, y/n!” theodore’s voice rose, now holding both of your hands, turning you to look him in the eye. “devi dirmelo. (you have to tell me) i can’t take it— i need you to tell me what’s going on between you and lorenzo. is- is he or is he not your lover?”
you watched his eyes plead with you, the desperation washing away some of your fear and anxiety. “it wasn’t real,” you stammered, your voice just as loud. “none of it; the kiss, the dancing, the whole relationship.”
you took a deep breath, steadying yourself for the conversation that was about to unfold. "okay?” you shakily muttered, meeting his gaze. "that whole thing was to get us together."
theo's eyes widened, his grip on your hands loosening slightly. "what?" he whispered, clearly taken aback by your confession.
you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "i know it sounds crazy, but i wanted to be with you, theo. they told me this would make you ask me out—” you cringed at your sentence, “if you don’t believe me pansy has the whole video."
your voice trembled, and you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "i'm sorry, i never meant to hurt you."
theo stared at you for a long moment, his expression a mix of shock, confusion, and hurt. "why would you do that, soffio?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “make me jealous so i’d get with you? bella…”
your eyes welled up with unshed tears, your voice catching as you spoke. "i was scared," you admitted. "scared that you wouldn't see me the same way, scared to ruin our friendship... scared that you wouldn't-"
a sob echoed from your chest, causing you to falter.
"sorry, i'm so sorry, " you breathed, burying your face into his shoulder.
as the realization washed over theodore's face, his embrace around you tightened. "va tutto bene," (it’s okay) he whispered, a catch in his voice as he stroked your hair repeatedly. "soffio, i have loved you for so long. i despised seeing you with him tonight.”
you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face for truth. "you... you love me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
theo nodded, his eyes filled with sincerity. "always, bella, but i never thought you saw me the same way."
you bit your lip, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "i'm sorry, theo," you murmured, leaning back into his embrace. "i should have told you sooner."
"it's okay," he reassured you, his arms tightening around you. "we can start fresh now. no more games, no more pretending."
you nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "i'd like that," you whispered, your eyes closing as you rested your head on his shoulder.
the countdown to midnight began over the speakers, the music dying down as people waited for the new year. “come here,” he whispered, a hand placed on your waist, positioning you to straddle his lap as he rested both palms on your hips.
you hesitated for a moment, but then slowly shifted your weight, wrapping your legs around him as he guided you.
“tell me you want this, bella,” he whispered, one palm gently squeezing your hip as the other came to caress your cheek.
with a subtle smile, you leaned in toward him, whispering into his ear. "i want this, theo," you confirmed.
his adam's apple bobbed, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your lower lip. you closed your eyes, feeling his breath tickling against your skin. there was anticipation on his expression, almost palpable.
as the countdown reached zero, the music swelled, and fireworks exploded in the sky, theo’s palms guided your face in anticipation, tasting you the way he’d dreamed of for years as his lips danced softly, gracefully against yours.
you shivered against him, relishing in the warmth of his embrace as your happiness leaked into every corner of your being.
this moment was different, liberating. his touch, intimate, and sincere.
“bella,” he whispered sweetly, resting his forehead against yours, “don’t you try and win my affection again, understood? it’s yours; it always will be yours.”
you laughed, kissing the tip of his nose as you closed your eyes, “okay, okay. i got it.”
his laughter grew with yours, his head falling to your neck as he softly kissed the delicate skin under your ear, “happy new year, soffio.” he then whispered, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger.
“happy new year, theo.”
2K notes · View notes
thewickedjazzy · 1 month ago
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Bonus Level: “Swoon Over You” [Gravity Suspension x Body worshipping] for Kinktober.
♡soft dom! chuuya x afab curvy! reader.
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Synopsis: your thoughts have been clouded by quiet insecurities lately, but of course your boyfriend knows every inch of you better than you do, showing just how much he craves every part of you, even the ones you doubt.
Warnings: ņsfw, mdni, smųt, soft dom! chuu, lovesick! chuu, car sex, mention of insecurities, reader has a female body, alice in wonderland syndrome, titty job, suspension, marking up, body worshipping, unprotected sex.
W/C: 2.3k, this bonus fic is for my bbg hattie <3 @writingandmusing thank you for always supporting me bb and so sorry for being late :( xoxo, divider credits: @/toastray.
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you slump against the cool, supple leather of the car seat, eyes half-lidded from the exhaustion that's pressing on every bone of your body, and the rhythmic sound of tires against the asphalt only makes things worse, lulling you into a dazed state as your thoughts race, faster than the car’s smooth glide over the road.
the mission had drained you, both physically and mentally, but that wasn’t what had you on edge now. no, it’s the way you’re trying to sink into the seat, making yourself as small as possible, but the longer you’re still, the more your mind drifts to everything that makes you feel too much. too wide, too thick, too everything.
you try not to shift, not to make it obvious how your thighs seem to take up all the space in the seat, how your hips feel a little more prominent when you sit, thighs not as thin as the other girls around the mafia. and to make it worse, the soft pressure against the fabric of your skirt feels suffocating, but you won’t pull it down now. you just can't. even though you really want to. instead, you bite your lip and force your gaze to the window, watching the city blur past you as you try your best to be calm, pretending like none of it matters, but the redhead executive sitting next to you knows better. he always does.
a soft sigh slips from his lips, your boyfriend of two years knows your tactics just too well, “yer tryin' not to adjust yer skirt, huh? bet that's makin' ya uncomfortable.” he says as a quiet observation. and you can not help but feel the weight of it in your chest. you know for sure that it’s not just a simple comment.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you can’t admit it, can’t tell him what you’re thinking, how every little motion feels like it’s screaming at you.
