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shesjustanothergeek · 2 months

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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Four: Before the Storm

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello everyone! How are we doing after the last chapter? I went on a vacay and enjoyed some time with my family and dog, but now we're back to business. I wanted to say that I'm not a literary genius. Later in this chapter Helaena says some lines from a piece of work by Hélène Cixous called Love of the Wolf. I'm not taking credit for her work by any means, but I couldn't help myself not to add it. It was just too perfect. Well, anyways, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: mentions of childhood SA and trauma related to it, sexism, bullying.

Birdsong accompanied you in your daily lessons with Septa Marlow, her parchment-thin flesh wrapped over her shaking bones as she pointed to the large map of what you assumed was Westeros. It wasn’t that you couldn’t identify the outline of your own country. You didn’t care. The tiny sparrow that decided to make its nest on the branch of an oak tree outside the tutor room window was far more interesting.

You could hear the sounds of swords clashing outside over the creature’s call, an added instrument into the melody of the Red Keep. There was no doubt your brothers and uncles were practicing their swordplay, Ser Criston teaching the pairs of children. How you longed to be out there with them, with your family, with your twin, learning of things much more exciting than what region of the country produced the most red wine.

You only wanted to see them and to be entertained. It wasn’t that you wanted to learn the sword, though you wouldn’t say no should someone ask.

But this resulted from the actions from the previous day when you disobeyed the Dragonkeeper’s commands. It surprised you when your mother failed to mention how your brothers and Aegon gave Aemond a pig, but you weren’t planning to go out of your way to tell on yourself and receive any more repercussions. You were already confined to the castle walls and forbidden from seeing your dragon for the next sennight. You couldn’t imagine what your mother would have done in response if she knew.

“Princess, pay attention,” the old crone’s wavering voice commanded, causing you to jolt.

You attempted to follow her instructions, rattling off the names of Houses and their most profitable exports, but metal clanging stole you from your duties once more. Why couldn’t you be with your brothers and uncles? You understood that today’s extra lessons were a punishment, but why couldn’t you join them? You and Jace were the same age, though you were a few moments older, and Luke was younger.

You could comprehend the importance of learning such knowledge, but your brothers were able to understand this and swordsmanship. Why could you not? Seeing as your mother had not learned it, you did not believe it was a skill you needed. This was the only thing that separated you from Jace, and you hated it.

Suddenly, everything went silent. The birds, the clang of steel, your mind halted into a noiseless silence, leaving the only sound of Septa Marlow’s droning, shaky voice. Screams you knew belonged to Aegon and the shrieks of your younger brother, Jace, briefly sounded, causing your feet to twitch in the direction of the sound. You knew your brother. That was not a noise of happiness but one of determination and fear, but once again, it plummeted into silence.

Then, it erupted. Shouts and thick, repeated thumps of what could only be skin on skin replaced the dull thudding of swords, only this time, it was of grown men.

Disregarding your Septa’s scolds of disobedience, you stood, rushing from the creaky wooden desk and chair with a soft wince from the pain between your legs. You ran to the window, face pressed against the glass, to see the situation unfold.

Ser Harwin kneeled over a man in polished armor you couldn’t see as he drove punch after punch into the man’s face. It was a member of the Kingsguard, judging by his attire as onlookers gathered around the two of them, attempting to remove Harwin from his victim.

Why would Ser Harwin be attacking a Kingsguard?

You pressed your face closer to the glass, fogging it with your breath. Soon, your mother’s protector was thrown off, revealing a bloodied, smug Ser Criston Cole, a proud smirk on his tan face as he spat viscous scarlet liquid. Ser Harwin spewed words of anger you couldn’t hear as you observed with wide eyes from above.

“Princess!” Marlow shouted, stomping her slippered foot in exasperation. “Return to your seat at once.”

“Ser Harwin is attacking Ser Criston!” you countered with a whine as you disregarded her demands. Without thinking of the consequences, you ran for the exit only to be met with the face of your sworn shield, halting you from seeing the commotion.

You were stuck. These were the repercussions of your actions, and now you had to sit in dull solitude with a Septa so old that your mother had her as wild possibilities ran through your head as to why Ser Harwin Strong attacked Ser Criston Cole.

Finding where your uncle Aemond spent most of his time was effortless. He was unlike the rest of you, who loved to be outside in the dirt, running about the gardens as you and your brothers played any game you could think of. Aegon and the trio of you teased Aemond for the fact that he was different in this way, your eldest uncle impressing the idea that his brother’s likes of science, math, history, and philosophy were weird for a child. You also enjoyed subjects similar to your uncle’s, thirsting for knowledge of everything related to herbs, flowers, and other plants, but you never brought it up. Aegon would undoubtedly tease you for it if he knew.

Aemond’s interests weren’t typical, but you didn’t see it as something to look down on him for. But since Aegon did, you had no choice but to agree.

The library in the Red Keep was a lonely and shadowy place, rarely visited by anyone, not even the servants. The absence of lit candles or a crackling fire contributed to the eerie atmosphere, creating a sensation of fear that seemed to grip your very core as you stepped inside, as though you were venturing into an endless void of darkness. Despite the unsettling ambiance, you summoned your bravery, clutching your cherished collection of fairy tales for comfort, and gained the strength to push open the library doors. The sound of metal clanging echoed in the silence.

Motes of dust swirled in the beams of light pouring through the windows as you combed through the towering wooden bookcases. Your search was targeted and honed on a particular individual who, besides Lord Lyonel Strong and the rest of the council members, was known to make regular visits to this room. It was just a matter of time before you laid eyes on him.

After the sixth tall hickory bookshelf, you found Aemond resting on a window seat filled with lush fabric cushions, the sunbeams casting him in a yellow glow. You took a step forward, hesitating as you thought about how your uncle would react to your goodwill gesture. Despite anticipating his initial skepticism and harsh words, you held onto hope that persistence and authenticity would eventually make him see you for who you are.

You wished for it to be true.

“Have you come to mock me again, niece?” Aemond asked, interrupting your indecision with his nose still in the pages.

You swallowed as your mouth became dry, stepping out to reveal yourself fully. “No, Aemond. I came to read,” you replied, taking a gasp of air and summoning courage, “with you.”

Your uncle’s attempt to mask his surprise was unsuccessful as his eyes widened in astonishment. He quickly glanced at you and returned to his book, hoping to conceal his reaction.

His usual scowl deepened, pulling down at his freckled cheeks as he interrogated. “Why?”

A lopsided grin scrunched your plump cheeks upwards to crinkle your eyes as you shrugged. “Because I want to.”

Aemond flipped onto the next page with a skeptical face, yet his violet orbs never moved from the same spot. You had his attention. Hiding a victorious grin, you stepped towards him before he could protest, plopping onto the pillows beside Aemond. He quickly recoiled in exaggerated disgust, as if you were no more than an annoying fly that landed on his arm as he slammed the tome shut and briskly left.

This was an expected outcome, and you hurriedly chased after him, your shorter legs struggling to keep up with your uncle’s pace as he fled around a corner from your attempted act of bonding. You understood this was not a simple task and already built the mental stamina to outlast Aemond’s antics as he jumped down the stone steps of the Keep two at a time.

Eventually, he managed to escape you, his notable mane of blonde hair disappearing before a crowd of courtiers in the courtyard.

You huffed a sigh as you observed the sea of people, sweat stinging your privy part, but you ignored it, standing on the tips of your toes to peer over the wall of the pale redstone landing above the yard.

Suddenly, you spotted him at the far end as he caught your gaze, violet eyes widening in horror as if he saw one of the monsters from your stories. He turned away. His confident walk soon turned to a worried jog as you ran as fast as your limbs could carry you, shoving your way through the throng of people. You were used to playing chase with your brothers. Doing it with your uncle was the same, if not more manageable, with the help of his iconic hair and green garbs.

As you reached the area where you spotted your uncle, he was nowhere to be found, and you turned, looking across the vast meadow of the court that ebbed and flowed like the swaying of a wheat field, focused on their afternoon destinations. None of them paid any attention to the two dragon royals, both more than a head shorter and too self-absorbed to care.

With a sharp yelp, you fell to the ground, soiling your gown and dropping your book on the packed dirt as you caught yourself with your palms. They ached at the impact, tiny rocks embedding into your soft skin as you swiftly turned to the person who shoved you and saw no other than your uncle Aemond staring over you with rose-dusted cheeks. His arms securely bound his book to his chest as he looked down upon you with his nose, catching his breath and taking three paces back before you righted yourself.

“Why are you following me?” your uncle shouted down at you as he attempted to make his voice sound like a grown man.

You huffed as you swiped the dirt from your turquoise dress, gritting your teeth to control your frustration. This was one of your nice ones! Of course, Aemond would ruin it. Your mother would surely scold you when she found out.

“I told you I only wanted to read!” you screeched with a stomp of your foot as your arms flew into the air, flailing wildly. “And now you’ve ruined my favorite collection! The spine is loose and the pages are dirty!”

Aemond said nothing as you studied the now-tattered book before you. Every night, Ser Harwin or your father read a short story from this as you sat atop their laps, drifting off into a restful sleep filled with dreams of nymphs playing in a forest creek. Your book, too, was ruined—another consequence of wanting to be kind to your uncle.

“What’s it about?” he suddenly asked, prompting your watery eyes to move to him. The blush that covered Aemond’s face deepened, now traveling to his ears and throat as he dug his nails into the leatherback of his tome. He looked almost pained to inquire about anything that had to do with you.

Your first instinct was to bite with sharpened fangs of hurt, but you stopped, remembering your goal as you batted your watery lashes in disregard. “It was a volume of different stories,” you sighed with disappointment, afraid that if you showed any other emotions, you would revert to your old ways.

“I see.”

You stared at Aemond expectantly, waiting longer than what was proper for him to continue any sentence or explanation. Still, he did not, only observing you with a calculating expression. The low murmur of bustling court members filled the long silence, the occasional gust of wind and rattling metal low in the background. When your uncle refused to proceed with the conversation, you opened your mouth to do it for him, but much to your chagrin, he turned away before you could, not speaking a word as he kicked pebbles with his boots.

You scoffed in response, stunned and appalled by his actions. For a brief moment, one that didn’t last longer than a blink, Aemond showed kindness to you. You felt like an idiot for believing in that small part that thought last night changed your standing with Aemond, yet a ray of hope still lingered in your chest like the flame of a burnt wick on a dwindling candle.

You sighed in frustration as you looked over the worn and tattered pages of the stories. The determination you once had dwindled, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you deserved this. Memories of mocking Aemond’s odd behavior of the pig and making fun of him with your brothers and Aegon weighed heavily on you, intensifying the shame. A soft sigh of defeat escaped your lips as you reflected on your actions.

Ser Harwin was leaving you. After his fight with Ser Criston in the training yard, he was stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch and was sent back to Harrenhal the next day. You were devastated, fat tears running down your hot cheeks as he said farewell to you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey before sleep.

Harwin had been with you since before you were born. He was there to help sort out quarrels between you and your brothers whenever one stole toys and refused to share. Harwin accompanied you to your lessons when your brothers were learning the art of swords or hunting. He taught you how to ride a horse when your father was out at sea with your grandfather Corlys and dried your tears whenever Aegon and Aemond were harsh. Ser Harwin was family as far as you were concerned, and returning to the Riverlands was akin to losing a member because Ser Criston claimed he cared too much about you and your brothers only to be a sworn protector.

You weren’t blind to the rumors surrounding your parentage and the resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch. It was all your uncles could do not to bring it up each moment they laid their Valyrian eyes on you. The word bastard haunted the now four of you wherever you went, a cloak of shame that threatened to devour your girlish body whole.

Jace often raised concerns about who your birth father was, but he was never brave enough to ask your mother about it. It was an open question of uncertainty that never seemed to find the correct answer, yet, no matter what, you knew that even if you were not of Laenor Velaryon’s blood, they could never deny that you were your mother’s. You were a Targaryen, just like your aunt and uncles, and that was something that could never change.

“Be good to your mother. I’ll visit when I can,” Ser Harwin said tenderly, kneeling before you, Jace, and Luke as your mother cradled Joffrey. He stood with a grunt as he observed the four of you, a misty look in his eyes that you could mistake for tears. “But that may be some time.”

Sobs stained the white cotton sleeves of your nightgown gray, sniffling as you wiped away more snot and salty water. You would miss Ser Harwin terribly, and he knew that, but that did not make this any less painful as you clung to Jace’s side and he, your mother.

“I will return. I promise,” Harwin expressed with a gravelly voice as he tenderly brushed loose strands of your hair that hid your wet eyes. You listened to the same voice as you sat on his lap, resting your head upon his chest as he read you and your brother’s fairy tales before bed.

Harwin would tell no more stories in that deep, rumbling tone that soothed your soul beyond measure, and you felt your heart crack more at the thought.

Harwin moved to say his final farewell to Joffrey and your mother, kissing the babe’s forehead as you buried your face in your brother’s neck. “You will be a stranger when we meet again,” he said to the bundle of fabric that cooed in your mother’s arms.

And that was true, not just for Joffrey, but for all of you.

Ser Harwin bid goodbye to your mother with a simple “princess” as they shared a long, meaningful glance with layers of emotion and scores of history behind them. He said no more and gathered his sword, swinging it over his shoulder as you released a cry, running to the comforting embrace of your mother’s bed. You could no longer watch Harwin as he left your life, a new wave of sobs taking over as you shoved your face into her feather pillows. It smelled of her, home, and happiness—fresh lavender and sage on expensive cotton sheets.

Despite your mother’s reassurance that you would see Ser Harwin again someday, you could not help but feel like this was a death sentence. As if you stood in front of his coffin and buried him beneath the dirt and worms yourself. He would no longer be the sworn shield he was when he left at this very moment, as you heard the sound of hurried footfalls exiting the room.

Luke followed you to the wide bed, tucking himself into your side and resting his temple on your chest as you both cried in an agonizing yet loving embrace. You could hear Jace talking to your mother outside the doorway, little Joffrey babbling as she softly bounced him in her arms. Whether it was to comfort your babe brother or her, you did not know.

“Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?” you heard Jace ask. His fierce and unwavering inquiry only made you sadder. On instinct, you covered Luke’s ears as he hiccuped into your chest. He did not need to have doubt burrow into his mind at such a young age.

Your mother was silent. The only sounds coming were from you, the soft crackles of the fire in the hearth, and your little brother’s heaving breaths as you struggled to cope with the loss.

“You are a Targaryen. That is all that matters,” she finally answered, tone strong. Her words were rehearsed and practiced, and they did not quell the thirst for the truth in either you or Jace.

Your barely younger brother returned to the room. His thin lips downturned, and his head hung low as he sat on one of the plush settees littering the area. You could tell he was unsatisfied with your mother’s response, as were you, but he understood he would get the same reply should he push the matter. Your mother followed in soon after, observing the three of you with tired yet loving eyes.

The same question was on your lips, threatening to break free at any moment, lilac orbs landing on your brown ones as she stared at you with your newest brother still in her arms. She was not inclined to answer, and yet you knew. It was written plainly in the fine lines of her face, the slope of her nose, and how tears lined her lashes as your mother inhaled a fierce, shuddering breath. Much like her, you refused to say the words aloud, electing to bask in the grief-stricken sadness that enveloped your family.

The hour of the owl was upon you before you finally went to your chambers, unable to find rest in your kin’s arms. Your brothers choose to stay with your mother inside hers as their tiny bodies pressed against each other after the tears have long dried.

The halls and corridors of the Red Keep were noiseless as you trekked through them with keen eyes. The portraits of your ancestors you passed daily seemed to follow you with their purple gazes, their accusing stares boring shame into your soul and setting your hair alight.

Alicent’s warning rang through your head as the squeak of a rat sounded, her rich voice echoing inside until it was all you could hear. The end could not come fast enough as you shut the large wooden doors to your, Jace’s, and Luke’s shared quarters, swiftly hiding under your blue bed sheets, heart hammering in your chest.

Your bed was cold and safe, and your pulse calmed steadily. Now, more than ever, the uncertainty behind your birth was thrust before you.

It was always easier to deny the fact that you were most likely a bastard than it was to accept it. Those who accused you did not understand that they weren’t only saying your blood was not Laenor Velaryon but that you and your brothers were a sin, your very existence an insult to House Velaryon, the king, and to all those who dutifully suffered unkind marriages.

Bastards were not heirs. They were creations purely out of selfish lust and desire.

It called into question all four of your legitimacy of inheritance. None of you had claims to the thrones or titles you were set to receive upon the death of your parents, and no prospects would want to wed a bastard should you accept it.

You understood why your mother did not admit the words allowed in the confidence of the now four of you. If you spoke them into existence, it would only make them real. It left you no choice but to deny, deny, deny until your tongue withered and lips fell off. Living a life of refusal of admittance would be difficult. Still, it was the only way to ensure you and your brother’s places would be secured until the Stranger decided to take another companion.

The empty well of tears soon filled once more as you sighed deeply in surrender to the turbulent path ahead, tucking your hand underneath your pillow for the relief of rest, but unfortunately, it did not find you.

Your vanity mirror shined like a beacon in the darkness, reminding you of that night. You still needed to move it back to its original place and give your maids the excuse that you wanted to see what it would look like there. It was a lie.

The idea that Aegon knew of a passage into your rooms haunted you when you set foot into the space. You were scared, anxious, no… terrified that your eldest uncle would waltz into your bed chamber at any moment. The unknown was what frightened you—of what he would do. The notion that he could enter pushed you to rise from bed, planting the soles of your feet onto a maroon Myrish rug as you grabbed the legs of the vanity and pulled it back into place. You would have to think of another lie to tell your maids.

“Why is Uncle Aemond unkind to us?” a timid voice rang out into the once private space.

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to see Luke with a wooden toy dragon curled into his tiny fist. It looked as if he had just awoken from sleep minutes ago, which you assumed was the case judging by his messy hair and crusted eyes. As you caught your breath, clutching the skirt of your pale gray nightgown, you disregarded any questions about why he was here instead of your mother’s room.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be,” you answered as your racing heart calmed. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw him push you over in the courtyard,” he ardently explained, his dark brows rising against his pale skin. It reminded you of your father when he tried to speak earnestly with the three of you, yet Luke’s boyish voice had no similarities to his.

You sighed, recalling the now ruined book you hid in your trunk alongside your tattered dress. “He was angry.”

You did not want to tell Luke about Aemond’s rejection, as the embarrassment was still fresh. He would no doubt try to tell you how you were wrong for attempting to befriend him after the mean things he’d said to you all your life.

“He’s always angry, but we haven’t done anything,” Luke countered with a frown on his small lips, fiddling with his fingers at his sides.

You paused for a long moment, unsure of what to say. The three of you were not nearly as cruel to Aemond as Aegon was. Your mother raised you to be kind to your uncles and aunt no matter what they did to you, and while you were not perfect, any jokes or rude remarks were not made with the intent to hurt him. With a great sigh, you lead Luke in front of the gated fireplace, where a collection of your toys rests in the orange glow. He picked up a polished wooden horse, running his tiny thumbs over the varnish as you spoke.

“I think he believes we don’t belong here,” you said. The explanation was vague, and it irked you beyond measure. The truth of your words threatened to surface like an apple thrown into a barrel full of water.

“We live here. This is our family,” he replied in confusion, dark eyes so wide you could see the entire white. He wasn’t wrong, yet the truth of the matter clawed at your throat to become free.

“We don’t look like Targaryens. You must have noticed.” You could not stop the words from being said. You were such a good liar. Why was it impossible to lie about this?

“You mean our hair?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head, scratching his scalp in confusion with one of the wooden toys.

You didn’t want to tell him and put the burden of knowledge onto your younger brother that you and Jace were cursed with, but it was something you understood would follow the now four of you for the rest of your lives.

Luke was still younger than you, yet his simple statement of your hair tested your last bit of resolve. “Our hair, eyes, and everything!” you exclaimed exasperated.

“But I have a crooked little finger like Mama,” he reasoned with the raise of his hand, showing his small digit. You deflated, sighing a drawn-out breath to calm your temper as you picked up one of your rag dolls from the pile.

“A crooked little finger isn’t enough,” you decided to say as you stroked the button eyes on your toy. Why couldn’t he comprehend that no matter how many similarities you had to your mother, the fact of who your father was remained uncertain?

“Well, if we aren’t Targaryens, where did we come from?” The sap inside the fire popped, startling you and your brother as you stared into the flames.

You were Targaryens. That much was obvious. You cannot fake exiting your mother’s womb. It was the matter of your father that sparked rumors, but you did not want to give Luke any more thoughts over the subject, coming to accept that he was not old enough to understand what your uncle was being mean about.

“We were born here. Mama is our mother, but there’s something else and Aemond knows it,” you answered obscurely, clutching your dolly into your chest as the night air howled outside the glass windows.

It felt like the Keep was listening to your conversation, the walls groaning in response to your words. The very castle you lived in understood the truth, and the pressure of it weighed heavily on your soul. Just like the paintings of your ancestors, the Red Keep knew of your shame.

“I do not wish to be different,” Luke confessed with dejection, too sad for your liking, as he stopped playing with the toys.

You didn’t want to cause anyone’s sadness, let alone your brother’s, and you frowned, taking Luke’s hand in yours and scooting across the floor to hug his side.

You loved your family more than words could describe as you held your younger brother closer. Jace, Luke, and now Joffrey did not deserve the torment they would face for the rest of their lives at the hands of your uncles and the court. As the eldest, it was your responsibility to protect them from things your parents could not, to take care of them and dry their tears, not to burden your mother or father, but this was something you understood you could not fix, yet it did not deter you from trying.

“Nor do I,” you finally spoke, holding Luke close to your heart and kissing him on his cherubic cheek. “So let us be good children and please those who love us so they may forget what we lack. Come. It’s time for bed.” Your mother would say that as you took your brother by the hand and led him to your bed.

If you couldn’t change what people said, you could at least change the contents they discussed.

You would excel in your place as the unspoken heir and accept your duties no matter what with your shoulders back and your chin held high. You would learn the history of your ancestors, the politics of your country, and whatever else you believed was dutiful to prepare yourself for the responsibility you would inherit after your mother. Not feeling the same fear you did earlier, now with your younger brother at your side, you pulled the covers over both of you as Luke snuggled into your side’s comforting embrace.