“you’re lying,” his voice is barely louder than the hum of the engine. “and you know i hate that.”
“i’m not—” your voice cracks, seriously? now?
“babe, i’ve noticed. every time, it’s like yer trynna disappear or somethin’.” he drawls, voice dropping an octave, “i love it, y’know. i love how you fill out that skirt. how your hips look when you’re sittin’ all tense like that. makes me wanna–”
the executive's gaze flickers, almost instinctively, to your thighs – those full, plush curves you can’t seem to hide, “makes me wanna rip that skirt off, pull ya right into my lap and fuck you dumb.”
his voice is a velvet storm, the kind you can’t resist, every syllable crashing into you like a wave of heat, sweeping you beneath its pull, making your thighs tighten, instinctively pressing together.
his hand shifts from the armrest, moving slowly, until it’s at the edge of your seat. you don’t have to look to know where his fingers are heading, breath catching in your throat as his eyes flick up to meet yours briefly, with a well-known smirk blooming at the corner of his lips just the moment his fingers press lightly against the thick, rounded softness of your thighs.
“yer thighs... hmph~ fuckin' delicious.” he leans in, soft pink lips pressing against your neck as his hand pushes further, gloved thumb traces slow circles on your skin, yet you can’t stop the way your body reacts, “want me to show you how flawless you are, baby?”
“chuuya! we’re in a car, for god’s sake... a fucking mafia chauffeur is literally driving us right now.” you hiss, trying to shove his hand away, but the movement is like the ebb and flow of the tide, pulling back only to crash against what it desires.
“ tsk tsk.. babe, you worry too much,” the redhead mutters, fingers digging into your thigh, the heat from your skin almost making him drunk on it. “we got a soundproof glass for a reason, sweetheart. he won’t hear a damn thing.”
“but..chuu–” you bite your lip, trying to force down the heat rising in your chest.
“ain’t no one stopping me but you.” his voice is so smooth, almost tender, but his body says otherwise, pressing against you, and you can definitely feel the telltale strain of his dress pants — he’s too locked in now, “tell me to stop, babe and i will...but we both know you don’t really want me to.”
the weight of his hands changes, pressing harder, pinning you in place like iron shackles — not just hands anymore but something more insidious. his gravity manipulation seeps in, the red hue force tightening around your limbs just enough to leave you breathless. you can't move. can't struggle. and honestly... do you even want to?
“fuck baby... look at you,” the executive's voice cuts through your haze as he leans back to drink you in. the seatbelt suddenly comes alive under his touch, snapping against your wrists, jerking your arms above your head with a sharp tug. did he plan this? or was it 'a heat of the moment impulse?’ not that it matters cause you’re already wincing as the straps bite into your skin, securing you against the cold window.
“does it hurt?” he purrs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk that’s more taunt than his question. you shake your head, lips parting slightly as the same pressure that paralyzed your arms works its way lower, pulling your body closer until you're forced against him, feeling your back digs into the window and your right leg dangles helplessly off the seat as the rest of you is stretched taut in his grip.
he hasn’t touched you — not really — but it doesn’t matter. cause you can feel him everywhere already. the car feels smaller, claustrophobic, the air pressing against your chest as his fingers twitch, moving toward your legs like they have a mind of their own. slowly, more like agonizingly, they hover just above your skin, undeniable foretaste humming in your veins more and more feeling him leer over you, cataloguing every reaction, every involuntary twitch of your muscles.
“every damn inch of you gets me harder than you can imagine.” his hands finally land on your thigh, tearing the sheer fabric with ease, fingers pressing down to trace your folds through your undies before sliding up and down your inner thighs with adoration. “and yet... here ya are, hidin’ from me. thinkin’ there’s parts of you i wouldn’t worship.”
your breathing quickens, a shallow staccato, and you hate the way you’re shaking under him — not with fear, not exactly, but with something far more compromising. the seatbelt strains against you as you instinctively jerk your arms, testing the hold, but it’s useless. you’re caught, bound, and his ability doesn’t just control your body. it strips away your autonomy, leaving you suspended in his web. and he knows it.
his fingers find the buttons of your shirt, popping them open with maddening ease. “wanna know what’s so damn unique about your body, dollface?” his palm slides over your lace bra, fingers curling possessively as he squeezes softly. you gasp sharply, feeling his hot mouth against your skin, trailing open kisses down your collarbone, sharp teeth nipping before his tongue soothes the sting. you can’t move, can’t think — only feel him, feel his possessive grip on you tightening as he groans low in his chest, “fuhh-kk – those fat titties get me off harder than you’d ever imagine.”