Aemond felt he lacked something compared to his siblings, niece, and nephews. Some of him believed that if a dragon hatched from his egg, or he claimed a living one, things would be different from how they were now. He would not be the subject of people’s taunts nor feel the prominent sensation of inadequacy that weighed on his soul, but it seemed as if Aemond was destined to suffer within the shadows of his family’s success no matter how hard he tried to step out of it.

His older brother possessed the skills of conversation and humor he didn’t have and constantly teased him for it, though Aegon was not without faults. His brother would tell him to stop being a “twat,” to get his nose out of books, and that he was dull, sullen, and far too severe for his age.

Because of this, Aegon preferred to spend time with Jace, Luke, and his niece, but it didn’t help that they were much easier company. His half-sister’s children seemed to have a bond closer than his siblings, each with dragons, which was the one thing he didn’t possess. Aemond would never admit he was jealous of his niece and nephews, for that would mean that he saw them as equals of comparison, which was something they weren’t. They were beings of lesser standing, though they thought themselves on par, as they had been raised with the same extravagance he was.

Aemond knew you would be looking for him the next day as he watched you skip to the library the following morning, your smile so bright on your face that it made him sick. Seeing how the joy fell from your face when you saw he was not there gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

Did you think him stupid?

He could see the telltale signs of tears welling in your eyes as you realized your hidden plans of ridicule were foiled: the scrunch of your dark brows, rapid blinking to get the droplets at bay, and then the pursing of your lips. This time, you held firm and refused to let your emotions guide you. At least, that was what Aemond believed as he observed you exiting the library deep in thought.

He knew you would not give up so easily, and instead of taking solace in his usual places of inhabitant and risking you finding him, he chose to watch you. You could not see him if he was three steps ahead. Aemond was glad that you weren’t nearly as bright as you believed, and as long as he stayed out of sight, he could be sure you wouldn’t bother him. The irony of the situation that he would now be following you to avoid you didn’t matter, and he certainly wasn’t concerned about your well-being after what Aegon did, either.

You were as foreign to one another as Old Valyria; there was no reason for him to care. Aemond would do this every day for the rest of his life if it meant he would never have to spend a moment with you again.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Helaena’s voice drifted through the halls like summer wind through tree leaves, startling Aemond as he watched his niece’s dark head disappear around a corner. Her fair blonde locks, a copy of her brother’s, were braided around the crown of her head, a tiny metal cage in her lithe fingers, and a curious expression on her visage directed towards him.

“You’re avoiding her,” Helaena declared with a resolute lilt to her tone, taking the insect out of its confines. “After what has been stolen.”

Aemond stared at his sister with perplexed eyes, quickly looking to ensure you had not heard the conversation and came to investigate.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aemond said distractedly, wringing his hands at the pit of unease in his stomach.

There was no possibility that she knew what occurred during the night. Aegon would never willingly admit something like this, and you would undoubtedly keep what happened a secret, seeing as you refused to tell your mother in fear of punishment.

Helaena was silent as she observed the olive-and-brown grasshopper in her palm, petting it with her index finger before it tried to jump away. She held the open metal cage in the bug’s intended direction, and it landed inside, swiftly flicking the door shut before it could attempt to escape again.

“Tis our fate, I think, to crave what is given to another. If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away,” Helaena declared with the furrow of her blonde eyebrows, the insect thumping against the metal bars as she looked at her younger brother.

Her words were cryptic, and Aemond felt a bead of sweat run down his spine as he observed his older sister. He didn’t understand what she meant. She intensely focused on it, so he assumed it was about the grasshopper. Aemond wordlessly shrugged, disregarding his older sister’s vague observation as he peered anxiously at where he last spotted you.

“Tis not difficult for the ewe to love the lamb. But for the wolf?” Helaena began again, standing beside her brother with a soft swish of her satin skirt. “The wolf’s love for the lamb is such a renunciation, it’s the wolf’s sacrifice—it’s a love that could never be requited. This wolf that sacrifices its very definition for the lamb, this wolf that doesn’t eat the lamb, is it a wolf? Is it still a wolf?”

Aemond paid no attention to her now as Helaena spouted what he felt was nonsense and decided to push forward in search of you, ensuring with noiseless strides you would not see him once he got close.

Helaena was someone he felt was misunderstood like him, but now was not the time to go on with poetry and riddles.

“But sometimes it’s the wolf that falls into the jaws of the lamb. Out of love, the wolf falls backward into the circle of fire. It goes around fast. It so happens that the lamb catches the wolf,” Helaena continued, her voice soft like morning spring rain as she followed her vexed younger brother. She was inside her world, purposely or ignorant of her brother’s frustration.

“There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb it doesn’t eat.”

Aemond groaned, losing his temper, which he rarely did in the presence of his sister. His niece had irked him, causing his heartbeat to quicken and his lungs pant.

“Helaena, will you please stop with this nonsense? I have important matters to tend to,” Aemond barked hushedly as a servant passed by, blocking the sun from the windows.

Any other day, he would allow his sister to speak for however long and about whatever she wanted, but this was not one of those times. You could happen upon him at any moment, and the prince did not want to risk the chance of a repeat encounter.

Helaena refused to listen to him as her musings became louder and sharper as if she was trying to convey a point without the proper words, no doubt alerting you and everyone else in the Keep to where he was. Aemond felt the blanket of defeat shroud his figure as the sound of light hurried footfalls sounded in the hall.

“The lamb loves its wolf. The wolf turns white and starts quivering out of love for the lamb. The lamb loves the wolf’s fragility, and the wolf loves the frail one’s force. The wolf is now the lamb’s lamb and the lamb has tamed the wolf,” his sister concluded, violet-eyed with an understanding she attempted to impart onto Aemond with the harsh squeeze of her digits on his arm.

He gasped, his brows arched in pain from Helaena’s sharp nails piercing through his tunic, and tried to wretch his arm free with a panicked grunt, but to no avail. Before he could blink, your pitched voice pierced Aemond’s ears, and he felt like they would burst.

“Uncle! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The loose strands of your neatly styled hair bounced with every step as you approached Aemond with a broad grin on your lips. “I was hoping we could read today. I chose a book I think you would like. I know you don’t enjoy fairytales.”

“Love blackens the lamb, leaving fire and blood to light their way,” Helaena whispered, her violet gaze directed towards the tall window as a bird flew past. She released Aemond’s arm as if she suddenly realized she still had it. She looked back to her grasshopper, wordlessly displaying it for you to see.

“Oh, is that a new one Helaena?” you asked with a bright curiosity in your tone. Aemond didn’t believe you truly cared about his sister and her bugs, curling his lip in disgust at what he thought were false niceties. “Where did you find it? We’ll have to go there sometime to see if there are more!”

You didn’t care about Helaena and her hobbies. You were more like Aegon and made fun of her for the bugs she collected. At least, that was what he had in his mind. Aemond felt conflicted as he watched his sister nod in agreement, asking when your punishment was over so you could spend time together again.

When he noticed Helaena’s faint smile as she left, grasshopper in tow, a warmth blossomed inside his heart. His sister only showed happiness when she truly felt it, not to be polite like most, and it caused Aemond to turn to you, his face pale. You were his annoying, spoiled, bastard niece who got anything she wanted, so why were you not acting like it?

It felt like butterflies were inside your stomach as you took another step toward Aemond, a book clutched to your chest like before. Aemond watched as his sister left the two of you alone without a word, like she was in a world of her own. He wanted to reach out to her to be not alone with his dreadful niece, but Helaena was gone as quickly as she emerged, leaving her younger brother with the girl he hated most in the world.

“I have a book I think we both would like today, uncle. It’s one about the warrior Queen Nymeria and her journey to Dorne,” you announced, a slight sway in your step as you tried to quell your anxiety.

Aemond huffed as he looked for a way out of this and sighed in defeat when he found none, clenching his thumbs inside his palms to control the ire that swelled in response. Your uncle didn’t want your pity or your friendship. He knew you were only spending time with him since you didn’t wish to Aegon and could not be with your brothers because they were in their lessons. You would have never done this if his eldest brother could control his impulses. It made him feel like a second choice, another painful reminder that he was always second to his kin, yet not good enough to be a spare.

Walking away in surrender, he led you back to the library, where no one would see the pair of you, and the sun provided the only light. He knew Aegon would tease him beyond what he could take if he saw you together, and after that night, Aemond did not want to see him anyway.

You set the book of Queen Nymeria’s adventures on a dusty wooden table and giggled as you fanned the air. Aemond was not amused, sulking in the chair beside you as he opened the leather back of the book. You sat next to him, shoulders touching, ignoring his reaction. He mockingly covered his mouth as if he smelled something terrible when he inhaled the citrus scent on your skin. This made you feel a bit upset, but you tried to hide it by tugging at your dark hair and avoiding his gaze.

You read the first page together silently. It stated how the queen looked, how beautiful she was with long, flowing, swarthy hair cascading down her waist with sturdy hips, her skin a smooth, youthful complexion with brown eyes to match. Yet still, she was a fierce warrior with an indomitable spirit who led her men into battle and took no cowards. You imagined you would be like her when you grew up, a beautiful warrior queen who ruled her kingdom with an unwavering though gentle and cunning fist, who people loved and respected her rule.

“Can I turn it?” Aemond asked dispassionately, cutting through the silence. You hadn’t realized you had been so lost in your daydreams that you had not retained a single word written on the page, but to not make your uncle perceive you lower than he already did, you nodded.

You leaned closer to the pages before you decorated them in elaborate colors of blue and red, studying the new page and picture. Aemond glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, unnoticed by you as you were lost in the vast expanse of your mind, your cheek right next to his.

He was surprised at how different you were, apart from the apparent fact of age and sex. His eyelashes were almost white and translucent, while yours were black, long, surrounding dark eyes that glistened with natural wetness that threatened to suck him into their depths if he stared for too long. Aemond’s skin was pale and dusted with sun kisses, yet yours was plain, flushed, and full of life, your lips more defined and moist than his. You possessed a pug nose matching that of your brothers rather than his aquiline one, a softer, more plump face than his, as Aemond’s was more defined even for his age. His hair, the color of Targaryen’s, the white you didn’t have a hint of and mocked you for, was visible proof of who your father was.

Though Aemond immensely enjoyed pointing out the idea that you were a bastard, he reluctantly realized that you weren’t unattractive, at least by Westerosie standards.

“I will be like Nymeria when I am queen,” you announced to Aemond, breaking the silence. He gave you a sidelong glance and sighed. It wouldn’t hurt if there were some conversation between you. It didn’t seem like you would be mean to him, and he supposed you were indebted to him after all.

At your hopeful expression, your uncle didn’t have the heart to tell you that neither you nor your mother would rule the Seven Kingdoms. Women were not fit to rule and carry such a burden. They were too gentle of creatures to make the harsh decisions that ruling required.

“Are you certain you’ll be a good ruler? You can barely get your brothers to listen to you. What makes you think the Lords of the realm will?” Aemond questioned with a trace of bitterness you couldn’t understand the cause of.

Turning to him with a face painted with a serious expression, your brows scrunched together and lips tight in a severe line as you took his hand. “Just as Nymeria burned her ships to prevent any cowardly men from fleeing, I will burn all those who try to hurt my family and oppose my reign.”

You stated the words with such a decisive coldness that it caused Aemond to shiver. He was shocked and in awe at your declaration, stunned into silence filled with momentary admiration. Aemond never imagined that would come out of your mouth. He always pictured you as soft-hearted when it came to violence, having seen you cower when Aegon would hit your brothers too hard when training.

“What would you do if they didn’t allow your mother to be queen? You wouldn’t have the power to do that,” your uncle reasoned, giving you a devoted attention he never gave before. It made you pause.

“Perhaps I was a bit rash,” you reasoned with the gentle tug of your hair, letting go of Aemond’s hand in nervousness. He swiftly snatched it back before you could think, a surge of excitement rolling in the pit of your stomach with the action. “It wouldn’t only be me, though. I would have Jace, Luke, and Joffrey when he becomes a rider. We would help our mother if anyone tried to prevent her, and I would have my husband, too. He would be my Mors Martell and help me conquer all of Dorne!”

You looked at Aemond with uncertain eyes as your gaze flicked from him to the open book the two of you barely read.

“You mean Aegon. Someone with a dragon,” he countered snidely, turning his flushed cheeks away from you.

“No,” you snapped quicker than you could have imagined. “I don’t want Aegon to be my husband.”

Aemond needn’t ask why.

You hadn’t heard your eldest uncle’s name since that night, and hearing it made something within you break. You despised Aegon for his actions. Did he feel entitled to mistreat you because of the betrothal plan? It filled you with blackened fury. You took a quick breath to calm yourself and looked to Aemond, who appeared remorseful.

“You don’t need a dragon to be powerful,” you explained with a gentle tone, but Aemond only scoffed.

“That’s easy for you to say when you have one,” he bit, causing the tips of his ears to grow pink in anger.

You attempted to hide your huff of annoyance at his sulking but failed, rolling your dark eyes as you answered him honestly. “I do believe you’ll have a dragon one day. There are too many around for you not to. You just need to find the right one, but even if you don’t, there are other ways to have power. You could ride with me and Gaeli, too, if you like? If you never claimed one.”

It was an offering of peace, of goodwill, telling your uncle without the words that you were sorry for having played all the jokes you did on him for not having a mount. You wanted him to know he was welcomed into the world of dragons without one, that you would still see him as an equal, if not better than you in some aspects. He was already showing prospects of being a fine warrior.

“Really?” Aemond perked, violet eyes setting alight with happiness you had never seen him show. He felt childish, but he couldn't help it. You offered for him to ride a dragon!

You giggled, unable to hold your joy back as you bobbed eagerly. “Of course, Aemond! As soon as Gaelithox is large enough to ride you will be with me. We can learn together for when you finally mount one!”

It was the first time you saw your uncle smile with genuine, untainted mirth, displaying a set of dimples you didn’t know he had. The pair of you fell into a deep conversation long into the late evening, causing your mother to pace with nerves until you returned, discussing thoughts of the future, of what dragons Aemond could claim, and how, if he never bonded with one, you would make him feel as if he was a dragon rider like the rest of your family.

The following days, Aemond rose with the sun, a sensation he had never felt before in the pit of his stomach as his servant dressed him in traditional green garbs.

Excitement.

He was filled with eager anticipation for the days ahead now that he had something positive to look forward to. It was something only he had now. In a way, though Aemond would never admit it, for it was such a horrendous thought that brought him great shame, he was glad that Aegon raped his niece. If he hadn’t, Aemond would never have gained one of the two things Aegon had that he didn’t.

First, he took the companionship of the only person who steadfastly supported his old brother. Next, all Aemond had to do was acquire a dragon, and finally, he would be equal to Aegon, if not better.

As Aemond traveled the halls, understanding full well that he could read within the privacy of his chamber, he went to the library to read ever since he and his niece shared words of the future. He met you in the same place in the library after your lessons, whether to read, chat, or enjoy the peace of the other’s company.

Though Aemond was proud that he took something from Aegon, he was afraid that his brother would see you together one day, but Aegon never ventured into the noiselessness of the library. The eldest son had never been much of a student.

You typically sparked conversations, and Aemond would answer back in kind. It made him feel better about himself—more of a man to have someone solely seek his attention and knowledge in a way no one else had before. Aemond always ended the day with a pleasant flutter in his heart and tingling in his fingers for what tomorrow would bring.

One night, as Aemond lay fast asleep with visions of the sun blinding his eyes, green scales, and a head of dark hair that flew in the wind, he woke with a start to the sound of his chamber doors opening. He feared it was Aegon and his nephews who were once again trying to make a mockery of him.

He rose within the lush emerald bedsheets, terrified, as the torchlight shone from the hallway, outlining the figure in the door frame. The person stepped forward with a loud creak of the metal hinges.

“Aemond?”

He heard the quiet mumble, the voice softer than that of the feather pillows he lay his head on at night. Aemond could barely see your silhouette in the darkness, squinting with sleep-clouded eyes to ensure it was you. He could hear your soft sniffles and quick breaths as concern hastened his heart.

“Can I sleep with you?”

You could hear your uncle shift on his bed, mind still reeling from being woken up from a deep slumber. The silence stretched long between you and Aemond, and you feared he might refuse your plea for comfort.

“What? Why?” he hissed with venom. There was no privacy from Aegon here. At any moment, his older brother could walk into his room and see you conversing. He didn’t need another excuse to be ridiculed. You had to leave now.

Your hiccups were loud at his rejection as you wiped at your tears, unable to form coherent sentences as sobs racked your lungs. “I…I had a dream. Ae-gon came… back. He hurt me again, and I… I couldn’t…” You cried, palms scratching at your scalp as you tried to speak.

“Go sleep with Jace,” he retorted, ready to return to bed. Spending time together privately was one thing, but this was invading his space, his place of solitude without siblings or nieces.

“I can’t! He and Luke have been sleeping with Mama since Ser Harwin left,” you babbled in despair, glancing over your shoulder as if the monster called Aegon would emerge from the shadows and devour you whole.

Your desperation stung Aemond's heart, and sympathy clouded his sense that the fear you felt was something he, too, experienced. After a long pause, your uncle shifted to the side, noiselessly lifting his sheets and making room beside him.

Breathing a loud sigh of relief that reminded him of a fish gasping for air, you closed the door, running to Aemond’s bed and immediately clinging to his side. He knew you to be affectionate, but he still carried concern in his mind. Yet how you trembled like a frightened fawn, told him this was not a rouse. You were sincerely terrified that your eldest uncle would return and no one would stop him this time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like me,” you sobbed into your uncle’s green nightshirt, gripping the fabric so tight that Aemond worried it would rip. “Please, please, please don’t let him hurt me again, uncle. I can still feel it between my legs.”

Aemond froze at the sudden burst of intimacy, slowly wrapping his arms around your quivering body. Despite the context of the situation, having you so close sent a pleasant tingling down the base of his spine. He tried to focus on your breathing, waiting for it to calm down before he spoke again.

Though he was beginning to tolerate your presence, having you within his bed chambers was not something he wanted.

Aemond recalled the last time you experienced panic like this, a type too intense for your body to manage, ripping your hair straight from the root in response. He hated to realize he didn’t want you to suffer like that again, and unconsciously, he began to stroke the crown of your head.

It felt good to be needed, so desperately wanted by someone that they tried to crawl inside him, seeking protection, and Aemond felt an overwhelming urge to protect you how a wolf does its pup. He would shelter you from all monsters and people that sought you harm so long as you returned to him with the same wet eyes and arms full of love.

When you finally relaxed, no longer shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, he spoke, praying that your exhausted mind would forget his confession in the morning.

“When I have a dragon he will not hurt you so long as you’re with me.”

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Oh, sweet prophetic girl. You know so much yet can do so little. Cursed with the knowledge of what will come and what has yet to be. Let's all pour one out for Helaena, besties.

I hope this chapter makes up for how sad the last one was. I love writing for angsty young Aemond. As always, thank you for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

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so, like, my horny steve thot is almost always the same: i just love the idea of his cock being sooo uncommonly long and girthy that he has to take his sweet time getting you ready and even tho he makes you cum on four fingers and his tongue twice, he still can only fit about half of his cock inside you before you’re crying (crying for more? crying for less? you don’t even know … you’re crying for more probably) :(((( hehe

I know this is way more than a Steve thot, but I do hope you like it anyways? Hehe, thanks so much for sending it in, my dear Cece! I tweaked it a little bit ;)

Note: My vaginismus having ass could not take Steve’s monster very easily (if at all), but this is nice to think about. And I felt like having trouble, even with prep from four fingers (my god, I struggle with sometimes one and definitely two) — is relatable af!

Warnings: Language, smut, NSFW, touches on sub space a little bit, mentions oral sex, handjobs, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, and the reader has a hard time taking Steve, so there’s significant pain. I think that about covers it?

Sometimes you felt as if you were floating. Higher than the tallest cliff hanging off the quarry, rocks jagged and waters a deep, enriching blue, rippling in velvet serenity. Your particles could be scattered to the Midwest winds and you’d have yet to realize, halfway through time — maybe even space…? It happens more and more frequently now, tonight is no different.

You shift, one jut of your knee that slides into a slippery sloping press, his wiry leg hairs tickling your calf. He moves, widening your right thigh, your ankle sliding across your rose colored bed sheets, and back behind his slender form, where he’s kneeling in front of you. An electric heat flows so hot between your legs that the cool air rushing in hurts. You fist your own fingers into your air, massaging, tugging, neck stretching to expose the delicate tendons that run up your throat — ones he’s littered in his claims. God if he could suck them raw, nip the sore flesh into his teeth, enough that you whimper again, opening yourself just the way he needs you to…

Your arm is still thrown above your head, the outline of your forearm pressing into your pillow, your kiss-swollen lips shiny with spit and dormant pleas that he’d heard not long ago. He’s tried to say a few words, even used his palm to push down on your abdomen, still four knuckles deep into your soaking wet pussy. It’s to no avail, your eyes completely glassy, lash line soaked, gaze fucked over and reaching outer limits — a place he can only imagine what’s it like (from your perspective, anyways). He knows this path you go head first into. The books and magazines he had read a long time ago in his High School days mentioned how sex is obviously different for girls, how they can experience things more intensely sometimes.

But nothing could’ve prepared him for this. The very first time it happened coincided with a two hour long foreplay. Steve remembers it like the back of a Farrah Fawcet spray canister. He was prepping you to take him — all nerves and mangled, panting breaths. One finger and his mouth on your neck, two found his lips sucking underneath your jaw line and crooking against that spot just right, three had you stifling whimpers into his neck and riding his splayed palm that stayed drenched, and four… Well, four was an unremarkable set of attempts that took up the better part of the second hour.

You’d done it with Steve’s patience, his languid coaxing. And when you had berated yourself for being unable to take it much past the tip of the fourth, he’d slid between your legs and lifted them apart, his tongue finding your creamy opening and helping himself. You lost count on how many fuses he’d lit and caused to explode, only touching your senses upon hearing Steve hiss out a yes when his fourth finger easily joined the other three. It took a few minutes with him talking to you, high on a raspy ease, a delicious chorus of praises pouring off his lips — then you were back. Some sort of transitioning space, Robin had told him when he couldn’t help but to ask, wondering if it was too much for you.

And that fed into Steve’s addiction to satiate his hunger for seeing you in such an uncaring, completely melted state. All because of him.

He grabs your chin with a calloused thumb and pointer finger, pinching to tilt, your lips catching his and separating in an easy smack. His nose tucks into your cheek, another glide of his mouth, four fingers turning back into three and a stretch, and you inhale sharply — everything coming back into focus. Your breath is winded, bosom heaving and nipples dragging across his tufts of chest hair. He’s so fucking warm, his freckle splattered skin stained red with flush, his aftershave sinking into the corners of your mouth, stubble tickling your chin, and inky pupils littered with cinnamon rings. His brows pinch together, pearly white teeth grinning lazily as he presses another kiss to your mouth the moment that you sigh into a shared breath.

“Welcome back, baby.”

His free hand reaches for your forearm above your head, fingers sliding along damp and salty skin, tickling across your palm and lacing with your own digits — squeezing.

“Mhm. Stevie…” His thick fingers buried in that scorching mess between your thighs is suddenly on the forefront. Holy shit he’d gone to town on you. The evidence has slicked down your ass and onto the bed sheets, that’s no secret.

“I tap out again for a second? Fuck, you’re so good.” You coo at him, enjoying how his eyes light up in a mirth unmatched.

He hooks your right leg around his lower waist, leaving the other lowered to where you’ve got it propped. His eyes find yours and he drinks you in as he pulls his fingers from you slowly, both of you letting out a choked moan. His thumb pad caresses your clit, his digits smacking your cunt and scattering some arousal. You jump, toes curling, digging into his waistline.

“Shit, honey, let me taste you first.” He’s teasing, smirking that Steve Harrington smirk, popping his sopping fingers into that plush mouth, making a real diabolical show of it.

You practically chase his touch, eager to sample yourself — whatever he’ll let you have. He wiggles his shiny fingertips and barely touches your bottom lip, teasing you, making you raise up — the action causing his very prominent erection to nudge your folds. You jump a little, that instinctual preparation that promises a very defining pain — working its way to the forefront. Steve shakes his head and swipes his fingers across your mouth, planting them on your hip to massage in soothing circles. You’re so fucking wet that you’ve already soaked him, and that makes holding back from taking what he wants that much harder.

“Easy, okay? Haven’t even tried to put it in yet. You know I’ll always ask you before I do, right?”

You nod, breathing in a few self-comforting breaths. It’s not that you’re terrified of the pain. Hell, your little kinky ass indulges in it most of the time, but there’s also that percentage that is nervous, that worries about how much it usually does hurt, (despite many orgasms and lubrication), or if you won’t be able to take him at all this time. His walnut strands tickle your cheek as he descends to nuzzle your nose with his own, reassuring hand still on your hip.

“You want it like this tonight?”

You nearly combust on the spot, body bowing to a magnetizing nostalgia of various positions he’d fucked you in; nice and deep, or ever-so-slow and fucking filthily. You can almost taste his sweat from thrusts he’s yet to initiate, feel the goosebumps pepper your flesh as his silky mane tickles your forehead, maybe even your neck and shoulder (it all depends on which way he has you, really). You aren’t quick enough to draw in your timid answer, starting to slip again, preparing to drift and seek him out. His fingers leave your hip and pull down on your bottom lip, releasing it with a plop as the digits head towards your jaw — strumming a slow scrape. “Babe?” He’s amused, questioning. “How do you want me?”

“I..” And your throat feels like it’s overworked, yet you’ve barely spoken. It drips with elated exhaustion, slowly clambering upright. “Right where you are. Get the stuff, honey.” You flip his nickname for you back onto him, and it has a reaction that crashes into his chest, making it swell in size for you.

He nods immediately, the hand that’s holding yours — leaving, but only to work open the bedside drawer in haste, fumbling clumsily as he decides to capture your bottom lip between his teeth — leaving little love pecks as an after motion. You can barely leave his mouth, his neck straining and flushed bright red, caked in sweat. He rolls back on his haunches, his heavy cock bobbing against his stomach and leaving a connective trail of your slick and his pre-cum to both, your thighs and his.

“Jesus,” he mutters in awe. You’re always so wet for him.

You do shift a little, relaxing your legs around his lower back and connecting your ankles. He has the lube bottle in hand, cracking its lid and wiggling his brows at you. A silent signal not missed, you present your palm and he squeezes out a good amount of gel in, tossing it onto the nightstand beside your head. And fuck, you really wish you had your Polaroid right now, because watching him inhale through clenched teeth, toned waist giving into a bunch, and licking a sharp swipe of his tongue across his lips, the moment that your hand is reaching forward to take him in your grasp — it’s forever seared into your pitiful, Steve-stamped retinas. Screw your pupils, might as well be little Steve’s there instead.

His breath trembles, caressing his tongue, body unprepared as your fingertips tap a tempo up his shaft, barely grazing, before moving back down again. His cock twitches, jumping in your hand, and that’s the moment that you take your chance and wrap your fist around him. He falls forward on hefty palms, fingers splayed beside your head, bunching your sheets in a white knuckled grip. This is one of the parts that you absolutely go to the outer limits for.

He mouths at your jugular, nose pathing up your neck and dragging across your chin until he’s able to kiss you and pant against your lips. “That’s it, baby. Use it however you want to. S’ all yours. Don’t need to be afraid of it. ”

That first sticky contact where he’s finally parting your folds turns you into a babbling mess, a wanton whimper tangled at your tongue’s tip. The fingernail of Steve’s thumb scrapes at your chin, tugging and encouraging your sounds to spill free. When you oblige, he slides that very digit into your mouth and presses, salt, his saliva, and your own musky essence pouring over your taste buds.

“That’s my good girl — shit!” You roll your tongue around his finger and take him down to the knuckle, your fist gliding across his length at an easy rhythm in a simultaneous thievery.

“Monster madness.” You whisper, letting your tongue flick around his thumb, before releasing.

He meets your mouth in a shared grin — all teeth, light laughs. “So I own a monster and a python, huh?” He winds your hair back behind your ear and you know it’s almost time. Your grip on him has loosened a little.

You share a heavy stare, a connection that doesn’t falter, even through one raise of his bushy brows. You watch in a marveling, drool-lathered wonder as the tendons in his wrist flex when his fingers separate, pushing your folds apart. They disconnect with an audible squelch, making you grip him tightly again — squeezing. A diagram-deep groan punches through his esophagus and claws its way from his mouth. “Oh. Fucking do somethin’, honey. Please…”

His voice sounds wet, like a hurricane is rising inside his lungs, battering his insides, and threatening to flood his throat — a desperation that finds an adjoining link within your own desires. As he still holds you open, you bring his purpling tip to your swollen clit, and with a blinking of newly tear stained lashes — you use him. He couldn’t stop it if he tried, another beading escaping him and helping the friction you’ve begun to stimulate you both with. Your knee jerks and he thrusts into your hand, his thick, full balls catching on your ass, your wetness having found a home there too. It’s all too messy to comprehend a clean up. And he doesn’t want to, if he’s being honest.

“Baby, you have the prettiest clit. God it feels so good, you know that? Don’t stop for me.” He’s shaking in his forearms, biceps rattled, muscles caving in. He’s not even inside of you yet and he’s already drenched and throbbing, about to blow his load.

Luckily, you know him as well as he knows you. And you release, quickly lifting your ass in a slight wiggle, legs still locked and now wound around his lower back. You give him one pleading command. “Split me open, Stevie.”

He takes an intoxicating initiative, finding your left hand to hold on tight, fingers leaving your cunt and wrapping around his glistening base, curls matted with your cream. This isn’t gonna last long. “Need more lube, baby?” He checks one last time, your head shaking

You’re fucking warm and soft when he drags his dick through the seam of you, teasing, slapping your inner thigh, your clit, finally teasing his head to that ring of nerves. “Fuck.” His hand lifts on your hand, knuckles smashing into your pillow case, palms held and fitted. You’re relaxed enough that you’re close to sucking him right in, and as soon as the head pops past your opening, he sees your eyes fill with tears. You dig your nails into the top of his hand, scratching, nearly breaking skin. What comes out of your mouth before he can say anything shocks him.

“H-hold on. Fuck, I think I’m gonna cum.”

Steve’s lips find your neck and they suck, bite, licking clean the evidence of a beginning claim. He has to stop himself from fucking you up the bed at this new knowledge. “Oh yeah? Feels that good?”

“Just go slow.” You whimper into a kiss he bestows, tongue greedily slinking into his mouth to take what you want.

He sees what you mean when he presses in a little more and is flooded with a fresh wave of cream, his eyes rolling back and clouding over. And that’s the moment he knows that he has to check in, because you sniffle. There it is.

“Honey? You alright?”

You’re trying to say you are, but it comes out as a broken “mhm” and you lick your lips, eyes focusing on the ceiling, sclera burning. It fucking stings, your body is telling you what it knows — that it’s gonna be too much, that you’ll be sore. But he’s so warm, so heavy inside, and he isn’t even completely there. You try to shove your hips and seek out more, only to be rebuffed. “Baby…” he warns, composure tilting over that precipice, wavering.

And the air changes, your body goes light, and that’s it.

“Come here.” Your hand that’s unheld, is digging into his hair, its soft strands becoming rising waves in the gaps between your fingers, tumbling over yourself to get to his mouth.

His knees help keep him above you, or else he’d collapse. You breathe in deep, releasing it against his lips when you part, your nipples prodding at his slippery flesh. Smashing your nose into his own, he nudges, he shifts, and you’re caught — his thick cock sinking into you. It’s not even half, but you cling to Steve through gasping cries and tear splattered lips, everything aching and throbbing. Your heart is racing so hard that you’re sure your bones are being dusted to ash.

Despite the nearly unbearable fire his size carries, your body welcomes him halfway in without anything else needed. Steve pauses, not just for you, but for himself and the ridiculous choppiness that he can’t even call breathing. He lifts your combined hands and kisses each finger, making you tighten around him and his hips shove forward. You both curse and he apologizes, to no avail. You’ve begun to beg him, and he thinks he might be in his own transitioning space.

“Honey — Baby, hold on, m’ tryna make it better for you.”

“More, I want it all, S-Steve… Don’t stop!”

“But you’re tensing on me —“

“Please, oh god, please — Steve!”

His control vanishes and his closed fist reaches the bottom of your folds as he helps himself push the rest of the way in — in two swift, squelching glides. His tip finds that spot right away, settled like a flesh tight glove, and it sets off a series of sparks, your throat barely able to let out a scream before your release squirts from your cunt and reaches the happy trail scattered around Steve’s navel. Yep, it’s over. He pulls your linked hands up and drapes them by his neck, pumping his hips on one good time, forehead sticking to yours, eyes wide and lips parted in disbelief, and he comes. Your exposed hands that aren’t together, they find one another and match the other two, lacing, pieced just right.

Steve crumbles and collapses on you, your breasts dripping with combined exertion, his pulse racing to stabilize, face burrowing on the swell of your chest. It’s a few silent moments — his cock softening inside you, your cunt brimming with his warm spend, and then he’s looking up at you from his spot. That five o’clock shadow surrounds his mouth, his pupils trying to normalize, and fuck — his own eyes have spilled moisture. Every freckle and mole is visible, his easy grin and silent apology starting, but you brush the hair of his forehead, enjoying his reddened cheeks.

“I love you, honey. Are you okay? Want me to—“ His own voice sounds discombobulated.

“Stay a little while with me, like this? Inside?” Is your airy soft response.

And now, now you think that Steve will be floating over the quarry with you. Particles that fuse together. Of time and space.

// eat me paragraph //

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ichigo-dream · 1 year

Text

Pretty When You Cry

Ummmmm have some extemely self-indulgent subby Leon content bc this man has literally been rotting my brain for the last month and I don't see it stopping anytime soon. Shout out to all my cultured women who enjoy whimpering men - this one's for u.

Written with re2 Leon in mind but picture him however u want besties

-Dream

warnings: dub/con, somnophilia

Leon whimpered softly in the darkness, soft streaks of moonlight filtering through the nearby window and falling onto his glistening skin as he shifted restlessly in bed. He swallowed thickly, eyes squeezed tight shut as he tried to distract himself from the unbearable throb between his legs.

Not again.

You lay next to him, sleeping soundly, your breathing calm and deep where his was shallow and sharp. You had no idea the effect you had on him. What you were doing just by being so close to him. So many nights he had found himself awoken by you shifting in your sleep, pressing the soft curve of your ass so innocently against his cock, leaving him so awfully needy and alone. He always tried so hard to keep quiet, rutting himself desperately against a pillow so he wouldn’t cause you to stir or wake up.

Tonight was no different. He groaned quietly as he dared to palm himself through the thin fabric of his shorts with one hand, soft pillow tightly grasped in the other as he used it to try and muffle his whines. Not enough, it was never enough. Sometimes he would lie awake for hours, cheeks streaked with tears, feverish and blushing as he tried so hard to make himself cum but to no avail.

He opened his eyes to glance at your sleeping form. So sweet and peaceful. You had rolled onto your back by now, the thin fabric of your little nightdress riding up to expose the plush skin of your thighs and stomach. Leon bit down hard on his lip as he drank in the beautiful sight laid before him, fist clenching tightly around the outline of his cock whilst his gaze locked on to the baby pink underwear you had chosen to wear. Had you done it on purpose? He noticed the little satin bow sewn onto the waistband, teasing him, begging him to open the present before him. So cute. So fucking cute. He could barely take it, and the longer he stared at you the more he felt his resolve weakening.

Maybe he could touch you…just for a second…

He freed his hand from his aching cock for a moment, reaching out to drag his fingers gently across the soft skin of your upper thigh. His eyes were glazed over with pure lust, lips parted, almost salivating at the delicious heat that kissed his fingertips as he caressed your smooth, supple flesh in slow circles. You reacted to his touch, even in your sleep, sighing sweetly as you lifted your hips a fraction before settling back into the mattress, legs spread a little wider than they had been before.

Leon swallowed another groan, burying his face into the pillow he was gripping tightly. The hand on your thigh tightened, trying not to drift towards what he really wanted. Knowing you were right next to him, spread out like that…so cute and innocent, it was driving him wild.

More…he needed more.

He needed you. So bad.

Needed to feel your skin against his.

And with that, the final restraint in him snapped. He discarded the pillow and rolled onto his side, cradling your face gently in one large hand before leaning down to kiss your forehead softly. When he caught the lingering scent of your perfume his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. Oh, fuck. He couldn’t resist nuzzling into the curve of your neck, breathing you in deeply until only you surrounded him. His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a low whine. He was trembling now, his other hand drifting down to tease himself through his shorts. His cock strained against the waistband, and he could feel hot precum gathering along its head and leaving a small, dark stain. He allowed his fingers to dip beneath the elastic, using his thumb to lightly tease the tip of his cock. He shuddered against you, biting down on his lip even harder than last time.

“F-fuck…baby, I need you,” He stuttered, brushing his lips against your pulse point. He began to press gentle kisses along the column of your neck, all the way up to the sweet spot just below your ear. He nipped the skin there softly as he cradled the back of your head, somehow getting even harder as he heard you moan quietly into him, still fast asleep. “J-just let me touch you for a little while, I promise- oh god, just for a little, that’s all I need.”

Soothing you with more kisses, Leon shifted his weight and angled himself over you, slotting one of his strong legs between yours. He lowered himself as much as he could without disturbing you, a string of curses slipping from his lips as he dragged his clothed cock along the inside of your bare thigh. The slight friction had him whimpering pathetically against your throat as he kissed it more desperately. Even through the thin fabric he could feel your heat, and oh fuck, if that wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for.

“Y-you’re doing so good for me, so good, my sweet girl-“ He murmured, continuing at a tortuous pace simply so he could savour what you were giving to him right now. He lowered his hips more, feeling his abdominal muscles flex with each slow back-and-forth movement.

“Oh fuck…you’re so perfect. And you belong to me… all mine, my perfect girl- Ah…!”

Greed and lust consumed him, cheeks blazing with a mixture of arousal and shame as he angled himself to press directly against your cunt this time, his hips stuttering to a halt so he could savour the feeling of your delicious warmth for a moment. His head dipped to your chest as he whined loudly, unable to keep himself quiet any longer.

“So cute,” He moaned, reaching down to press his thumb against your clothed clit, “You wear these just for me, huh? Always so pretty…”

You were reacting to him more now, your breathing more shallow and rapid as you moved your hips the tiniest bit, only managing small little circles against him in your sleepy state.

“Leon…” You sighed languidly.

The way you said his name made his jaw clench. Like you needed him.

He needed to hear you say it again.

He started moving against you again, more desperate this time, grinding against your core and moving his thumb in slow, soft circles – just how you liked it. He swore he could feel you throbbing against him and he couldn’t stop any of the shameful noises slipping from between his lips now, not even caring if you woke up to see him so pathetic and dumb between your legs. He noticed your slick begin to dampen the fabric of your underwear against his fingers, and he almost came on the spot. He started babbling like a fool, despairing pleas falling from his lips like a broken prayer.

“Haa- oh fuck, so wet for me already I, -I just need you to say my name again sweetheart, that’s all I need, please, please-“

He could feel his eyes glistening with tears and his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of scarlet in embarrassment, burying his head between the plush valley of your breasts, panting as he ground his hips against you over and over again, choking back little sobs and hiccups. He felt so ashamed, so pathetic – he had barely done anything, but he was going completely dumb and delirious from pleasure simply from teasing himself over your sweet skin and pretty cunt. The intense mixture of guilt, shame, and delight had his heart thudding wildly in his chest; he felt so dirty, like some kind of disgusting pervert as he used you to get off. Yet, it spurred him on. He whimpered and bit his lip, the thought of his sin turning him on even more.

He shouldn’t enjoy it, but he did.

As he continued to press against the little wet spot on your underwear, he noticed you begin to stir a little more, grinding softly against his hand and cock, nuzzling into your pillow as your brow furrowed and more soft, breathy moans fell from your lips. He leaned back a little to look at you, letting out a low groan. He wanted to touch you even more, to feel you with nothing in his way.

“I-I just need a little more from you, sweet girl. You’ve been s-so good, God, you’re driving me fucking c-crazy, y’know that? Fuck, can’t take it anymore-” He had finally had enough, reaching down to hook one of his fingers into the soft fabric of your thin underwear so he could pull it to the side, revealing your glistening cunt to him.

All he could do was stare.

“Oh, fuck…so pretty...Let me look at you, sweetheart.”

He kneeled before you, digging his hands into the soft meat of your thighs so he could push your legs a little further apart, spreading you open. He was in a daze, one trembling hand ghosting upwards and leaving goosebumps along your skin until he was able to drag his index finger slowly, gently, through your sensitive folds. So warm…so soft. One little touch felt like heaven to him.

He gathered some of your slick on his fingertip, still being slow and careful as he traced agonising circles against your clit.

“…S-so wet for me…and I barely did anything…You’re just like me, aren’t you angel? So needy and desperate, even in your sleep. You look so perfect like this, all spread out for me. Fuck, I bet you’d look s-so cute with my cum dripping out of your pussy, wouldn’t you?”

He let out another soft whimper, palming his cock teasingly through his boxers again. He fumbled with the waistband, pushing it down with one hand just enough until he finally freed himself. His breath caught in his throat as the cool air hit his sensitive head, now dripping with precum all the way down his aching shaft. His loose shirt was getting in the way - so he simply lifted it up and held the bottom hem between his teeth, displaying the pale skin of his toned midriff and broad chest.

He - reluctantly – removed his hand from between your thighs, smearing your wetness over the head of his cock. He let out a choked gasp, throwing his head back and letting out a muffled groan through the fabric of his shirt. He slowly began to pump his thick cock in his fist, working himself up all over again, heat spreading through his body as he grunted and whined. He stared at you through half-lidded eyes, swallowing thickly and panting as he thought about how fucking depraved he was for doing this – but he simply didn’t care anymore.

He had held himself back long enough.

After all, how was any of this fair? Poor Leon, sleep-deprived and desperate for some sort of relief, feeling so dirty and ashamed while you slept soundly next to him – blissfully unaware, and wearing that. It wasn’t fair at all. God, he could fucking die at the sight of you. He couldn’t believe it, really. An angel slept in his bed every night and he somehow resisted every urge to ruin you when you teased him like this. Part of him wanted to see how far he could go before you realised what was happening.

He eyed your underwear, pushed to the side and completely soaked.

He used one hand to tug them down your legs, slipping them off your delicate ankles before crumpling them in his fist and bringing the soft fabric up to press against his face. Oh fuck, he was disgusting. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy, breathing in your sweet, heady scent deep through his nose. He nuzzled into the damp cotton, feeling the little pink satin bow tickle his skin. He rolled his thumb over the tip of his cock teasingly, shuddering. He could only imagine how obscene he looked right now, jerking himself over your sleeping body like this, your underwear pressed to his face.

He couldn’t keep himself away from you for long, though. He discarded your underwear and his shirt easily enough so he could position himself between your thighs, angling his hips so he could push forward and drag his cock slowly through your petal-soft folds. He lurched forward with a strangled groan, throwing his arm out so he could grip the headboard hard enough to see his knuckles turn white. You were soaked, staining the sheets as he moved at an agonising pace. And so warm. So warm and wet for him that he was half-delirious with pleasure, tears finally running freely down his pink cheeks.

He glanced down at you beneath him, biting his lip at the soft flush spreading across your cute face. Another needy whimper slipped from his lips as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, elbows braced on either side of your head. He could taste his own tears on your hot skin as he left desperate, open-mouthed kisses along the supple curve of skin, tilting his hips so that the head of his cock brushed against your clit with each messy thrust.

Another soft moan escaped you, right next to his ear. You shifted a little and he almost died when he felt you grinding sleepily against him, the movement pushing him deeper between your slick, silky folds.

He whined loudly and buried his face into your soft hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your favourite strawberry shampoo. Your smell, your little noises, the way you ground your hips against him, fuck, it was becoming too much for him.

“Please, please, please- Oh fuck, I love you, I love you, s-so much-“ He was sobbing now, letting out little hiccups and gasps as his movements got a little more desperate and sloppy, his pulse racing as he greedily chased his high. “F-feels so good…ah-!”

His eyes squeezed tight shut and he could taste the salt in his tears as they rolled down his cute flushed cheeks, dripping onto the soft fabric of your pillow and into your hair. All he could feel was white-hot pleasure, so intense it was almost unbearable.

He was close, so close-

Suddenly he was sent hurtling right over the edge, a high-pitched whine ripping out from his throat as he felt something finally snap inside him. He nuzzled into your neck, sobbing as he came over your pretty stomach in thick, hot spurts. He could feel it on his own skin pressed flush against yours, sticky and wet, now tangible evidence of his shameful act.