“ch-chuu– stop teasing please.” you whimper with a trembling breath as you arch into him, desperate for more. more of his touch, more of his kisses, as if each fleeting moment only leaves you craving the next. he growls low in his throat, oh- that sound that makes your heart race, pumping blood faster as he deftly undoes the buttons of his vest and dress shirt. your hands ache to roam, to trace the hard lines of his body, to feel the muscles beneath your palms that have haunted your dreams during your time apart. honestly, you can't deny it — not even for a second — how much you’ve missed him, how every inch of him feels like a need too urgent to ignore.
“lemme show you, doll. lemme use every fuckin’ piece of you until you see what i see.” chuuya rasps unbuttoning his belt urgently, he couldn’t stop the way his cock twitched the second it's freed it from his uniform slacks. hard enough now that the foreskin slowly began peeling back on it’s own. he moves closer already palming it. you swallow down the lump in your throat, instinctively parting your lips lewdly, thinking he’d claim your mouth, but he had other plans.
his index finger curls around your bra gore pushing your tits together, cerulean eyes rolling back lost in a wave of pleasure as his cock slides between your breasts, squeezing them tighter with each thrust. grumbling above you, strands of fiery hair hanging in his face as he continued to fuck your tits over and over again.
“jesus fu-hkin’, yer tellin’ me ngh– you hate ’em? look at ’em getting me off–fuckk.” he's too riddled with lust head to toe to even move at this point. he wanted to say something but you fogged his mind so completely that chuuya is now reduced to a moaning mess. a few beads of pre-cum roll down his shaft, soaking your tits and making it even easier as he continues thrusting as his gravity ability still holds your wrists pinned above your head.
chuuya leans down to kiss you, hot mouth crashing feverishly against yours, tongue poking in and swirling around yours as he sucks a bit harsher than usual before aligning himself perfectly with your slit. it feels like a fever dream — you don’t even recall how he changed positions so quickly, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and securing them tightly with his ability. and then you catch it, that half-lidded look of his, the one he always gives you before he pushes in. so full of love and adoration, like he’s already on cloud nine. his jaw goes completely slack as he sinks into you, as if the sheer feeling of your tight walls around him is enough to undo him entirely.
“fuck! chuu– ba-byyy– mmffuch” your desperate pleas are swallowed as he kisses you again, this time far messier.
teeth, tongue, spit — he just adores how you taste. your wet cupid's bow quivers into a pout as he ups his pace, a rarity for him. usually, he’s slow and sweet, savouring every moment, never rushing, always ensuring you’re not hurt. after all, he’s pretty thick, and no matter how many times you’ve done this, it always takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size.
he breaks the kiss, teeth sinking into your collarbone, your breasts, your shoulders, marking you with a trail of bruises that will soon bloom into a tapestry of stormy violet, soft grey, and deep green.
“shit umph..every inch of you – is ugh – etheral..” one hand grips your thighs firmly, while the other latches into your nipple tongue flicking away to make your back arch in response. “ ’m so fuckin’ gone for you baby.”
“y-yes – fuck don't stop chuu– i-i need you... i need more please-”
“y-yeah? want me to show you how much i love you, hmm? fuck you like – oh shit –you’re mine, baby? ‘cause you are — every inch of you – oh fuck – ‘can feel your pussy swallowin’ me. so tight. so perfect.” both your minds are completely overtaken by the intense pleasure and the love you have for each other, oblivious to the car rattling as his cock repeatedly hits your g-spot over and over again, never slowing, never faltering for a second. he's lost in the pleasure, consumed by his love for you.
“this pussy’s mine, yeah? jus’ mine – no one else fucks you like this only me. ‘s gonna – ‘s gonna make me – fuhh-ckk”
erotic breaths and moans fill the car as you bodies rock together, riding out your release in perfect rhythm, the heat between you both building, bodies pressed close, pressure intensifying with every thrust. and just for a few seconds his gravity ability wavers enough for your wrists to slip free and wrap tightly around him, pulling him closer as 'i love yous' spill from his lips, each word nourishing your orgasm, making it smolder like fire as you both melt into each other.
chuuya presses his forehead to yours as you both try to catch your breath.
"i love you so much chuu…" you murmur softly, feeling his hot breaths fanning across your neck.
his lips hover over yours, kissing you gently, over and over, drinking you up like his favourite wine. “say it again, baby,” he whispers between kisses, “i need to hear it.”
you smile, rolling your eyes playfully as you feel your heart swell with adoration, “i love you, chuuya.”
the so-called-ruthless executive chuckles, gloved hands tenderly cupping your face. “oh yeah? say it one more time baby, please?” he says playfully now, but still adorned with a sweet vulnerability, as you both melt into laughter and sweet kisses, whispering sweet nothings, oblivious to the fact that you'll be arriving at headquarters in just five minutes.
well, for now? the mafia can wait.
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