His movements began to slow as he rode out his high, his entire body trembling and slick with sweat. The hazy fog of pleasure was beginning to lift from his mind, quickly replaced by a sobering sense of clarity at what he had actually done. With an unsteady hand, he reached down to pull his boxers up, the waistband resting far too low on his hips, but he didn’t care.

He sagged against you, shifting his weight so he could curl up into your side, hugging you close, tears of guilt now welling up in his baby blue eyes. He sniffled and whimpered, wondering how he ever could have done something so disgusting to you, his sweet girl. He didn’t deserve you. He clung to you, crying now as fat tears of shame rolled down his cheeks.

Leon didn’t notice you finally begin to stir, roused by his noises and the way his weight pressed against you.

Your mind still heavy with sleep, your first thought was that your sweet boy was having another one of his nightmares. Your bare shoulder was wet with his tears, and the sounds of his broken little sobs and quiet gasps as he tried to catch his breath filled your ears.

“Leon, baby…. shhhh…it’s okay.” You lifted your hands so you could cradle his head and run your fingers through his soft blonde hair, slightly damp with sweat you noticed.

He clung to you even more, not an inch of space between you as his large hands gripped tightly onto the fabric of your nightgown, twisting it between his fingers. He trembled like a frightened lamb against you, nuzzling into your neck like he was searching for comfort.

“N-no, it’s n-not okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-!” He left desperate little tear-soaked kisses on your skin as he babbled, tripping and stumbling over his words.

Mean to…?

You were confused for a moment.

Until you felt it.

Something warm and sticky on your stomach. Cool air against your now-bare lower half. The slick between your thighs.

Ah.

You bit your lip. He thought you were mad?

So Cute.

“Oh, Leon…you made a mess all over me, didn’t you?” You cooed softly, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. You scratched his scalp gently and he shuddered against you, his broad shoulders relaxing at your touch. “Look at me, baby.”

He lifted his head, still sniffling. His eyes were wide and innocent, glittering with tears that hadn’t fallen yet. His brow was creased in distress; his lips slightly swollen – from kissing or biting, you couldn’t tell. All you could think was how beautiful he looked right now, his plump cheeks wet and flushed.

“Y-you’re…not angry with me?” He asked in a small, soft voice – the edges slightly rough from crying.

You lean forward to kiss one of his tears away, smoothing his hair away from his face lovingly.

“I could never be mad at you, sweet boy.” You were secretly delighted.

He pressed his face into your hair, almost like he was hiding from you. You could sense the shame and embarrassment he felt – it was rolling off him in waves, written all over his face and in his body language.

“Tell me I’m good…” He murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“You’re good, Leon…So good. My good boy…” You hum soothingly, your hands returning to his hair. “You have nothing to feel guilty about…I promise.”

He melts in your arms, his breathing slowing down. A quick glance at the clock by your bed told you he must have been up for hours like this. The poor thing must have been exhausted.

"Go to sleep, baby. I’ve got you.” You murmur, his soft blonde hair tickling your cheek as he settled in comfortably. He mumbled something incoherent, squeezing your hip gently. You felt his body relax into you even more as he slowly slipped away.

It didn’t take long for you to join him, soon lost in a dreamy haze.

You couldn’t wait to return the favour in the morning.

#resident evil #resident evil leon #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader

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daizymax · 8 months

Text

the ways we love | lfl (m)

summary: periods of work mean periods without play between you and your longtime boyfriend. after he offers to be the muse for your latest artistic piece, you realize just how much you appreciate his never-ending support.

pairing: felix x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 7.9k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: established relationship; profanity; mentions of alcohol consumption and (past) drunken sex; public marriage proposal; brief mention of having children; graphic sexual content; dom!felix; dirty talk; use of pet names; fingering; some spit play; oral sex (m receiving); some spanking; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; creampie; aftercare

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. i think this will be the last of the fics from my old blog that i'll be reuploading here for the foreseeable future. also, i forgot how much fun i had writing the smut in this one. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

He had started off so well. He was relaxed, comfortable, cheerful. Happy to help. This was his idea, after all.

But now… now he’s fidgety. Anxious and bored. You sympathize with that, but if he doesn’t — “Doll, can you please stop moving?” — then you’re ready to give up this entire project already.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs in that sweet, deep voice of his. “You’re just being so quiet. I thought you’d at least talk to me and let me know how it’s coming.”

You spare him a quick, direct glance before refocusing on the canvas. “I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of every mark I make, Lix. I need to concentrate. I want this to be as perfect as you are.”

Felix huffs and averts his eyes, but you know you have appeased him from the way he falls silent and relaxes his shoulders again. The new pink hue spreading across his freckled nose, ears and cheeks would be a nice touch if only you were ready to add color to the piece. For now, you store the inspirational image away for later.

You manage to finish your outline and flesh out some details around his nose before his real-live self ruins his posture — and subsequently, the lighting on his face — by shifting in his seat yet again. With a sigh, you set your utensils aside, wipe your palms on your pants and say, “How about a break? Let me get you a drink.”

Whatever his answer was going to be — agreement, argument, or otherwise — does not have time to be voiced before you are breezing by him and into the kitchen. When you return, he accepts the glass of water and obeys your command to drink up. You watch as he tips an ice cube into his mouth and licks his heart-shaped lips afterward.

He mistakes your admiration for scrutiny. “What’s wrong?”

You smooth some stray hairs near his ear and poke the bulge of ice in his cheek. “Nothing at all. I just like looking at you.”

He crunches the ice and blushes deeper. “Thanks. Don’t you need to do that from the other side of the room, though? Any idea when you might be finished?”

You shrug and fuss with the collar of his shirt until it un-creases. “You know I can’t answer that. A few hours? Days? Weeks? Whenever I’m satisfied with it. Or whenever you say, ‘Fuck you, I’m done with this.’ I told you I can always just use a photo to finish this so you don’t have to model for me.”

Felix smiles softly. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I volunteered, didn’t I? I like modeling for you. It feels fancy to do it this way, like it might turn out better if we do it like this.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it’ll be so awful you’ll leave me over how monstrous I make you look.”

“Well, at least that would make an interesting story to tell my next girlfriend.”

You giggle. “That’s true. Why don’t I just do a caricature? That way, if it looks bad, I can pretend it was on purpose.”

“No. God no,” he says firmly. “You’re too good an artist to be making pieces look silly on purpose.”

You peck his forehead. “Well, if you want this to be ‘professional,’ you have to sit still for me, doll.”

“I will. I’ll behave.” He tilts his chin to seek out your lips, and you willingly give them up. You smile into the kiss when you see him fumble to set his glass aside on the coffee table beside him without breaking contact with you. Before he can free up his hands to do goodness-knows-what with them, you slink away, back to your easel.

“You just told me you’d behave. If you’re not backing out, then I’m still working, and that means no playing,” you remind him.

He knows, but there is still a hint of disappointment in his dark brown gaze.

These abstinence periods are relatively new to your long-standing relationship. You suppose most people would think a couple purposefully denying themselves sex would tear a wedge of stress and resentment between them, but that has not been the case with you and Felix. It’s a stimulus. A game. A challenging one, to be sure, but always immensely rewarding.

So that is what you have both agreed: there is no sex while you are working on a piece. Not until the job is finished.

“How long do you think this one will take?” Felix asks again.

You plop down in your seat with a light groan and gather your utensils again. “The answer is the same, Lix. I can’t say for sure. A few hours, days, weeks?”

Your pretty muse nods and takes another sip of water as he mentally prepares himself for the oncoming drought. He does his best to relax in his seat again, and you flash him a smile before getting back to work.

---

It takes twelve days to complete the portrait, and Felix is not even sitting across from you when the last stroke falls upon the canvas. He might be offended by this once he finds out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from finishing without him. Besides, you know he will ultimately be as happy as you are that it is finally finished.

Truthfully, you might have been able to do most of the portrait simply from memory; you know his face as well as your own by now.

A sigh flutters past your lips. You take a step back to better admire (and scrutinize) your work. As you scan it over, you can’t help but smile. Not just out of pride for the job you did, but because of the striking resemblance you have been striving to achieve.

It is always difficult to instill life and warmth into mere lines and dots and smudges, but the two-dimensional rendition truly seems as though it could begin breathing at any moment, and a fresh wave of fondness for your best friend and lover as the real-life person he is comes over you. That is how you know you are satisfied, and not just in terms of your finished project.

This is something to celebrate, so after deciding how you want to do so, you pick up your phone to text Felix about an important dilemma.

[You: hey i forgot what you’re wearing today]

There is enough time to change out of your old, splattered overalls and heat up a late lunch before your phone buzzes back.

[Felix: i know it’s been a while since we’ve sexted but i think you meant to phrase that as “what are you wearing” with a smirk emoji]

You almost choke on a bite of your food as you laugh out loud.

You: dfjfdjso i’m not trying to sext you. i just need to know if you’re dressed nicely enough for a restaurant with a decent wine list tonight. we have some celebrating to do

[Felix: how come?]

[You: it’s finished]

This time your phone does not buzz. It rings.

“You finished the portrait?” Felix’s voice is hushed and a little rushed. You can tell he is on the move, probably heading somewhere away from his co-workers and customers for a more private conversation.

“It’s signed and everything,” you say cheerfully.

“That’s fantastic!” he says, not the least bit offended. “This is definitely worth celebrating. We should go to the nicest place in town and dress to the nines.”

More laughter bursts from deep in your chest. “Wha— I mean, it’s still just a portrait, Lix. I didn’t win an award or solve a murder case or anything.”

“So? I” — you hear the sound of a door closing in the background — “sat in that chair for a hundred years and went celibate waiting for that portrait to be done. No offense. This deserves a grand celebration.”

Your eyeroll can probably be heard through the receiver. “It didn’t take that long, did it? It was less than two weeks. Remember that waterfall landscape I did?”

Felix grunts at the memory. “Yeah, how can I forget? Longest month-and-a-half of my entire life.”

“It was worth it in the end, though, wasn’t it?” you say, remembering how neither of you could walk properly for at least a couple days after you finished that particular piece, which is now proudly mounted on a wall in the master bedroom. “Come on, doll. When I pick you up, we’ll go out and have that decent wine with a decent meal so the public knows we’re celebrating something, and then we’ll come home and fuck each other blind, okay?”

There was a time years ago when he might have choked and sputtered over your words, but this lewd proposal is mild, and today he doesn’t flinch.

“If that’s what Madame Artiste wants, then that’s what she’ll get,” Felix says.

He offers you a choice between two restaurants he deems himself dressed appropriately for without having to come home and change, and once you choose, he asks, “Can you just bring my navy suit jacket with you so I can make this outfit work, please? I’ll see you later. I can’t wait.”

He ends the call with the sound of a kiss.

---

The chimes on the door draw the attention of three pairs of eyes, and the sight of you stepping into the salon brings a smile to Felix’s face. Well, the mask on the lower half of his face prevents you from actually seeing his smile, but the happiness is there in his deep brown eyes.

“Hi,” he says, scanning your date-night outfit with obvious appreciation. “Be right with you.”

“Take your time,” you say, smiling at the customer sitting across from him. She smiles back politely and returns her attention to Felix, who goes back to focusing on her fingernails. He meticulously sweeps an emery board across the rounded ruby shapes to finish smoothing them out.

The third person in the salon gets up from his cozy perch in one of the pedicure chairs at the end of the row and crosses the floor.

“You look so nice, Y/N. Is it date night?”

“Yep, we’re off to dinner,” you say, accepting the man’s hug. “What’s new, Ji?”

“Oh, not much.” Jisung shrugs and takes one of your hands. He inspects your fingernails, which have unsightly matte polka dots chipped in the gloss. “Want me to redo these before you go? It won’t take that long.”

You let out a fleeting giggle. “Honestly, I don’t know why I bother getting them done in the first place when I put so much wear and tear on them. This damage only took me a week.”

“Well that’s because—” Jisung shoots your boyfriend a quick look and clearly alters the second part of his statement, “—you did them at home. You need to have them professionally done.”

His way of criticizing Felix’s work while leaving the customer in the room none the wiser is clever, and you have half a mind to applaud him for poking fun at his friend without hurting their business.

The comment is not lost on Felix. He glares over at you and Jisung, but he cannot seem to think of a subtle rebuttal, so he stews in silence.

“Ah, maybe that’s my problem,” you say, grinning.

“Give me, like, fifteen minutes and you’ll be all set,” Jisung promises.

As he’s making his offer, Felix finishes with the woman. From the edge of your vision, you see him remove his mask and lead her to the register to finish the transaction.

“Are you working Saturday morning?” you ask Jisung. “I’ll stop in then and you can do my toes, too.”

Before he can either confirm or deny the appointment, Felix interrupts by coming up behind you and waving his tip in front of your face. “Here, look what my ‘unprofessional’ work got us,” he says. “Buy yourself something nice, baby.”

You chuckle at his little joke until you flick through the bills and realize just how much worth is in them. “Wow, Lix, she was so generous!”

“She was appreciative of the amazing job I did,” he corrects with a peck to your cheek, then he takes his suit jacket from your arms to slip it on. “Sorry, Ji, we have to go. Ready, Y/N?”

“Ready,” you say.

“Sounds good,” Jisung replies at the same time. “I’ll lock up here. Enjoy your date, guys. See you Saturday, Y/N.”

---

The wine is more than decent, the food hits all the right spots, and the company is absolutely perfect.

Felix laughs happily from across the table. Strands of pale blonde hair trickle past his ears the further he tips his head back, and the apples of his cheeks are hued pink from where the rosé has gone. His smile loses none of its dazzle when the waiter interrupts to check on the two of you. The sheer warmth he radiates is boundless in the most endearing way.

When the waiter leaves, you watch Felix lean back in his chair. His eyes land on yours, and while some of the amusement fades from his face, the fondness remains. You see it there, twinkling in the inky pools of his irises; you feel it in the comfort he exudes while he is with you.

For some reason, the contentment of the moment draws something to mind. “Do you remember when we first met?” you ask out of the blue.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Of course I do. Remember how you tried to kiss me?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you groan. “Honestly, I still don’t remember a whole lot about that night, but I definitely remember you saying, ‘Oh, no thank you,’ right in my face.”

“Listen,” he laughs in defense, holding up a finger. “I was trying to be polite. I was trying to be a gentleman. You were a hot mess. That party had you twenty so’s-worth of shit-faced.”

“Twenty what?”

“You were so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, soooo…” he starts chanting his stupid joke.

You giggle and hang your head. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“Hang on.” He holds that finger up higher. “So, so, SOOOO—”

“I said I get it already!”

“—so shit-faced. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You did embarrass me, though! By rejecting me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, dipping his head in apology, “but we both would’ve been way more embarrassed if we’d slept together that night. It would’ve been a disaster.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “What makes you think I would’ve slept with you so soon?”

“Uh. Did you or did you not sleep with my roommate that night instead?”

“Fair enough," you say, toasting your wine glass in his direction. “It’s only funny now because we’re the ones who ended up together.”

Felix smiles. “Thank goodness for that. Life is pretty incredible with you in it, sweetheart.”

His words sober you a bit, and you smile back almost shyly. “I could say the same about you, doll.”

He probably does not always love you as much and as effortlessly as he does right now. He certainly is not always his best, most charming self the way he is right now. Neither are you. But he is still worth loving when he is at his worst, and if you could have moments like these scattered all throughout the rest of your life, you feel it would be enough. His love and support and respect and admiration are more than enough.

So it comes as a soft entreaty rather than a question; out of the blue again, but also a long time coming: “Please marry me.”

This time Felix raises an eyebrow. He seems more intrigued than surprised by your impromptu proposal. Then he half-purses, half-pouts his lips in a cheeky sort of expression, like he thinks you’re bluffing but is willing to play along anyway.

That feeling of overconfidence you had that first drunken night when you leaned in to kiss him in a stranger’s kitchen comes back, as does the fear of the rejection you suffered immediately afterward. If he says ‘Oh, no thank you,’ again, you wonder if you’ll die of embarrassment right here in this restaurant, surrounded by different strangers with different alcohol on your breath.

But you know he won’t, not even as a joke, because he knows you now. He knows you well, and he sees the sincerity in your face.

“I don’t have a ring,” you go on, “but I’ll get down on one knee right here, right now. This dress won’t stop me.”

Wordlessly, Felix lifts his napkin from his lap to lay it across his plate, then leans sideways to pull something from his pocket. He casually holds it up for your inspection, and once you realize what it is, you move to kneel in front of him as promised without even questioning the coincidence. Now is not the time for questions. Now is the time to show how serious you are about this.

Felix stares down at you and pries open the tiny case to reveal the brilliance of the diamond’s sparkle. Your fingers are sure and steady when he slips the top-heavy band onto the appropriate one.

“I would be honored to marry you,” he says softly, poking back and forth at the engagement ring with the edge of his thumbnail.

By now there are dozens of eyes on the quiet scene the two of you are making, but his are the only pair you see. His smile is still there, softer and smaller now, but still brimming with the adoration he has gained over the years. It widens when you rise up just enough to press your lips to it. His hand finds the back of your head the same second yours cups his.

A round of coos and charmed applause from the crowd goes up around you, but it is all background noise to the sound of Felix’s precious, giddy laughter.

---

He is no longer laughing by the time you throw the front door shut and press him up against it. The needy kisses between here and the car have taken most of his oxygen.

“Shit,” he hisses, watching you work his belt buckle. “You get a ring on your finger and you turn feral, is that how it works?”

You growl playfully but say nothing.

“You better slow down, tiger, or we won’t last five minutes.”

“Don’t care.”

“Aren’t you gonna show me what we waited so long for this for first?”

“Later. I thought you were dying of celibacy?” you sass.

Felix clicks his tongue. The simple sound is quiet, but it shifts the air. You stop trying to get into his pants to give his dark eyes your undivided attention.

“We have all the time in the world now, don’t we?” he murmurs, as though the hard-on in his jeans is not growing as impatient as you.

You swallow. “I just want you so badly. It hurts.”

His gaze sharpens at your tone. “Does it?” He reaches up to graze a thumb along your bottom lip. “Where does it hurt, sweetheart? Here?”

The sound you let out is something between a hum and a whine. You feel so sex-starved, so desperate for any morsel of pleasure he can feed you. You try to take his thumb into your mouth, but he slips it away too fast, plucking your lip as he goes. He brushes across your breast next. The sensation is dulled by your clothing, but your nipple stands to attention nonetheless.

“What about here?” he whispers.

“Yes…” The fingers that had been so keen on removing his belt cling idly to the leather.

“Aw.” Felix pouts and bats his eyelashes at you, but his sympathy feels insincere. He’s amused by the state of you. He adores seeing you so riled up and pliant for him.

His thumb trails further, straight down your stomach, while the rest of his fingers are kept stiff and carefully away from your buzzing body.

Eventually, he reaches the crease between your thighs and presses through the layers of your dress and your panties where he estimates your clit to be. He is a little north at first but quickly readjusts his position. The soft moan you let out is a dead giveaway for when he has found it.

“And here?” He takes a step closer while he begins drawing tiny circles. “Tell me, angel, does it hurt here?”

“Yes. Yes...”

He kisses your cheek tenderly. Mercifully. His deep voice is pitched even deeper when he murmurs, “Shh. I know it does. It’s finally time for me to make it better, isn’t it.”

You cant your hips against his hand. “Felix, please...”

“Come here.”

He trades places to cage you up against the front door. You reach for him, but he draws back out of reach to shrug out of his jacket first. After he carefully pushes the sleeves of his sweater up, he uses both hands to hike your dress up along your waist. There is no rush to his movements. In fact, it’s almost graceful the way he does it, as though the actions he is about to perform could be considered decent.

When you try to remove your underwear from his way, he nudges your hands aside. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tuts. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Tell me the safe word first, Y/N.”

After all this time, he still has you say it out loud beforehand. Beneath your eager lust, you appreciate the basic act of care and commitment to playing the dominant role.

“Candle,” you answer.

He thanks you as though you’ve done him a favor and places a light kiss on the edge of your jaw. Then he hooks his thumb through the side of your panties to touch the hood of your bare clit directly. A jolt of electricity singes your nerves from his first flick. Your body noticeably quivers, and Felix smirks at his quick, effortless effect on you.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he drawls lowly.

You swallow again, drier this time. “Mm-hm.”

“Because we don’t play while you’re working anymore, do we?”

You shake your head. “Hm-mm.”

“And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you, baby?”

You hum again, louder this time. Or maybe it’s a full-blown moan. Whatever the sound is, it becomes incessant over each passing second and each pass of his thumb. Every noise you make is met with a return sigh or hum from Felix. Every jerk of your hips is matched by a tilt of his head or other shift in his posture.

Getting fingered like this, fully dressed and up against the front door of your home, spikes a carnal, filthy pleasure into your blood. It sears through your muscles, hotter and hotter until it beads between your skin and your clothes. You want to take them off, but you dare not stop Felix for a second. You keen with lust and desperation.

“I know. I know,” he purrs, soft and sweet as a kitten. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so good...” He nuzzles the space between your jaw and your neck and inhales deeply.

You tilt your face away to give him better access, but he peels back and takes your chin in his other hand to steer you back toward him. A puff of hot breath hits your damp temple; it almost feels cool.

“Eyes on me. Good girl.” His gaze skims down your form. “You’re still shaking. All I’ve done is touch your clit and you’re that close already, huh?”

“Yes, so close,” you admit, completely unashamed. “Just keep going, please just keep going.”

Felix smiles and takes the sweat from your temple with a pair of kisses. “How can I say no when you beg me so nicely like the perfect angel you are? Hold onto me. C’mon.”

You instinctively go to clutch his biceps but think of a better idea and hook your arms around his neck instead. Felix allows you to pull him even closer and finally — finally — slips another finger into your panties. He pushes it into your opening with almost no resistance, and you gasp when his knuckles bottom out inside you. Just as quickly as the finger entered, a second one joins and curls. He keeps them buried for a moment, then drags them back out to smear the juices he collected around your swollen bud. The slipperier his work gets, the more he enjoys it.

“Your pussy is so perfect,” he breathes. “Spread your legs. I want to feel just how wet it gets for me.”

You obediently open your legs wider, and he delves back in immediately, fast enough that his palm audibly claps against your slick lips, hard enough to send your head tipping backward to thump against the door. When his thumb drops back to your clit and nudges under the hood this time, you know it won’t be long until you’re unraveled.

“Ohhh my god,” you groan. More sweat builds on your forehead, on your chest, under your arms, along the backs of your knees. You grow lightheaded from the static in your veins from being fucked open by Felix’s talented, diligent fingers.

“That’s it,” he pants. You’re not sure when he became so breathless. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. Come for me. Come for me. Come.”

Another dozen strokes and you do as you’re told with a pinched yelp. Felix kisses your throat as he works you up your high and eases you back down, undulating his wrist and babbling encouragements into your sticky skin.

“That’s it, squeeze my fingers, just like that. Squeeze ‘em tight. Tight. There you go. That’s my good girl. So gorgeous when you come. So fucking perfect. Hey.”

The hand not still knuckle-deep in your pussy cups your cheek and pulls you in. He swallows the whines and the airless, nonsensical words of thanks you huff between kisses.

Once your breathing has had time to settle, he gingerly slips his fingers from your sensitive, throbbing walls. He doesn’t even look at those fingers as he brings them to his tongue. In fact, he closes his eyes altogether as he laps the tips and moans indulgently, as though this is the first time he has ever tasted you.

When he is done cleaning the mess you made on him, he looks you in the eye and says, “Now that we’ve rubbed out that easy one, I’m open to suggestions on what to do next.”

“Let me return the favor?” You inflect it as a question.

Felix smirks. “It wasn’t a favor, sweetheart, it was a pleasure. But since you’re asking so nicely again… c’mere.”

He tugs you by the hands and begins walking backward, slipping out of his shoes as he goes, and you follow his lead. You assume he is bringing you to the bedroom, but he stops when his feet hit the carpet in the living room and glances over his shoulder. It must be the chair he was looking for because he then moves toward it with a sense of purpose, leaving you a few paces behind.

“Strip,” he orders. His voice is even and his expression is calm as he sits and crosses an ankle over his opposite knee.

You move to obey without hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back to yank down the zipper on your dress. Felix keeps his eyes fixed on your face as you peel the gown away from your shoulders. Gravity takes the fabric to your waist, and you shove it down the rest of the way to step out of it completely. Next, you snap one of your bra straps with an eyebrow cocked in question.

Felix nods. “Mhm. Keep going ‘til you’re in nothing but that ring.”

You had nearly forgotten about it. You lift your hand to look at it again, but a sudden noise startles you. It sounds like more of a crack than a snap from the way it ricochets off the walls of your home, though you know a snap is exactly what it was by the pose of Felix’s fingers in the air.

“Don’t get distracted now,” he says, deep voice rumbling. He drops his hand back to his lap. “You’re being so good. Finish taking off your clothes, then come here.”

With his instructions, you unhook your bra and let it drop to the floor. His eyes dip to your naked chest, but his expression is more clinical than enticed.

You shove your thumbs into the band of your panties and stall there until you get the attention you want. It takes Felix a few seconds to realize you’re not moving and look back to your face. When he meets your eyes, he mouths the word ‘off,’ leaving his teeth planted in his bottom lip for an extended moment. Even when he is silent, you feel the authority radiating from him. You shiver when the air hits your slick, heated center.

Felix uncrosses his legs, and you finally glean a proper peek at your effect on him. The erection in his pants looks past the point of painful, but his demeanor is still relaxed as he invites you to stand in front of him by casually tossing a throw pillow at his feet. Once your toes brush against it, he reaches for your hands and sweeps his lips across your knuckles, quick and affectionate. Then his hands are on your waist, and near your ribs, and around the curves of your ass, and across your thighs. He soothes them up and down your skin, imprinting patches of heat everywhere he roams.

“There’s my gorgeous girl.” He leans forward and plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lower stomach, then peers up through his eyelashes at you and directs, “On your knees for me, gorgeous.”

Another look at his covered crotch and you do as you’re bid. When your knees touch down on the pillow, Felix shifts to whip his belt out of its loops at last. By the time it clanks to the floor, you’re already helping him with the button and the zipper. He lets you tug his pants down to and away from his ankles. His socks go next, and he takes care of his sweater and undershirt himself. His underwear is last but gone in a flash and then there he sits, stripped bare with his toned abdominals twitching and his cock standing flushed and rigid just for you. He is so goddamn beautiful.

“Is this what you want?” He leans back and takes his rosy length in a loose fist. “Is this what you’ve been being so good and working so hard for?”

You swallow and pretend it’s his precum sliding down your throat. “Yes.”

“What’s that, baby?” He strokes upward.

“Yes.”

“What do you say?” He strokes downward. Back up again. Your eyes may as well be stringed puppets with the way they follow helplessly.

“I said yes,” you repeat again.

And he patiently repeats: “No, what do you say? Look at me.”

Once you meet his lust-glazed stare, you don’t have to wrack your brain for the answer he’s looking for.

“Please,” you say, “let me suck your cock. I want it so badly. You deserve to feel good after waiting so long.”

Felix tucks his chin down, puckers his lips, and releases a ball of spit onto the head of his cock. Another soon follows, racing alongside the first, joining the trail of wetness that already leaked from the slit.

You shuffle closer between his knees and take him in your hand. He lets go of himself, but not before brushing his fingertips along the back of your hand. The gesture is deliberate, not coincidental, and you smile up at him. He smiles back, more with his eyes than his mouth. His mouth is used to give commands such as, “Put it in your mouth, sweetheart,” before leaning back comfortably. Even with his pulsing erection at your mercy, he is a marvel of beauty and dominance.

You give him a few strokes to spread the wetness around and simply enjoy the slick glide, then bend to take in his wet tip. He tastes delicious. Good enough for you to moan on contact, good enough for you to want to fill your entire mouth with his warm heaviness. He is tangy from his natural body and sweet from the taste of wine lingering in his spit. You sink down further, letting your tongue follow the path of a prominent vein.

“Open wide. That’s it,” he says. His voice is steady but barely there. The relief of finally being touched where he wants it most runs a succinct shiver through his legs, but otherwise he remains controlled, even when you tighten your lips to hollow your cheeks. “There you go. So good for me. So good at sucking my dick.”

His praise leaves you hungry for more, so you slather your tongue down and around his balls to hear the way his sighs and quiet pants start to crack his composure. He shifts his hips to ensure you can reach every sensitive part of him, and his cock feels just a bit stiffer when you try to swallow it down your throat.

“Hah,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck, baby, that’s it.”

On the armrest of the chair, his fist clenches tight enough to pop a knuckle. He soon releases it, however, and moves his hand toward you. You half-expect him to hold you in place because you know how much he enjoys being in your throat, but instead, he eases you off of him and uses his loose grip on the top of your head to roll it back in a slow, gentle circle along your neck and around your shoulders. A strand of spit — there is no way to tell whether it is yours or his — still bridges your lips to his swollen cock. You reach out to break it with your tongue, curling it devilishly. Felix watches with dark, hooded eyes.

“Dirty girl.” He wipes away the dribble on your chin with his thumb. “Where do you want it?”

You don’t quite understand his question. “Hm?”

Once again, he takes your hands in his, this time to help you up off the floor and onto his lap where he can sling your arms around his neck. The only conceivable reason for him to cut a blowjob so short is that he is already too close to coming. You won’t call him out on it, but you’re thrilled to know it’s true.

“I asked you where you want it. Where do you want me to fuck you?” His vulgar inquiry is warm honey on your tongue. “You want me to take you up against the wall? Fuck you so good and so hard that you can’t fucking walk in the morning? Hm?” His hum vibrates your lips with the sweetest melody. “Do you want me to take you in our bed, under the sheets, nice and slow, until you can’t remember your own name?” His lips are a soft, decadent treat you sink your teeth into. “Or do you want me to take you in this chair, right here where I sat while you were across the room working for hours and hours instead of bouncing on my dick?” His perfume is a laced drug that could leave you high in bliss for hours.

“Yes,” you breathe into his mouth. You pull at his lips, molding and folding them with yours while you feel up every inch of his skin you can reach — his jaw, his back, his arms, his chest, his stomach.

Felix relinquishes a shred of his control with a groan as he ravishes your lips right back. His own hands crawl along your shoulder blades, your spine, your ass. Eventually, he clears his head well enough to say, “That’s not an answer, sweetheart. You need to tell me right now where you want to fuck, or I’m choosing for you.”

“Here. Chair. Now,” you rasp brokenly.

He hoists you up right away, perching your ass halfway onto one of his forearms and using his other hand to drag his swollen, spongy cockhead through your folds until he finds your entrance. The tip slips inside with a stretch but little resistance, as does the rest of him until your lap and his are pressed flush against one another’s.

You rock your hips slowly to welcome the intrusion and ensure he is as deep and you are as full as possible, and his breath hitches from the movement. He lowers his eyes in a straight path from your eyes to your nose to your chin. His lips part as though he is going to say something, but after a couple seconds, he leans forward to give you another searing kiss instead, bracing a hand against your spine to keep you from tipping backward from the sudden motion.

Whatever he was going to say about how good it feels to be sunk in your wet heat again is conveyed through his tongue on yours and the way he clutches your bare skin.

Just when you think perhaps all his words have dried up, Felix sucks his mouth off yours, lays a slap across your ass, and grunts in deep bass: “Bounce for me, baby.”

You would love nothing more than to do just that, so you build up a steady pace as quick as you can. He is just thick enough to rub your walls and make them burn in the best way imaginable. The smacks that come from your pelvis and thighs meeting his over and over are lewd and wet and so fucking good. So fucking good.

You shut your eyes and hang your head back. “Oh my fucking god…”

Felix keeps an arm hooked around your moving waist while he paws at you from the front. He splays his free hand across your throat, applying just enough pressure to get a feel for your erratic pulse, then slips down your collarbone, down your chest to squeeze one of your tits.

“That’s it, baby. This is what we’ve been missing, isn’t it?” He lifts your breast and leans forward to wrap his lips around the perked nipple. The sensation makes you involuntarily clench around him, and he whimpers from the tightness. “Fuck, I’ve missed this so much.”

His admission spurs you to speed up. You try to roll your hips at the bottom of every drop, but your movements are getting sloppier the higher your pleasure climbs. It doesn’t seem to matter to Felix, though. His ragged breathing is a telltale sign of how good it feels to have your soaked pussy dragging up and down his cock. He tries to find your staggered rhythm in order to buck upward in time with your drops and help drive himself into your sweetest spot, but although both of you are hyper-concentrated on reaching your peaks, the coordination is not quite there.

“Sweetheart, you’re falling apart on my dick,” he moans with the little breath he has. “Jesus, you’re squeezing me so goddamn tight. You’ve already come once and now you’re about to soak my whole fucking lap, aren’t you?”

“Lix, I-I’m s-s-so-” you trill mindlessly.

“So close, I know.” He gives the fleshiest part of your ass another solid slap, then digs his fingers in to help you rock back and forth against him. “Do it. Come again on my fucking cock, baby. We’ve earned it.”

You work to get all the friction the ridges of his raw cock can give you, but the edge you’re chasing is still on the horizon, just a bit too far out of reach. “Felix, I can’t…”

“I’ll get you there,” he swears. “Let’s just—”

In no time, you’re on your back on the floor and Felix is plunging his steely length back between your drenched folds. Your legs automatically anchor themselves around his hips to steady yourself against the jarring pace he sets. The aftermath of the rough carpet on your bare skin is a worry for a later. Right now, you whine at him to go faster, go harder, just don’t fucking stop, whatever he does.

Felix leans close and takes one of your knees to push it back toward your chest so he can fuck into you deeper. His breath is hot and shaky and somewhere in the vicinity of your earlobe as he whispers, “Fuck, you’ve gotta come now, angel. Please.”

He readjusts his weight and his grip on you, pushes deep just a few more times, and you’re finally coming again, crying out and clenching around him so tight it nearly hurts from how hard he is inside you. He fucks you through your entire high, never stopping the solid snap-snap-snap of his slim hips.

“God, fuck, I’m right fucking there,” he huffs and pants. Sweat drips from his brow onto your cheek. “Where do you want it? Where should I come?”

“In me, come in me,” you beg, reaching down to squeeze his tight ass and urge him even deeper into your soaked depths.

Felix whines something wordlessly lyrical in a high alto as his release fills you with a sticky warmth. He fucks his cum into you with rough, staggered thrusts, his pace slowing but never completely stopping. Your legs begin to ache as he continues gingerly pumping himself. You assume his spent cock must hurt from the rising sensitivity following his orgasm, but he is not quite finished.

“Holy shit,” he whimpers. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight, I think I could come again.”

Your walls clench around him because you know he is serious. “Do it, baby,” you pant hard. “Use my pussy to come again. I want it all.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Just a little more, I’m gonna— fuck!”

He finds a second shaky high and buries his fingers in your hips deep enough that the bruises may last until your wedding day. The force with which he pulses a final spurt of cum toward your cervix is something you’re certain to remember for a long time as well.

“Holy shit,” Felix sighs again, blissful and fucked out. The two of you moan together when he slips out of you, still half hard. “Come here, angel.”

He slumps to the side and gathers you in his arms to face him. You tuck your forehead between his jaw and his shoulder, and he traces his fingertips along your shoulder blades where the skin is a little irritated from its row with the carpet. You’re not worried about the sting, but your nerves wince under his touch anyway, and he apologizes immediately.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re not an idiot,” you giggle tiredly. “We’ve had worse rug burn before. Much worse.”

“I know, which means I know better than to have sex on the carpet.” He kisses your forehead and sweeps a thumb across your cheek. “I shouldn’t have gotten so caught up, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Being fucked into the carpet never felt so good.”

Felix laughs quietly, deeply. “It was definitely worth the wait. I haven’t come twice in a row like that in a while.” His sigh is exhausted but pleased; his hug is weak but loving.

After a moment of recovery, he helps you stand and urges you to use the bathroom and change into something comfortable, and you agree on the condition he does the same.

Before you dress, he peppers sweet kisses along your lightly scraped skin and helps you apply lotion over it. He also insists that you drink at least half a glass of water to rehydrate yourself before you both return to the living room so you can finally show him what the two of you have been celebrating in the first place. He massages the back of your neck soothingly as you walk side by side.

“Alright, now I’m actually really proud of this, but you still need to be honest with me, okay?” you preface. Without waiting for him to respond, you whip the sheet covering the easel away with a flourish.

The moment it is revealed, Felix eyes dart over the portrait in patternless directions. You want to see inside that pretty head of his to know every thought going through his mind while he examines your depiction of him, but you can’t, so you keep your eyes trained on his pensive face and wait quietly for him to share whatever feedback he chooses.

“Y/N,” he eventually begins. You can’t tell if the hush in his tone is because he is awed or appalled.

“Yes?”

Felix turns to look you in the eye. “How do you keep outdoing yourself?”

A note of laughter pops past your lips, and the nervousness in it surprises you. “Well, you know what they say about practice. Does that mean you like it?”

“Are you kid— I love it! I don’t even know where to begin! The detail, Y/N! It’s so—” He faces his two-dimensional self again and waves his hand through the air in front of the canvas in a gesture you have no idea how to interpret. Then he extends a single finger toward the bottom edge of the canvas. “Like right here. The shadowing is so good. And the way you did the lighting here...” He lifts his finger higher to point at his painted cheekbones. “You did my freckles so well, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you captured literally every single one of them. It’s, like, scary good. And I don’t know if this is technically a critique towards the realism, but I don’t think my hair has ever actually looked this good in real life.”

You laugh louder, more happily. “I do think I did a pretty good job, but your real life self is way better than this, doll. Trust me.” You tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, and he brings his face back around to look at you again.

“I don’t even know what else to say without sounding dumb about it,” he tells you. It is not often he sounds bashful around you anymore, but he does now. “I’ll have to keep processing it. But in my unprofessional opinion, to my untrained, non-artistic eye, I’d say this is certifiably amazing work, sweetheart.”

You touch his cheek. “As long as you don’t feel like leaving me over it, you don’t have to say anything else.”

Felix takes your other hand and kisses the center of your palm, then each of your fingertips separately, then the ring between your knuckles.

Tomorrow, you’ll ask him for the story of how he happened to have it in his pocket tonight. Saturday, when Jisung sees it on your finger, you’ll ask his advice on how you should do your nails for the wedding (though you’ll probably end up having them done by your groom anyway). Next week, you’ll ask Felix what time of year he has in mind for the ceremony, or if he even wants to make a big pageantry of it. The week after that, you’ll either start looking into wedding venues or making an appointment with City Hall.

And years from now, when your children ask you about the portrait you painted of their father, you’ll tell them you did it because he was always your biggest supporter, and you’ll be reminded just how in love the two of you were tonight.

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

#felix smut #lee felix smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #the ways we love #daizymax

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on-a-lucky-tide · 9 months

Text

When Simon struggles, he finds Price for relief.

CW: D/s dynamics without it being explicitly outlined, blowjob, a bit of yearning Price.

Price looked up at the sharp rap on his office door and blinked out of the trance-like concentration that had kept him focused for four hours solid, without even a coffee break. The nearby clock said 0200 in flickering red numbers, which meant it could only be one person. No one else sought him out at such an ungodly bloody hour without an imminent mission.

"Come in, Simon."

The handle twisted instantly, like Simon's hand had been resting on it in readiness, and the looming figure of Ghost crossed the threshold. But it wasn't Ghost who needed attention now; Ghost was asleep, waiting for the moment he was needed once more, which had left Simon Riley to surface. The mask did little to hide the difference; Ghost moved like a force of nature, unrepentant and ruthless, but Simon... he moved like a man uncertain whether he was even real.

Price threw his biro down and leaned back in his chair, head tilted to the side. He knew that waiting for Simon to speak was futile; he never would, not in these fragile early hours when he was exposed like a raw nerve. So it fell to Price to take on the burden of deciding, just like in the field.

Price turned his chair to face to the side and Simon drifted over to stand before him, his fingers twitching at his sides in regular little ticks. The tension hummed off of him like radiation, a tight heat on a hair trigger. Price tilted his chair back, fingers twined together over his belly as he looked up at his officer.

Other than his mask, Simon had presented himself practically naked. Well, by Ghost's standards. Cotton shirt, trousers held up by an empty belt, not even a utility knife at the side, his boots were unlaced where he had clearly rolled from his cot and shoved his feet into them in a hurry. Price couldn't see his eyes; the light in the office was too dim, the battered lamp only enough to illuminate the dossier he'd been working on. The shadows hid Simon from him.

He spread his knees and dipped his chin towards the floor. "On your knees, lieutenant," Price said, and Simon obeyed. He dropped between Price's knees without hesitation, hitting the old rug with a dull thud. His shoulders remained squared, his arms rigidly at his sides, but now he was looking up at Price with doe-wide eyes, and Price felt the first stirrings in the pit of his stomach.

He made Simon wait as he evaluated those eyes, the only window he had into the man before him. They were still blacked out but the camo had partially smeared off in sleep; Price could see a few wisps of a blonde eyebrow and damn if Simon didn't have the fullest lashes Price had ever seen on a man.

"The airport," Price said, and saw a flicker in Simon's eyes that confirmed it. "I see."

Price leaned forward and saw the first judder in Simon's composure; a hitch in his chest, a twitch of his broad shoulders. There was no point in telling Simon it wasn't on him; Price carried the rank so he carried the responsibility. All Simon would be thinking of was the families he hadn't saved; the stand-ins for everything he'd lost. Ghost understood; collateral damage, the enemy taking their pound of flesh. That was just what happened in the field. Simon needed help forgetting and letting it go, because he would never be able to understand.

Now, Price wasn't a fool. He knew they were one and the same man, but trauma did something to a man's head. Fuck, it had done a number on his that he was sure some army psych would take great joy in unravelling when it eventually all caught up with him, but they managed in their own ways. Simon has pulled on a mask and called it Ghost, because his call sign was the one defence he had left.

So, to reach Simon, the mask had to come off. Just a little.

Price reached forward and Simon flinched from his hands despite the needy jut of his chin. "Stand easy," he said, the words falling out naturally as they would with any twitchy greenhorn about to take his first jump. Calm authority. And it worked on Simon like a dream; his chin pressed into Price's palm and his shoulders eased.

Price held him there, letting Simon rest in the literal and metaphorical safety of his commanding officer's hands. He felt the warm puffs of breath from Simon's nose on his wrist, and squeezed only enough to feel the strong lines of Simon's jaw. A handsome bloke, if memory served. One day, he'd get this damned mask all the way off and admire it once again, even with all of Simon's past etched and burned into it.

Price hooked his thumbs beneath it and curled it up until it folded just over the tip of Simon's nose. Those intense eyes were flickering, alert, and Price let them settle again until he turned to tracing Simon's lips. They were so unique; full, pale, gnarled across one corner by the scar twisting from his jaw to his cheek, disappearing beneath the band of his balaclava.

Simon was breathing a little heavier; excitement, anxiety, it didn't matter, the body reacted the same. Hairs on end, goosebumps on pale skin. Simon wouldn't pull away, wouldn't stop Price at any point. In these early hours, Price could make him do anything, which was precisely why he couldn't. Simon would shatter and Ghost would be there to harvest the pieces, absorbing them until Simon disappeared forever. Price would only go as far as they always did, because he couldn't risk losing Simon. Not this way.

"You're a good man for coming to me," Price said, the low timbre of his whisper sounding loud in the small office. "Always so good. So loyal."

Price tugged at Simon's lower lip and then stroked the pad of his thumb over Simon's teeth; Simon opened obediently under the lightest touch, and Price stroked his tongue, cupping that strong jaw as Simon surrendered to him, each breath coming easier. "Good, lieutenant. Come on, show me what you want..."

Simon's eyes flickered and rolled, his mouth closed only to suck Price in as far as his thumb would go, those full lips pressing down to his palm with the softest groan as the last of Simon's hesitant restraint tumbled away, like glacier ice cracking off a distant mountain.

"Ahh, there you are, Simon. Good boy." Price pressed a little on Simon's tongue and looked down between his knees. The front of Simon's trousers were bulging out, but his big hands remained firmly on his thick thighs; thighs that Price would give his damn pension to have wrapped around his waist, they would snap him in half and he'd be bloody grateful for it.

The heat under his own skin throbbed warmer and he spread his legs a little further, yielding space to his hardening prick. As if he could sense Price's building arousal, Simon sucked harder, his teeth grazing Price's skin. "Hmm, eager to please, I see." Price pressed down, urging Simon's mouth open, as he pulled at his belt and button. It took only a little fumbling for him to free his cock, the shaft sitting over the elastic of his boxers and dripping shamelessly. Price grunted, a little abashed at his own eagerness. "You do things to me, lad."

Simon's eyes flickered between Price's face and his prick, his tongue wriggling beneath the weight of Price's thumb. "Fuck," Price breathed, fingers tightening on Simon's jaw once more. He eased thumb free and then his foreskin back until his frenulum could tease over the soft, supple skin of Simon's lower lip. Simon held fast, his eyes not leaving Price's face, and Price let him see the pleasure, the admiration.

He teased himself on Simon's lips, rocking backwards and forwards, leaking into his lieutenant's mouth until Simon's tongue was saturated in scent and taste. Price couldn't deny the feral attraction of it; of having Lieutenant Simon Riley on his knees, Ghost tamed into quiet submission, all that power coiled away, and the man himself so desperate to submit.

Simon's tongue curled up to press at Price's slit and Price groaned as his glans yielded to the tip of it. "Impatient, as always," Price said, the words croaked through a miasma of listless pleasure. He leaned back and drew Simon with him, sliding that hot, eager mouth down his shaft. Price wasn't sure what was better; the wet, needy heat that swallowed him to the root, or the way that Simon's eyes rolled back into his bloody head.

Simon pushed his nose to Price's groin, his throat spasming reflexively. "Steady," Price managed, checking the swell of his own excitement as his balls pulled tight. Fuck, so soon? His own bloody thoughts had ridden him to the razor edge and Simon hadn't got his fill yet. Price let his head fall back and closed his eyes, but his hand stayed on Simon's chin, not guiding once Simon had slowed so much as holding. He pressed his thumb into Simon's cheek and felt his prick slide through Simon's mouth and it was almost enough to shove him over the brink.

"Bloody hell," Price hissed through clenched teeth as Simon drew off to lick through his slit again, seeking that concentration of taste and arousal. He licked the thick vein that snaked up from the base, finishing just shy of the tip and then slowed. Slowed right down. Price played with the fuzz of blonde hair at the back of Simon's neck, revealed as his mask hitched a little higher, and felt the cooler tip of Simon's nose at the cusp of his boxers, the puff of hot breath and another deep, guttural groan, and Price's stomach bunched tight.

It was sweet, sweet torture, but Simon was teasing him deliberately, baiting him out for something a little more, and Price gave gladly. He pushed his lieutenant back enough to stand, before hauling him around by the chin until the back of his head pressed to the edge of his desk, cushioned by the meat of Price's free hand.

Simon's mouth hung open for him and Price thrust in deep with a low growl. Price rolled his hips slowly, savouring each drag of Simon's lips and tongue down his shaft, but he couldn't temper his pace for long. He moved faster, stopping only just short of ramming Simon's head back into his hand. Simon's eyes were closed, his body completely slack, and the absolute submission was enough to rip Price's orgasm from him.

His hips stuttered as he emptied down Simon's throat and the lad took it all, consumed every last drop of it, and Price once again revelled in the power yielded to him. He may never have Simon over his desk in the way he wanted, but fuck was he going to enjoy every shred of him he could have like this.

Price dropped Simon's chin in favour of propping himself up and watched as Simon licked absently at his softening prick, the sparks of oversensitivity leaping up his bloody spine like burning shrapnel.

When he was certain his legs would hold him, Price pulled back, returning to wipe Simon's mouth clean of spit and cum. Simon hung in his hands, soft and light, and Price stared at his lips. The urge to kiss in these moments after was almost overpowering, a breath between Price and the taste of himself in his Simon's mouth. Ahh, and there was the bloody problem. His. Not now, not ever.

Price swallowed and sat back on his heels, discarding the scarf he'd used to clean Simon's face, and eased Simon's mask back into place. He rose on aching legs, the afterburn of his climax making him a little dizzy. "Bed. Now. Mess at 0600."

Simon uncurled to his full height - all six-foot-giant of him - and left without a word. Price slumped at his desk and stared at the ceiling. The dossier would have to wait. He felt like he'd just run Test Week at double time.

***

"Ahh, L.T., bit of a wee bounce in yer step t'day. Get lucky at the bar?"

"Focus on the mission, Soap."

"Ahh geddit, you don' kiss an' tell, pwoper English gent."

As Ghost walked to the back of the plane, Price was sure Simon glanced at him from beneath that balaclava, but it was Ghost that rumbled through the intercom. "Ready, sir."

"Ghost takes point, radio silence until we rendezvous at agreed coordinates, go."

Ghost slid his rifle behind his back and threw himself into free fall.

#call of duty #cod: mw #simon ghost riley #captain price #priceghost #ghostprice #john price

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

saturate me, i can't get enough

rated e 4,066 words cw: please read full note below the cut in regards to terminology used in this ficlet/warnings A really big thank you/shoutout to @patchworkgargoyle for proofreading this and giving me a few great suggestions to make sure this was absolutely perfect for @steves-strapcollection's birthday! Also available on ao3.

This labor of love (and smut) is for my favorite transmasc Steve truther, Gerry. I am so grateful for your contributions to this fandom, and I am even more grateful that you welcome me into your chaos (Tig threads I'm lookin' at you 👀). While I may still not think my writing could be a gift to anyone, let alone a talented writer like you, I will just be positive that you'll enjoy this for what it is which is soft and tender fuckin'.

A VERY SERIOUS NOTE FOR EVERYONE ELSE: I am very much a cis woman. I spoke with Ger before even starting on this because I wanted to make sure he was comfortable with me even attempting to write transmasc Steve. I am using masculine and feminine terms for lower anatomy that he uses in his own fics and his own life with his express permission to do so. If you think this might be a trigger for you, please don't read. I wrote this specifically for Ger, and realize that it may not be for everyone. Taking care of yourself is the most important thing!

--------------------------------------

If Eddie had known what exactly he was getting into when he asked Steve on a date, he probably would have done it a lot sooner.

He tugged on the silk ropes around his wrist, just tight enough to keep him in place on the bed, but still loose enough that he knew he could pull out of them if he had to.

Steve refused to tie them any tighter.

“Need you to feel safe with me, Eds,” he’d said with a soft kiss to his lips.

As if he could feel anything other than safe with him. As if he hadn’t spent the last five or so months falling in love with him, learning what makes Steve Steve, figuring out how he could fit in Steve’s life.

Somehow, Eddie ended up naked first, tied up in his own bed, breaths heavy with anticipation of what was to come.

And he had very little idea of what was to come.

He’d already been surprised at how quickly Steve took charge of their date, their first kiss, the torturous ride back to Eddie’s apartment where Steve’s hand just brushed against his cock every minute or so.

Now, he was at Steve’s mercy entirely.

Just the thought of Steve leaving him like this while he touched, and kissed, and bit every part of his body was enough to have him leaking.

“Can’t believe how good you look like this,” Steve groaned from his spot between Eddie’s legs.

Oh, his shirt was off.

Finally.

Eddie whined as he saw Steve’s one and only tattoo, a baseball bat with nails sticking out of it, on his left side just under the scar from his top surgery.

He wanted to trace the outline with his tongue, maybe mark it up so that it wasn’t just black ink, cover him in purples and blues that would take days to heal.

But he wouldn’t be able to do that now, not with his hands tied above his head and his legs spread wide enough that he couldn’t get leverage to pull himself up or Steve down.

Next time.

“Steve, please,” Eddie begged, though he wasn’t sure what he was begging for at this point other than touch.

“Sorry, baby. You’re just so distracting.”

Eddie knew he was blushing, could feel the heat on his face and neck, on his chest.

His hands were sweaty where he had them clenched into fists, somehow already overwhelmed before even being properly touched.

Steve’s fingers glided across his chest, pausing to pay attention to his only nipple, laughing to himself when Eddie jumped.

“Sensitive? Maybe this one got all the nerves from the other one being gone,” Steve smirked as he leaned down to flick his tongue over the soft, pink flesh of his one remaining nipple.

It was like an electric shock, a fire burning through his veins and Steve’s tongue was the match that lit it.

He arched his back, chasing the feeling as far as he physically could, pouting when Steve pulled away.

“Hey,” Steve touched his cheek, smiling when Eddie relaxed into the touch. “I know we’re moving fast, but I kinda wanna take my time with you. Is that okay?”

Eddie nodded, thankful that Steve said it first.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of going as far as they could as fast as they could, not at all. Eddie would be happy with anything.

But taking their time?

He would take all night.

“Wanted this for so long, baby. You have no idea,” Steve whispered, breath hot against his lips as he leaned back in.

“Me too,” Eddie’s voice trembled.

Steve’s palm settled against his chest, no doubt feeling how hard and fast Eddie’s heart was beating, but not saying anything about it.

Eddie could feel his pulse in his fingertips, in his toes, in his hair.

“You like being tied up?”

Eddie nodded, biting his bottom lip between his teeth and letting his mind drift to thoughts of being like this hours.

“You want me to do what I want? Not let you pick?”

Eddie didn’t even care about his teasing tone, his knowing smirk.

He wasn’t asking for an answer, he was asking for control, and he already had both.

“I think you want me to take over, ride your face maybe? And then your cock?”

Steve was spot on.

Eddie couldn’t count the amount of times he’d pictured that exact scenario in his head. Just last night, while he was cooking dinner, he thought about the way Steve would taste, how he would look while Eddie took him apart with his tongue, his fingers.

He hadn’t even gotten to picture his cock inside him when the fire alarm started beeping to let him know he was burning his supper.

“Yeah, that’s what you want. Don’t even have to say it, I can see it all over your face,” Steve teased.

He could only imagine.

Steve got off the bed, shushing Eddie’s whines with a quick kiss to his forehead.

“Just getting everything else off, Eds.”

It was said to calm him down, but it just caused him to cant his hips upwards, seeking any type of friction on his leaking cock.

Steve’s eyes never left him as he stripped his jeans and boxers off in one fell swoop, his feet stepping out of the pant legs as quickly as he could without tripping.

He joined him on the bed again, settling between his legs and staring down at him, eyes holding so much affection that Eddie wasn’t sure what to do with it, where to put it all.

When they made eye contact, Steve smiled softly down at him.

“You okay with this?” He asked, wanting to be sure before they got too carried away.

“More than okay,” Eddie nodded. “Wanna taste you so bad, Stevie.”

“I can make that happen.”

Steve untied one of his hands from the bedframe, but didn’t let it touch any part of him yet.

“This is only so you can tap out if you need to. You’re not allowed to touch anywhere except my leg. Three taps if you need to stop, okay?” Eddie nodded. “Show me.”

Eddie waited for Steve to climb up a bit, straddle his chest, the warmth between his legs enough to make him forget for a moment what he was supposed to be doing.

“Eddie. Show me,” Steve’s voice was stern enough to grab his attention again, and Eddie focused on making his shaking hand tap his thigh three times. “Good boy. You can keep your hand there if it’ll help you remember, but no moving unless it’s to tap.”

Eddie’s head felt cloudy already, something he so rarely experienced with anyone, something he hoped he’d get to keep experiencing with Steve from now on.

Steve shifted back down for long enough to leave a kiss on Eddie’s lips, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth as he let out a laugh.

“I can feel your heartbeat between my thighs. A bit excited, aren’t you?” Steve teased him again, but Eddie wasn’t complaining. If anything, it just made his heartbeat louder with anticipation at what he was about to get.

“Need you,” Eddie managed to say.

Steve didn’t wait any longer, scooting his body up so his pussy was level with Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie groaned, lifted his head an inch so he could be even closer.

He needed it, needed him. He couldn’t wait any longer to get a taste.

Eddie’s tongue lapped at Steve’s hole, the only part he could reach at the moment, but it was enough.

Steve let out a long moan, gravelly voice letting out a long “yes” as he rocked his hips forward to get Eddie’s tongue inside.

Eddie closed his eyes and let himself be surrounded by Steve.

His slightly musky smell, the sweat that was rolling down his thighs, the surprisingly sweet slick dripping from his pussy, all of it was better than Eddie could have possibly imagined.

The noises got louder as Steve adjusted himself directly over Eddie’s face.

He pulled away just enough for Eddie to catch his breath, but Eddie didn’t want to catch his breath.

“Need your cock, please,” Eddie begged, not caring if he was breaking an unspoken rule, not caring if he suffocated for it.

But he didn’t get in trouble. In fact, he got exactly what he wanted when Steve settled back down, his dick rubbing against Eddie lips in silent instruction.

Eddie opened his mouth wide, stuck out his tongue, and moaned.

“God you’re so good,” Steve grabbed Eddie’s hand on his thigh, squeezing as he rocked back and forth, taking things slower than Eddie expected him to.

Eddie whimpered, letting out what little breath he had as Steve rested more of his weight on his tongue.

“You made me so wet just laying there, all tied up for me, hng,” Steve groaned.

The hand squeezing Eddie’s moved to the headboard, giving Steve just a bit more leverage to bear down and chase his own release on Eddie’s tongue.

Eddie could feel his fingernails digging into Steve’s thighs, but he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, stop unless Steve made him.

He could feel slick and drool dripping down his chin, his cheeks, his neck, probably making a mess of his hair and the pillow under him, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Steve was making low groaning noises now, his pace getting faster every few thrusts back and forth.

Eddie opened his eyes, wanting to try to see what Steve looked like from this angle.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Steve’s head was thrown back, his arm muscles straining as he held onto the bed, leg muscles and stomach tensing as his pleasure started to crest.

The flush that Eddie had barely gotten to enjoy before was now covering his hairy chest and his neck, a few drops of sweat dripping to his stomach.

Eddie hoped he could lick them up after Steve came.

Steve let out a loud whine and one of his hands fell to Eddie’s hair, his fingers tugging at his roots in a way that reminded him he had no control over any of this.

Eddie decided to take matters into his own hands the best that he could, curling his tongue into a sharper point so that on the next thrust, Steve’s dick was given more pointed pressure.

“Fuck!” Steve yelled out. He looked down at Eddie, hair flopping into his face. “You wanna suck it, baby? You can if you want.”

He sounded so close, breathlessly framing his own wants as something Eddie wanted. And Eddie did want those things.

He was starting to realize he wanted everything with Steve.

It should have been a scary thought, especially when this was just the ending of their first date, but instead of worrying about it, Eddie used all the energy and muscle he could to lift his head up and start to suck on his dick.

“That’s it,” Steve panted, holding Eddie’s head against him, not giving him a chance to move away again. “You’re so good, baby. Gonna make me cum so hard, fuck.”

Eddie started to nod, and the extra movement seemed to set Steve off.

He felt Steve’s thighs clench, then loosen, then clench again, his hand tightening in Eddie’s hair, and a long moan left his body.

Eddie moaned too, and the vibration sent Steve over the edge.

Steve slowed his pace, but didn’t get up, letting Eddie slowly lick along his folds, gathering up the slick dripping out of him.

When Eddie’s tongue brushed over his cock again, he flinched, but let out a huff of a laugh.

“Sorry, baby, you got me so oversensitive already. You’re too good at that,” Steve said, still trying to catch his breath.

“Good at what? Being used?” Eddie managed to ask, voice hoarse.

Steve looked down at him as he moved down to settle against his stomach instead.

“Good at being good for me,” he finally said, seriousness ruined by the hint of fondness in his tone and smile.

“Always wanna be good for you, Stevie,” Eddie admitted.

Steve looked at him for a moment, searched his face for any sign of him lying or being too sex-drunk to be realistic.

But whatever was on Eddie’s face must have shown him that he was serious.

“Yeah, baby. I think you could be,” Steve leaned down to kiss him, licking into his mouth like he wanted to taste himself on Eddie’s lips and tongue, like he wanted to know what they tasted like together.

Eddie felt his cock pulse, felt the tug in his stomach that let him know he was probably much closer than he should be just from eating Steve out for five minutes.

He didn’t have time to be embarrassed though; Steve was moving down his body further, reaching a hand back to touch his cock.

“Wait!” Eddie leaned his head away.

Steve pulled his hand away and looked at him, frowning as he took in the panicked look on Eddie’s face.

“I just, um, I’m close. Like, pretty sure if you touch me, I will cum all over your hand and probably never be able to look you in the eyes again.”

Steve snorted out a laugh.

“What’s wrong with that?” Steve asked, slowly tracing his fingers across Eddie’s waistline, not even looking as he got closer to his cock.

“I…I don’t know?” Eddie admitted.

And truly, he had no idea why he shouldn’t cum. That was the goal of this, and Steve was making it pretty clear he didn’t mind if he did, might even prefer if he did.

The only thing stopping him was that he didn’t want any of this to end.

“Eds, you’ve been so good for me, I kinda want you to feel good, too. Unless you really don’t want to-”

“No! I do!” Eddie ignored the way Steve was trying to cover his laughter. “I just thought you wanted to ride me.”

“Ohhhh. I see. You’re being selfish.”

Eddie’s mouth snapped shut, teeth audibly clacking together.

No one had ever called him selfish in bed, not even jokingly.

But Steve’s tone wasn’t joking. His face wasn’t joking.

“I guess you think I don’t wanna see you squirming because I’m wringing the third orgasm from you in less than an hour? Is that it?”

“Uh…”

Steve clicked his tongue.

“I planned on you begging to stop soon enough. Unless you want to stop now? Seems like it might be hard to go to sleep like that, though.”

Steve’s brow raised as he glanced behind him for a moment at Eddie’s red and dripping cock, then looked back at Eddie.

“No, please don’t stop. I…can I be inside you?” Eddie was desperate, and didn’t care if he sounded like it.

“You wanna cum inside me? Fill me up good, make sure I feel who I belong to?” Steve asked as he slowly moved back further, his hand firmly grasping the base of Eddie’s cock.

Eddie whined, bucking his hips up, but not making the contact he needed.

“You can if you promise to clean me up after,” Steve’s hand slid up Eddie’s dick slowly, the pressure not nearly enough to satisfy him, but enough to make him whine.

“I promise. Please,” Eddie nodded, his one free hand making a fist in the sheets while his still tied up hand tugged on the binds.

Steve didn’t respond with words, just sat back and guided Eddie’s cock along the inner lips of his cunt, moaning at the sensation.

“So warm,” Eddie groaned.

“Gonna get me all wet again, baby,” Steve rocked his hips slowly, teasing the tip along his folds and against his entrance. “You’re leaking worse than I am.”

Which may be true at this point. Eddie had spent enough time licking up as much of his mess as possible.

Steve sat down on his cock with no warning.

He hissed, clenching his fists and curling his toes to fight off the impending orgasm.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the way Steve’s pussy sucked him in, clenching around him in a way that left him shivering and panting.

“Good?” Steve asked, smug grin the only thing keeping Eddie from losing it completely.

“Yes, yeah, so good, fuck,” Eddie threw his head back, arching his back as Steve slowly lifted himself up and dropped back down.

Fuck, Eddie wasn’t gonna be able to hold off. He’d just have to live with the embarrassment.

Steve reached up to untie his hand, grabbing his wrist and massaging it in his own hands as he moved his hips in circles.

“Wait, you didn’t-”

“Yeah, I did.”

“When?” Eddie knew his brain hadn’t been working for a while now, but he was certain his eyes had been. Steve hadn’t stretched himself on his fingers this entire time, and going from just Eddie’s tongue barely breaching his entrance to suddenly sitting on his cock, no matter how wet he was, had to be at least a little painful.

“Bathroom when we got home,” Steve shrugged.

Steve had been fingering himself in the bathroom not even an hour ago. Without Eddie. Without even making a noise.

God, Eddie was so fucked. Literally.

“You okay, baby?” Steve asked, smug grin back in place as he guided Eddie’s hands to his own hips. “Think you can do this part or do I have to do everything?”

Eddie gripped his hips, hoping his fingers would leave bruises, and let himself have this. It may only last for another minute, but he was going to make it worth every second.

He lifted Steve up, then dropped him down, smirking at the loud yelp Steve let out.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard later, this is just a preview,” Eddie growled out.

“Promise?” Steve gasped as Eddie shoved his hips up as he pulled Steve down.

“Swear. Every night you want me to from now on, Stevie,” Eddie slowed his thrusting, felt the tension building in his abdomen.

Steve groaned as he placed his hands on Eddie’s chest and started lifting his hips up on his own, clenching as he moved up Eddie’s cock.

He quickened his pace, little whimpers leaving him every time his ass met Eddie’s thighs.

“You feel so good, Stevie, gonna cum,” Eddie whined as his thighs clenched.

“Yes, yes, please. You’ve been so good, Eds,” Steve nodded, not pausing for a second.

Eddie’s eyes closed without his permission, Steve’s words hitting him right in the chest, making his breath leave him in one long, drawn-out moan.

Steve didn’t slow down, lacing his fingers with Eddie’s and pushing them backwards onto the sheets as he rode Eddie through his orgasm.

“Kiss me, please,” Eddie begged, opening his eyes to look up at Steve’s flushed face. Sweat was beading along his hairline, bangs flopping into his eyes.

Steve’s lips hovered over Eddie’s, not quite making contact, but close enough for their breaths to mingle together, for the small whimpers Eddie was unintentionally letting out to be swallowed by Steve’s hungry tongue as it grazed against his own.

Eddie was coherent enough to pull one of his hands loose, reaching up to cup Steve’s jaw as he chased his second orgasm of the night.

“Can I?” Eddie asked, moving his hand down his neck, tracing a finger along his collarbone. He looked up at Steve’s wide eyes, felt his pace slow to a stop.

“Can you…?” Steve asked, breathless as he tried to figure out what Eddie was trying to ask him.

“Can I touch your cock? Want you to come on mine.”

Eddie felt Steve clench around him, his cock almost over sensitive enough for it to be painful.

“Yeah, I’m close,” Steve admitted, pulling his other hand away to sit back so Eddie had easier access to his dick.

He was dripping, and Eddie’s cum was leaking from his hole now that he’d stopped moving and Eddie was starting to get soft.

Eddie’s fingers gathered up as much as they could, gliding down to where his cock was still inside him and away a few times, just to tease.

“Eddie…”

“Sorry, sorry. Just like touching you,” Eddie smiled up at him, at the way Steve’s back was arched, at the way his thighs were trembling with the effort of holding himself up.

Steve grabbed his wrist and guided his hand to his dick, impatience finally taking over.

“I like you touching me too, but if I don’t get to come again soon, you won’t touch me again for the rest of the night,” Steve snarked.

Eddie loved him.

He didn’t hesitate to curl his fingers so his knuckles rested against the sides of his dick, still teasing, but at least where Steve wanted it now. He didn’t move for a moment, wanted Steve to be desperate enough to rock forward.

“Eddie, please,” Steve whined.

“Look who’s begging now,” Eddie teased. “You’re so hard, sweetheart. Should’ve told me you were this close earlier. Would’ve taken care of you.”

Steve whimpered, shaking his head as Eddie’s knuckles started dragging up and down his dick.

Watching Steve fall apart above him like this, making him fall apart, especially when he’d been the one in control all night, was making Eddie feel unstoppable.

This was all he ever wanted: making Steve feel good in any way Steve wanted or needed.

Eddie started jerking his fingers faster, watching as Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Fuuuuuck,” Steve groaned, shifting his hips up for more pressure, for anything else he could possibly get.

“That’s it, Stevie. Wanna make you feel good. Wanna be good for you.”

And just like Steve’s words had done for Eddie before, Eddie’s must have been the final straw for Steve.

Steve’s thighs shook as he came, his fingers digging into Eddie’s shoulders as he fell forward, trapping his hand against his pulsing dick.

“Hmm,” Steve moaned out as his grasp loosened, leaving half-moons in Eddie’s skin.

Eddie knew he would be hard again soon. At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if he got hard while still inside Steve.

But Steve’s eyes opened, and Eddie somehow fell further.

“I don’t wanna stop,” Steve whispered, leaning in to kiss along his jawline, letting his teeth gently brush against his chin before pecking his lips.

“I’ve got perfectly good fingers. Or…” Eddie leaned up to kiss him, smirking when he felt Steve grind against him. “You could also fuck me.”

Steve’s responding groan was muffled by Eddie’s chest, a laugh immediately following.

“As much as I would love to, and will as soon as I have energy, I was thinking maybe we could just…stay like this?” Steve looked up towards the end, a pink blush coating his cheeks unlike anything Eddie had ever seen on him before.

Steve didn’t get embarrassed or nervous, he didn’t get flustered, at least not where others could see him.

He was Mr. Charming, the smoothest guy around, the one who always knew how to respond in a flirty situation.

But right now, all Eddie saw was vulnerability, his eyes mirroring back the love Eddie felt but hadn’t put into words.

“Like this or on our sides?” Eddie whispered, not wanting the moment to be broken.

“Like this for now.”

Eddie gave a single nod, not mentioning that they should probably clean up a little, or the fact that Robin would be home soon and the bedroom door was wide open.

Steve kissed his chest before he settled with his head in the crook of his neck, breath hot against Eddie’s pulse point.

Eddie’s cock was hard again inside Steve, but both of them ignored it, savoring the feeling of finally having each other.

Steve was asleep quickly, and Eddie let his mind wander as he traced his fingers up and down Steve’s back.

This first date felt a lot like the beginning of a long future.

–

When Eddie woke up the next morning, his cock was in Steve’s mouth, and Steve already had two fingers in his hole, lube slowly dripping between his cheeks.

“What a way to wake up,” Eddie moaned.

Steve pulled off of him, already smirking, lips red and glistening with spit.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Stevie. Keep going,” Eddie’s voice was rough from sleep.

“You got it, baby.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #transmasculine steve harrington #light d/s #soft dom steve harrington #sub eddie munson

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suspiciouslackofclowns · 1 year

Text

Of all the things his partners could have chosen to fawn over, it had to be one of Billy’s biggest insecurities.

It had to be his stomach.

He’s learned to relax a little. To eat full meals and let himself have snacks without feeling guilty for consuming them. It’s still hard, but he’s trying to fight that little voice in the back of his head with common sense.

If he’s hungry, he should eat. A packet of crackers between meals isn’t going to kill him.

Steve said once that if he’s eating as much as he’s supposed to and he gains a little weight, that it was weight he was supposed to gain.

Now, he’s not chubby by any means, but he’s… getting there. The cut of his jawline isn’t as pronounced and his abs are gone. His ass has never looked better, he supposes, but that doesn’t seem to faze either of it partners.

Because they’re into weird shit, apparently.

That much could always be assumed of Eddie, but Steve? Steve was the surprise.

He’s the one who’s always checking to see whether or not Billy has eaten, always touching and kissing and never using the word stomach because apparently tummy sounds better to him.

It’s all very endearing. Makes Billy feel a little less shitty about himself.

Until Steve says some choice words during sex.

He has Billy pinned to the mattress, rolling his hips steadily, and spreading Billy’s legs as wide as they’ll get.

Eddie’s off somewhere, probably watching He-Man in the next room with his stiffy tucked into the waistband of his boxers because he can hear everything. Waiting patiently until he’s ready to come claim his sloppy seconds.

The blond’s skin is flushed from head to toe, and his breaths have been reduced to little pants and sighs that leave him in time with Steve’s thrusts.

He’s anticipating Eddie coming in any minute. Shuffling in beside Steve and filling Billy up even more — they’ve done it before, and he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head ever since.

Just thinking about watching his partners make out hot and heavy while they rail him has an ache settling into his core. Like he needs it.

Steve snaps his hips harder, eyes focused down at Billy through his lashes.

It’s perfect. Billy’s eyes well with tears, and just as his back begins to come away from the bed, Steve reaches out. Splays a hand against Billy’s stomach and presses, and his eyes may as well roll back into his skull.

“Taking such good care of yourself,” he sighs.

And Billy, nearly at his peak, furrows his brows. Confused. His body is still overcome with tremors not a second later. He groans and arches his back, painfully aware of how Steve’s hand stays put.

Steve buries himself deep after another few thrusts and comes hard. Has to stabilize himself with his hands on the mattress at Billy’s sides while he comes down from the high. For a moment, they breathe the same breath. Bask in the heat radiating from one another.

Then, Steve leans down. Kisses just below Billy’s ribs, and smooths his thumb back and forth over his skin right under his navel where he’s softest.

Now, he’s not really one for I love you’s but Billy’s pretty sure he’s damn close to saying it right now.

“Dirty talk took a weird turn,” he breathes.

Allows his body to relax against the mattress once again as he sweeps a hand through his sweat-slick hair. Steve hums amusedly against his skin, and Billy can feel the outline of his smile.

“Sorry,” Steve says. “Couldn’t help myself.”

He continues to lavish Billy’s stomach with attention. Wordless praise stamped into his flesh in the form of gentle, loving kisses and rubs.

It feels especially nice in the afterglow.

Maybe Billy’s into weird shit too.

Maybe this shit was never that weird in the first place.

“Aw, is Billy getting some tummy lovin’?” Eddie lilts.

He appears suddenly, jumping on the bed and causing the blond’s muscles to tense up from the surprise of it.

“Mhmm,” Steve hums.

A warm, damp washcloth smooths over his abdomen, courtesy of Eddie. He wipes up the evidence of Billy’s pleasure and leans down to press his lips to his forehead after.

“Good.” Eddie tosses the cloth aside, landing softly in the nest of dirty laundry that he’s conveniently left on the floor, and smooths his hands down Billy’s ribs from above. “Soft tummies need extra love.”

Billy’s face heats up. Especially when he feels Steve’s cock give a kick where it’s still buried inside him.

“You guys are so weird,” he huffs.

“We just love you, sweetheart,” Steve coos. Interlocks his fingers with Eddie’s over Billy’s sides. “And we love your tum—“

“If you say that word one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

Steve snickers. Begins kissing around Billy’s navel softly, and it’s glaringly obvious that he’s starting to fill out again. Billy can fucking feel it.

Above him, Eddie sits up. Slides off the mattress gingerly and begins unfastening his belt as he rounds the bed.

“He’s right, you know,” he lilts.

Takes hold of one of Billy’s legs, just below his knee, and spreads him wider. The stretch has a groan leaving the blond’s lips.

Steve stands up straight, chewing his lip eagerly as he watches Eddie pull his cock out.

The two make eye contact briefly. Then they’re tilting into a kiss. The sight has Billy feeling a warm pool of electricity in his belly, especially when Eddie peaks at him out of the corner of his eye.

Like he can’t go a few seconds without looking at him.

A thumb gently swipes back and forth over Billy’s thigh, where he’s still being held, and he can’t help that his skin suddenly feels like it’s blistering with heat.

Maybe it’s not so bad that they picked a strange part of him to fawn over. It can’t be if it gets him in situations like this.

He just has to get used to his tummy being appreciated first.

#harringroveson #stedilly #metalsandwich #billy x steve x eddie #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #lemons #I guess #tw body insecurity #tw weight #body worship #chubby billy hargrove #verging on kink territory? I’m still too shy to post most of my chubby billy stuff #it’s very light #his bfs just like that he’s happy and healthy #ficlet #my writing #not edited

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cairavende · 10 months

Text

Worm Arc 14 thoughts from 14.8 through the end:

Gonna get a little bit gay up in here pretty soon. But first, some other stuff.

Pretty much jump right into "Oh shit everything is fucked" with the bio-weapon just spreading everywhere right away.

Skitter's focus on Tattletale specifically when trying to get them to higher ground was top level Chatterbug/Smugbug content. Like sure Sundancer and Trickster too, she wanted to save them. But when Bentley wasn't climbing fast enough what she said to herself in worry was "Tattletale."

Fucking god. Tattletale telling Skitter to fly to the higher building and use bugs so Trickster could teleport them and they'd follow? But fully knowing it wouldn't work and just trying to get Skitter to safety?

"It doesn’t look like her plan will work out. Tell her I’m sorry." - I WAS FUCKING BAWLING

I had figured that Bonesaw's contingency wasn't just a "everyone dies right now" virus or whatever. It would need to be artistic. And it would need to be a punishment to the local capes, both hero and villain. And the way to punish them would be to "take the city from them". "Make them watch it destroy itself." "Make them help".

I feel like what she did covered that general outline with a heavier focus on taking everything away from the capes. But still, god damn Bonesaw. Absolutely fucking terrifying. Super powered face blindness. At the base at least. Don't know who anyone is. Damn.

SKITTER IT'S NOT GAY YET THAT ISN'T TATTLETALE IT'S BONESAW! GAY WILL COME LATER!

If Jack put's his slimy fucking hands on my daughter again I will personally remove them.

The "Don't swear!" from Bonesaw while pretending to be Tattletale was fun. I managed to hit on it before that, but it was a good confirmation.

Fucking Jack and his "You’re versatile" after seeing Skitter make decoys while prepping to tie someone up with spiders. FUCK OFF WITH YOUR DREAMS YOU DICK. YOU CAN'T HAVE HER.

Instantly confirmed when Skitter flat refused to shoot someone despite Jack and Bonesaw telling her to. My daughter might not be perfect but she's not going to be one of you!

Coil fucked up a bit on the phone. He wasn't dealing with the pathogen so he should have done better. Even just asking everyone there to say something so he could listen to the voices. He would have known right away it wasn't Tattletale and Grue. Patching them through to Cherish that easily was a mistake. He really doesn't do as much as he could be. Like ya he's evil but that doesn't mean I'm not disappointed when he isn't using his full potential.

Cherish very fucked up when she thought letting Jack and Bonesaw know where she was would be good for her. Hope she likes her eternal torment at the bottom of the ocean. (Ok there's a chance she'll get pulled out in the future I guess.)

I'll admit, when Amy left with Victoria earlier I wasn't expecting to see them again so soon.

"Panacea is the healer, top floor, Jack is the slasher, the blond girl is the chemist-tinker." I don't know why, since it doesn't rhyme or anything, but I got very "The pellet with the poison's in the flagon with the dragon; the vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true" vibes from this.

Jack trying to convince Amy by talking about how many of her ancestors were successful by being cruel and Taylor just internally going "How many were successful because they cooperated?" Love my daughter.

Victoria is still very much . . . not dead.

HOLY SHIT AMY YOU PUT YOUR SISTER IN A PERSONALIZED FLESH COFFIN MADE FROM CATS AND DOGS?

Seriously. Personalized. It has her face on the outside made out of bone. What the actual fuck Amy?

Proud of my daughter for shooting Jack, even if it didn't work.

It's probably fine that Skitter got Amy to break her brain rule again. I mean like it's good. It was the only way to fix the pathogen. It saved herself and the city. That is all good. Just . . . there might also be some long term negative outcomes. Probably fine though.

Getting gets cured and goes off to cure the city be gay.

"I leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips." - EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!

WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER!

SO FUCKING GAY I LOST MY FUCKING MIND WHEN IT HAPPENED

"'You couldn’t have waited until after you’d cured me before you put the bugs on your face?' Tattletale asked. She was smiling as she asked it." - ALSO EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

SO GAY. DOUBLE GAY. EXTRA GAY. ALL THE GAY!

CHATTERBUGCHATTERBUGCHATTERBUG (SMUGBUG IS FINE TOO)!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Also the level of effort the girls went through after that trying to figure out how to cure Grue and Regent without kissing? Fucking amazing. Kissing was only ok for these three. Obviously.

GAAAAAAY

Gay (bug)horse girl gay (bug)horse girl gay (bug)horse girl

And the remainder of the Nine got away. Which is pretty fucking bad I guess. What with the whole "end of the world" and all that. I get that story point is the *actual* big end of the arc. But it's been overshadowed. By the gays.

Did I mention things being gay? I just want to make sure. Cause they were. Gay that is.

Interlude 1 - Sierra is amazing. She is exactly who Skitter needs to be running things while she's away. Charlotte is also amazing and I think worships the ground Skitter walks on. My daughter is, as always, absolutely terrifying when described from anyone else's PoV. She only gets more so every time. She just uses bug speak without even realizing now. Amazing. I love her. Atlas is helping and I'm so proud of him. He even got to take the gun. I hope he gets to keep it.

Interlude 2 (thought about making this it's own post but I'll just keep it really simple) - God dammit all three of the big 3 are Cauldron created? Ugh. Legend you appear to be trying to do the right thing but you sure as shit aren't paying much attention are you? Holy shit like, you believed so much of what the Doctor has been saying for years? God damn bud. How could you look at Cauldron and assume they *aren't* doing human experimentation? Especially since you know they have done it in the past! Like god damn man! At least you do kind of acknowledge that maybe you were purposefully ignoring the signs cause you wanted to be ignorant. Maybe there is a little bit of hope for you. Hell of a lore dump interlude though. Gives me lots to think about. Also I'd absolutely listen to The Number Man talk about spreadsheets all day long.

GAY

#Worm #Worm Web Serial #Parahumans #Cairavende reads Worm #The Slaughterhouse Nine #Taylor Hebert #Lisa Wilbourn #Rachel Lindt #Wolfspider #Chatterbug #Smugbug #GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY #SO FUCKING GAY I'M DYING #I'm sure once Vicky wakes up and is released from her FLESH COFFIN that she will be just fine #Maybe a tiny itty bitty bit of therapy will be needed #For real though the first time The Number Man started talking I instantly wanted to be alone in a room with him.#It didn't matter that he was running over the possible outcomes of a end of the world situation and talking about the deaths of billions.#Fucking hell just spreadsheets to me man! PLEASE!#You can give me estimates all day long.#ALSO FOR REAL THOUGH IT WAS SO GAY #WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER WOLFSPIDER #CHATTERBUG CHATTERBUG CHATTERBUG CHATTERBUG

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steamberrystudio · 1 month

Text

26/08/2024 Devlog

Hallo everyone! Tumblr devlog time. Sorry I missed the last one. Sometimes I just miss the notification when it pops up. Sometimes I remember on the off week but don't want to throw off the schedule and end up just waiting for the next one to roll around.

Summary:

Finished Yren's Play test

Finished Raif's Play test

Finished Noel's Play test

Started Kav's Play test

Finally got the colour slider in the game with help from Windchimes

New music room (slightly redesigned)

New gallery screen

Bonus scene page

Wrote the rest of the ch1 bonus scenes

Got the affinity indicators coded

Multiple new BGs

Finished Yren's Ch 2 CG

Started Noel's Ch 2 CG

Worked on coding sprite expressions

Set affinity scoring up through Ch 5

Worked on the premium and public game guides

Writing/Playtesting:

I have been working on my own play test of the game which is essentially another round of reading and editing. Last time I said the script was 616,000 words. Well it's now 621,000 words.

I'm not just cramming in filler. A lot of that is additional choice options. Sometimes I would find places where you went a really long time without choices. Others I would encounter a choice menu that had 3 options when it needed 5 or 6 options (one for each LI).

Adding menus and choice options can increase your word count pretty rapidly so that is where most of the increase has happened.

I'm also fixing a lot of small continuity issues. This usually results in a small variation or callback being added into the script for clarity or to correct a seeming contradiction. For instance, at one point I realised that I needed an additional variation in Ch 5 to account for a game state that wasn't accounted for in the existing options. And I had to do it for all 6 LIs. Which meant that a 200 word variation became a 1200 word addition to the word count.

So yeah, those things add up fast when you have 6 LIs.

I am continuing to work on this. And I will do one full play test of everyone's "best" ending before beta testers touch it.

I also have decided to add in "bonus scenes" these will basically unlock at the end of some chapters. Some of these will be POV scenes and some will be other scenes and content told from the MC's point of view. These are just extra scenes that I think help flesh out the characters and relationships but really didn't fit into the main story because you just...can't fit everything in the main story. I will be writing any bonus content as I work on the episodes and as I get ideas for them.

I don't have any specific rules I'm going to hold myself to for bonus content. They're just fun extras. They may be quite short in some cases. The ones for Chapter 1 are 1400 or so words.

Art:

Art wise, I've received new BGs - they're about 90% done at this point.

I also completed Yren's CG and started on Noel's. Raif's is already done, Kav doesn't get one for Ch 2.

So yeah. Getting those completed bit by bit.

Other Stuff:

Lots of other stuff.

We managed to get the colour slider set up for Wil's sprite (we being me and my friend from Windchimes games). This required re-colouring the original sprite and original CG for Wil in greyscale and then coding in everything necessary to have Wil colourised by Ren'py rather than by me.

As you can see from this Wil's hair and eyes are not colourised. Wil's eyes being silver/grey are just kind of a plot element and is related to their species. And while I contemplated having Wil's hair be on a slider too the reality is that the hair styles were not designed to be colourised in this way and some of them don't look as good. Particularly the curly hair which doesn't have strong outlines or, really the same type of shading to give it depth. Some colours looked quite good on it and others looked quite bad.

I tried redrawing that hair half a dozen times to see if I could make it look better while retaining the same overall look and feel and it just was not possible. I could have redone the hair but frankly. I didn't want to. And some of the other styles didn't look *amazing* recoloured. They were just okay.

I think if I want to revisit the slider in the future then I just need to approach the art with that in mind versus trying to add it to art not designed for it.

But in any case, Wil having only black/silver options was also originally with intent so I don't mind keeping with that set up.

In terms of other features that are finally in game we have affinity indicators, a newly designed music room, the bonus scene page, the gallery screen and things like that.

I did the affinity scoring up through Chapter 5 which is when the route gets locked in. That was primarily so I could test that section properly. But yeah. That's done.

And I've been working on coding sprite expressions. If you have been following me for a while you know that sprite expressions are an *ordeal* for me.

I have a lot of expressions coded in which means I tend to change the expression every 1-4 lines - especially for the main character. Gilded Shadows had about 6500 expression changes per route. Including the common route, that's about 60,000 expression changes coded manually. Which is a lot.

About half of those probably...were Morgan. She is on screen more than anyone else, of course. All the narration is her internal dialogue. She is on screen for it and her expressions are changing based on what she's thinking.

WSC is very much the same.

So the expressions are a lot.

I got Wil's expressions completed through Chapter 2. This chapter is about 50,000 words and of course I've been working on a ton of other things so I've only dedicated an hour or two a day to work on expressions. It's very tedious. It's also impossible to not edit as you go because you have to read the script line by line to decide what expressions people are using. Inevitably you see typos and stuff that you fix as you do expressions.

So it's just kind of a time sink that isn't *difficult* but does tend to take some time.

Upcoming Weeks:

My huge checklist has become smaller and smaller over the last few weeks.

The main things now are...CG creation, flowchart set up, coding expressions and getting my play test done.

Those are kind of the things that have to get done before Episode 1 can go to beta testers on Patreon.

There are always features and elements I consider big milestones when they get ticked off the main list. The colourised sprite was one of the remaining "big ones" - the flowcharts are another.

Anyway, that is all for this update. I will hopefully see you all again in *two weeks* this time.

(I swear I need a less easy-to-miss reminder). LoL

#whenstarscollide #updates

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bunniekittiee · 10 months

Text

stranglehold- johnny slaughter x fem. reader

Yes, I know none of this is date accurate to Ted Nugent’s release of his album but ykw just go with it, just pretend it’s not something I changed. Based off my headcanon that Johnny would be a sucker for Ted Nugent. Also, you can't tell me that this song isn’t his theme song?!

Curtesy to my bf who showed me Ted Nugent when we first started dating. He is the man, the myth, the legend, my world (referring to my bf not old man Nugent lol). My dad is also a Ted Nugent fan, but I found this out way after I started dating my bf but yk shout out to my dad.

I lowkey suck at endings so I apologize if it isn’t the best. Also, I wanted to change this and give the reader more fight in her. I always write them submissive to Johnny, and I wanted this one to give him a fight.

I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a couple of months and I knew I needed to finish it.

Content warning: Blood, gore, description of wounds, Johnny being a little sexual and pushy, and not proofread.

December 25th, 1963

The Slaughter boy was a fan of Ted Nugent the minute he unwrapped one of his last few gifts from Chop Top. Hazel eyes scanning the cover, they were caught by the man himself. Ted Nugent, standing there with his guitar and his hair a crazed mess. The outline of him was slightly hazy, but it was still him.

“Heard ’im playing on the radio in the shop.” Chop Top said as Johnny ran his fingers over the cover. “After finding out who it was, I got it for ya’. I have a feelin’ ya’ gonna’ like it.”

Antsy for the rest of unwrapping gifts, Johnny eyed the album that he held carefully in his lap. He was itching to play it, he wanted to hear what Mr. Nugent sounded like. The messy hair, the glistening of sweat on his skin, the blur of his body, this was extremely impressionable on the young Slaughter boy whom was only fifteen.

Presents were done being unwrapped and Johnny immediately dashed off to his room. Chop Top chuckled at the boy’s excitement and elbowed Nubbins. “I am the best gift giver to that kid.” And Johnny would agree with him, he truly was.

Johnny took the record out of its plastic covering and slid the disc itself out of the cardboard holder. Carefully, he placed it on his record player and let the needle drop.

The guitar started echoing in his room, Johnny watching with his mouth slightly agape at the record spinning. He started nodding his head to the drum beat when it came in.

“Here I come again now baby, like a dog in heat. You can tell it’s me by the clamor now baby, I like to tear up the streets.”

Listening intently to every sound that played back to his ears, he felt his blood rush and goosebumps raise on his flesh. Something in this song captivated him. Whether it was the vocals or the haunting howl of Ted Nugent’s guitar, Johnny knew one thing for sure. This song would follow him for the rest of his life.

August 12th, 1973

Nine years had passed, almost ten since that fateful day of Chop Top’s incredible gift. Johnny went from a shy, reserved young boy to a flirty, rough, man. He was not the kid he once was, his muscles and height being very physically telling of that. He once had grown his hair out long, but he chopped it off. A dire mistake had almost cost him his life, so it was not worth the risk anymore. However, he did not want it completely short, so he cut it to where it could not be tugged on or get caught on objects. He hated when his hair was touched, it enraged him.

Finishing his cigarette, he began to get into his truck when Sissy waved at him to stop. He sighed.

“What is it now that ya’ want?” he asked with annoyance traced within his words

She hummed. “When are ya’ gonna’ bring your little girlfriend around? I’ve been wantin’ a new friend.” She smiled and Johnny rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know. But ya’ ain’t comin’ around her.”

“Why not?” She pouted.

“I don’t trust ya.”

“That’s real funny comin’ from ya’. She shouldn’t trust ya’ yet she does.” Sissy said while crossing her arms. “She has less of a risk getting killed by me than she does ya’, and I ain’t even datin’ her.”

Johnny chuckled. “Ya’ right, I’ll give you that.”

“Just think about it, don’t shoot the idea down now.” Sissy said as she tapped the truck and began to walk back to the house.

Johnny shrugged and started to turn the truck around to leave. He was going to see Y/N, and he was excited, but not in the way you think. He was excited to get his hands on her body and rip her apart, but she had barely let him touch her, let alone kiss. It was still a fresh relationship, but the Slaughter boy never took anything slow. It was always fast and rough. Like many attributes of Johnny that you would come to know. He wanted to take her now. But she always insisted on waiting. He would play the waiting game, but there was no doubt that he was going to devour her.

He was tired of her being around other people. Her friends, her family, her coworkers, anyone. He wanted her to be around him and him only. He hated the hot white jealousy that licked away at his lower belly when he saw her interact with people other than him. It made him want to bash her fucking skull in for being so damn insensitive to his feelings. But he played nice, he played the perfect, goody-two shoes Southern boy role with disgust. No one ever noticed how his eyes were empty of all emotion when he smiled or how his face darkened at the talk of the murders that he had dabbled in. He felt like James Dean in a movie role that he was made for.

Putting a tape into the radio, he felt the goosebumps he felt on that life-changing day of December 25th, 1963. He was a very big fan of Ted Nugent, and he had many records and tapes to prove that. He learned how to play “Stranglehold” on guitar and many other Nugent classics that he held near and dear to his heart. To say he was a fan was an understatement, he moreso worshipped the musician.

But “Stranglehold” was something special. Despite the fact that it was his first song he had listened to from the music idol he favorited, he related to it on a primitive level. He and Ted had something in common, they wanted to both devour the girl in their life and let her know that she had nowhere else to go. Johnny wanted full control of her, he wanted her to know that she had absolutely no safety when she was around him. She would stay with him forever, she had nowhere else to run to.

Adrenaline pumping, his fists tightened around the wheel as he drove. He wanted to teach that bitch a lesson for making him wait so damn long for some pussy. He wanted to keep her all for himself. He wanted her now. He wanted her to go with him and never return home. She would be in his presence 24/7, and he would not feel the jealousy he felt when she talked to others but him. He chewed on his lip as his pupils began to expand. This song dug into some other part of Johnny that he did not know he had.

He did not understand why she was so special to him. Why he felt jealousy towards the people around her. Why he felt the need to keep her in his home. Why he felt the desire to even keep her alive. But here he was, listening to his favorite song and wondering about how her head would look like impaled on a fence pick.

They were supposed to hang out today at her house as her parents were gone on a trip. He wore his dark blue flares with a black shirt, a little reminiscent of his hunting outfit. He slicked his hair back to perfection and wore some bone jewelry Nubbins made him. It was easy for him to look good no matter what. That’s what brought in dinner, and dinner made the family happy. Family comes first, right?

Pulling into the driveway, Johnny sighed and glanced in the mirror one last time before getting out of his truck. He did not want to keep putting up his sweet country boy persona but he knew he had to. As annoying as it was, it lured everyone in. Made them believe the lies he spoke.

Knuckles rapping the door, he waited for her to come to his calling. He held no expression, his face at its natural state. As much as he tried to hide it, his natural face was very telling of who he was and what he was feeling. It was void of many attributes of what made a human being. It looked like it was an lifeless portrait.

As soon as she answered the door, his facial expression immediately changed. One that was grinning. “Hey sweet pea.”

She returned his smile. “Hey Johnny. Come in!”

Welcoming inside of her home, Johnny glanced around. He had been inside her home before, and he had the layout of it inside of his head. While she slept in her bed, he would wander around the house like a silent leopard. He was able to memorize all exit points.

He knew it was worth the trouble.

“So what’s the plan, babydoll?” He asked with a small smirk. He pulled her body flush to his as she blushed.

“I was thinking I make us some lunch and we can watch a movie. I got some tapes from the video store.” She said as Johnny peppered kisses on her face.

“How about no lunch and we get into the movie?” He lowered his hand to her ass, grabbing a handful. “Come on.”

She shook her head giggling. “No, Johnny. You already know the answer to that.”

His irritation had risen but he hid it well. “What’s the real reason, doll face? Ya’ been holdin’ out on me for months now.”

“I’m waiting until marriage. You know this.” She replied as Johnny sighed into her neck. She bit her lip, feeling a little guilty that she was holding out on Johnny, making him wait. He was a respectful and loving boyfriend, why should she make him wait?

But it was her choice. No one else’s.

“Guess I gotta’ marry ya’.” Johnny said with a small smile. “Keep ya’ away from everyone else too.”

She chuckled, not understanding what he was hinting at. This only made him smile wider. “Is someone jealous?”

His eye twitched, but she did not see. “Just don’t like other people around ya’.” Johnny said as he rested his hands on her waist. “That’s all.”

“Like who?” She asked jokingly.

“Everyone, doll face.” He replied back.

Still thinking he was joking, she giggled. “Why would you be jealous of everyone around me? You’re still my number one, Johnny.”

His eyes were now darkening and his facial expression was a little off-putting. Almost as if it was not Johnny, it was something else. “I want ya’ ta’ forever stay by my side. I don’t want anyone around ya’ but me.”

“Awww, you’re quite the romantic type.” She said as she burrowed her head into his shoulder.

He scoffed. “I don’t think yer’ understandin’ what I’m sayin’, I want to keep ya’ locked away. Be mine forever.”

The uneasiness began to settle in the pit of her stomach as she pulled away from Johnny for a moment. It was like looking at a stranger. His eyes were not inviting and warm like they once were, they were cold and void. His face was hardened, no smile or any emotion showing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Yer’ a smart girl.” He said lowly. “Piece it together, sunflower.”

Locked away forever? Away from everyone around her? She stepped back from him and he inched closer to her. His murderous aura was beginning to tense the room up. “You want me to be kept away from my friends and family?” She questioned, her fear being exposed through her words.

“Exactly. I hate everyone yer’ around. I want ya’ for myself, and only me.” Johnny now looked much scarier and bigger, his size increasing from what it seemed like to his girlfriend. “I want ta’ kill yer’ parents. Yer’ friends. I hate when they’re around ya’. Ya’ only need me.”

Breathing quickening, she continued to step back as her eyes were wide. Like a rabbit face-to-face with the wolf. Johnny flashed a smile, but it did not hold the same comfort it once did. “Johnny, I need you to leave.”

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere, doll.” He said back as he lunged for her. He narrowly missed her as she dodged his attack, barreling her way to the front door to leave her home. Her adrenaline pumped as Johnny trailed not so far behind her. “Ya’ better get back here ya’ bitch! If ya’ know what’s good for ya’!”

She picked up her pace faster, sprinting down the dirt road and screaming like a banshee for help. But to her dismay, not many people came down that road. It was her and Johnny.

Johnny hopped in his truck and quickly pulled out of her driveway. Pushing his foot as far as he could on the gas pedal, he sped after her. He smiled manically to himself. She was heading right into the direction of the Devil’s lair. The Sawyer home was not too far from hers, so this was going to be easy for him.

Panting and her sides in excruciating pain, she whipped her head back and forth to see how far Johnny was from her. He was pretty damn close to her, and she felt that it was quite unfair that he had the ability to chase her in his truck. Human legs were not always a match for a vehicle.

In the distance, she saw a sunflower field and a two-story home that brought her great relief. She could get help there. That was her way to safety. She quickly rerouted herself to go into the sunflower field making Johnny’s grin wider as he slammed his foot on the break. She was now in his territory. He knew those sunflower fields very well, unbeknownst to her.

The wolf lurched out of his truck and chased after his rabbit who had hopped into the maze of sunflowers. Breathing heavily and moving away the large stems out of her way, she hoped that she was able to escape Johnny this way, or at least throw him off of her path.

That was, until she didn’t hear any footsteps or scurrying behind her. She whipped her head around, attempting to catch her breath as well as look for Johnny, but she did not hear anything.

Just the birds chirping and the soft wind.

“Hey there!” Johnny laughed as he lunged at her from his position. She screeched, running in the opposite direction as he continued his chase once again.

It was not long as a sudden pain surged through her leg as she tumbled to the ground. Her yowling echoed in the field as Johnny smirked at her injured state. “Well well well, look at what the cat dragged in.”

She was caught in Nubbins’ trap. Tears streamed down her face from the amount of pain she was in. Her foot was mangled in the trap. She tried to back away from Johnny who inched closer to her, but it only made her pain worse.

“Sorry doll, it just had to be this way.” He said disappointingly as he kneeled down. “Don’t worry, when you wake up, you will feel better.”

Confused at his words, Johnny immediately slammed her head into the ground to knock her out. She was weak, it was too easy. Undoing the trap and setting it up once again, he picked up her limp body and carried her to his shed that the Sawyers kept on their property for his ‘guests’. As much as Drayton hated it, he did not want it in his home, so he made sure that Johnny kept them out. He made his way into his shack and wrapped her foot up hastily. He did not want to spend much time on her, he needed to prepare for his night.

‘You ran the night that you left me, put me in my place. Got you in a stranglehold baby, you better trust your faith.’

The ache chewed away at her, worsening when she awoke from her drowsy state. Her foot felt like it was searing, and it was extremely uncomfortable. Shifting around, she glanced around her surroundings and her heart dropped. It came flooding back to her where she was at.

Johnny had taken her hostage. Her limbs were tied up and she was laying on a dirty mattress with questionable stains. It was cold and dark. There were no signs of Johnny or anyone else for that matter. The structure she was in was small, almost like it was made to be a shed of some sort. A shed with hardly any light filtering in from the moon and with freezing temperatures.

She shivered while she looked around for an exit point. The door was locked shut and there was one small window. Not that she could fit through it. Attempting to stand up, she gritted her teeth in pain as she tried to walk on her bad foot. She landed right on her butt. It was too painful to get around. Her head throbbed from him slamming it into the ground.

Her thoughts went to her parents, her friends. She did not want to die here. Not from the hands of him. Someone who she trusted, loved. Someone she thought she had a future with. Her eyes watered at the fact that he had betrayed her.

But she could not weep for long as the door began to jiggle, and there was a sound of a key entering the key hole. Wipe her tears away, she looked as the Slaughter boy opened the door. He had a smirk on his face as he approached his piece of meat.

“I see yer’ awake, doll. Ya’ ready to meet the family?” He asked her as kneeled down in front of her. She glared at him, her eyes swimming with anger. “Awwe, don’t give me that look, pretty girl.” He held the back of his hand to her face and she moved her head away. How dare he touch her.

“Come on, let’s get ya’ up.” He said as he cut the rope around her ankles and pulled her up, making her practically scream at the weight she put on her injured foot.

“I can’t walk.” She said aggressively as she moved away from Johnny.

He rolled his eyes. “Figure it out, doll. I ain’t carryin’ ya.”

Limping and fighting back tears, she attempted to walk beside him. It was so painful. Blood oozed out of her wound, and the corners of her vision began to blacken. Johnny pulled her along faster, grumbling about her taking her sweet time, and the pain increased. She felt dizzy. She could not run from Johnny now, not in this condition.

He pulled her inside the house, leading her to the dining room where his family sat. Sissy whistled when her brought her to the table, forcing her to sit as he tied her to the chair.

“Ya’ really did pick a purty’ one, Johnny.” She purred as she eyed his girlfriend. “Ma’ names Sissy. I’ve never had a sister before.”

“Oh stop it, Sissy.” Johnny said flatly. “Now yer’ just kissin’ ass.”

Sissy frowned. “Rather it be that way than for me ta’ try cuttin’ her up.” The woman’s heart rate increased and her eyes began to dart around.

“Ya’ wouldn’t try nothin’.” said the Slaughter boy with a glare. “Not on my watch.”

“Be quiet both of ya’! Sit down and eat dinner.” Cook yelled at the two ‘siblings’. “This girl is more trouble than she’s worth.”

“Oh keep it quiet, old man.” Johnny snapped. “Ya’ couldn’t get it up if ya’ even wanted to. Don’t stick yer’ nose in my business.”

Nubbins doubled over in laughter while Bubba wrung his hands anxiously. Drayton’s face turned red as he narrowed his eyes at the young man. “Wait until yer’ mother finds out about yer’ foolishness! Ya’ created a mess for yerself’ Johnny!”

“It ain’t any of yer’ business.” Johnny stabbed into the unknown meat on his plate with a knife. “Don’t fuck with me and piss me off before dinner, old man.”

Drayton shut up and stared at his dinner plate angrily. The tension in the room was suffocating. She felt awkward. Johnny nudged her plate towards her while he chewed on a piece of meat. “Don’t be shy.”

Nausea twisted in her stomach as she grimaced. “I can’t.”

“Yes ya’ can. Try it.” He said encouragingly.

“What is it?” She asked, almost not wanting to know.

Nubbins giggled while Sissy grinned, exchanging a look with the twin. “Just try it sweetheart.”

Johnny stabbed in a chunk and held it to her lips. “Open wide, doll face.”

Not wanting to upset them this early, she bit into a small piece of it. She chewed slowly, tasting the seasonings and flavor.

Johnny couldn’t help his wide, sadistic smile on his face. “It’s good, isn’t it sweetheart?”

She nodded, swallowing it completely. “What is it?”

If his grin could get wider, then it definitely did. “Nothin’ much, just someone’s liver.”

Her face paled. Bile had risen up in her throat and she threw up on the table. Sissy recoiled back and Drayton looked at the girl like she was disgusting. “Now ya’ threw up all over dinner!”

She coughed and held her head down. Johnny t’sked as he shook his head. “Way to go. Now yer’ just bein’ ungrateful.”

Sissy approached her with a napkin, attempting to wipe away the bile from her face until Johnny grabbed her wrist harshly. “Now what do ya’ think yer’ doin’?”

“Cleanin’ her up since ya’ ain’t bein’ a gentleman.” Sissy replied with a roll of her eyes. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“Get yer’ filthy hands off of her. Ya’ ain’t allowed to touch her.” Johnny smacked at Sissy’s hands while she pulled away.

Sissy crossed her arms. “What are ya’ afraid of, Johnny? It’s not like I’m hurtin’ her.”

“Don’t act like yer’ sunshine and rainbows. Yer’ just as fucked up as the rest of us, Sissy. Cut the act.” Johnny was now angry.

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she clenched her jaw. “How about ya’ stop keepin’ her to yerself’ and start sharin’ the meat ya’ bring! She ain’t nothin’ else to ya’ but somethin’ to fuck.”

“Are ya’ jealous or just being bitchy?” Johnny asked with a huff. “It ain’t yer’ business what I’m doin’.”

They began to bicker back and forth. She felt herself spin as their voices got louder and louder. There was a piece of wood sticking out behind the chair that she began to rub the rope back and forth across. If it could cut through the rope, she would be free. All she had to do was bolt out the front door. If she could find it.

'Some people think they gonna die someday. I got news you never got to go.'

Their yells ensued to screams, ones that caused Bubba to rock back and forth while crying and Drayton to scream at them to shut up. Her ears rung, and the rope gave way. Waiting for the right moment, she pushed Sissy harshly out of the way, making her land on the ground.

“Get back ’ere!” Sissy screeched as she quickly got up from the floor to chase Johnny’s girlfriend. Johnny trailed after her, telling Sissy to leave it to him. She limped to the front door and unlocked it quickly, swinging it open and hitting Sissy and Johnny in the face. They both hit the floor, stunned and staring up at the ceiling as Drayton screamed at Bubba to get his chainsaw and Nubbins to chase her.

She ran, well, what she could only describe as running. Her ankle hurt terribly, blood coating the cloth Johnny had wrapped around it. Every step shot pain up her leg, but she was running on adrenaline. She screamed as loud as she could for help, but all she heard back was her own echoes and the revving of Bubba’s chainsaw. She continued to wail as Johnny started to catch up to her.

"Gotcha!" he yelled as he pulled her close to him and started to fight with her. She wrestled him as much as she good, putting all of her weight on her injured ankle despite how much distress the injury was in. More blood seeped out and stained the dirt road. Bubba's revving got closer and closer the more they continued to fight. Johnny grinned manically at her, grunting and taunting her while she wrestled him off. She was able to push him to the ground, sprinting off right before Sissy could slash her with her knife. Sissy yelled at Johnny to get his lazy ass up off the ground and continued the chase that Johnny couldn't seem to catch up with.

As much as he liked to play games, this one had more fight in her than he thought. She had never showed this side of her when they were dating. At least, not to this extent. Recovering from yet another stun, Johnny got to his feet and narrowed his eyes. He needed to put an end to it now. This was beginning to only piss him off more since Drayton decided to ruin their dinner with his two cents.

He started the chase again, sprinting as fast as he could and breathing heavily. He had to catch up with his prey and Sissy, and he hoped that Sissy wouldn't take his kill. She was his, not hers.

"That'll teach ya' ta' fuckin' push me!" Sissy said with a laugh as she slashed her knife at the girl, making her adrenaline peak more and more. Her wounds oozed red liquid that trailed behind her, and she felt the edges of her vision darken. She did not want to die here; she did not want to die at the hands of her captors. She had almost reached the edge of the property, and she had the entire family chasing her down. Even Drayton was in it, he was just last compared to his family, and he was screeching like a banshee to kill her.

Sissy grabbed her, but she turned around quickly to fight off the woman. Wrestling her like she did Johnny, she launched Sissy to the ground before taking off again. Sissy stared up at the night sky for a second before recollecting herself. Johnny passed her and teased her. "Guess ya' gettin' lazy too." She wanted to punch the Slaughter boy in the face for creating a huge mess.

She had now crossed over the edge of the Sawyer property. Lungs heavy and the pain hitting her, she felt weakened. But she was not out of the radar yet. She continued to run, as well as scream for help, as Johnny trailed behind her. The rest of the family did not follow him off the property. They knew that whatever took place outside of the property was something they did not need to witness. He was never nice with his punishments.

Suddenly, she was rolling on the ground with Johnny, dirt flying everywhere as he tackled her. He sat on top of her and held her arms down. She felt so angry. She was so close to escaping, yet here she was now. Underneath Johnny who stared down at her like a hungry wolf.

"You and your entire family are crazy! Let me go, Johnny!" She fought against his grip on her arms.

"Can't do that, sunshine." He said back, his facial features almost consumed in darkness. But she could still see those eyes. "Ya' caused a lot of trouble tonight. Too much. I thought ya' would be different."

Her heart dropped at his words. "There were more before me?"

"Did ya' really think I was some sort of virgin boy? Of course, there were more before ya', there was plenty." He smiled at her, but it was empty. "I just thought ya'd be different. I wished ya' were different."

"I would never stay with you. I would rather die than to be held captive by you! You are crazy!" She retorted back while her face scrunched up. Disgust filled her body. To think this was the man she wanted to marry one day, have a future with. And this is what he did to her.

His eyes darkened and he frowned. He grabbed her by the hair and held his hunting knife up to her throat. "Watch yer' mouth, girl. Ya' suddenly forget that I can easily kill ya'." Johnny did have a good point, and she whimpered quietly when he pressed the knife deeper to her throat. Her wide eyes locked with his, fear swimming in them. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin from seeing the fear. It was something he liked to see on his victims.

Johnny moved the knife away from her throat and smiled again. "There girl, don'tcha worry now." His gloved hand caressed the side of her face. "You'll come around; I promise ya' that. But I can't promise ya' that my family won't try to kill ya'. Ya' gave them a headache."

'You created it yourself,' she thought to herself when Johnny got to his feet and pulled her up. Her ankle yowled in pain. She did not want to go back to the Devil's Lair. She could not. Not when she got so far. Johnny did not make an effort to help her along, and she took another opportunity. Elbow ready, she rammed it straight into his crotch, making Johnny double over in pain. "God-fuckin' dammit!"

She took off again in the opposite direction, still screaming for help as she limped along. She wanted to get away no matter what. Despite how much agony her body was in and how much blood dripped from her wounds, she could not let them win. Johnny was in pain, but he was now aggravated. He had given her many chances to play nice, but she took advantage of his kindness. All because she wanted to control the situation. He did not like that.

He stumbled towards her direction to ease the pain that did not seem to let up. He knew he would have to tough this one out. He could not let his prey escape. Starting to jog, he trailed after her. He would catch up to her one way or another.

And he did. He tackled her once more to the ground, his hands wrapping around her throat and squeezing. He had a snarl on his lips as he tightened his grip. Choking out, she clawed at Johnny's hands and face to try to loosen his grip. But he only made it worse.

"This will be the last time ya' try to two-time me." Johnny muttered as he stared her down. "I wish it was different. I really do. But ya' made me do this."

Her eyes fluttered as she felt all the air escape her lungs. She could never escape him. Why did she think she could? Johnny Slaughter hardly let his prey get away.

Choking again, her arms splayed out next to her and her vision and hearing fading in and out, she was defeated.

With a crunch, Johnny snapped her neck. He breathed hard as he looked at his beautiful creation. He was an artist himself. He knew deep down inside she was worth all the trouble. But it was time to feed the family. He knew he owed it to them.

Picking up her limp body, he lifted her over his shoulder and began to walk back to the Sawyer house. There was never a chase he didn’t end up enjoying. No matter how much trouble they caused.

‘I got you in a stranglehold baby. That night I crushed your face.’

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