#it actually is slightly less worse than before

[fereldanwench]

so wellbutrin has done a lot to counter my stress eating but i don't think anything is powerful enough to combat my PMS cravings

still a fucking bottomless pit like 5 days before my period lmao

[drdemonprince]

The data does not support the assumption that all burned out people can “recover.” And when we fully appreciate what burnout signals in the body, and where it comes from on a social, economic, and psychological level, it should become clear to us that there’s nothing beneficial in returning to an unsustainable status quo. 

The term “burned out” is sometimes used to simply mean “stressed” or “tired,” and many organizations benefit from framing the condition in such light terms. Short-term, casual burnout (like you might get after one particularly stressful work deadline, or following final exams) has a positive prognosis: within three months of enjoying a reduced workload and increased time for rest and leisure, 80% of mildly burned-out workers are able to make a full return to their jobs. 

But there’s a lot of unanswered questions lurking behind this happy statistic. For instance, how many workers in this economy actually have the ability to take three months off work to focus on burnout recovery? What happens if a mildly burnt-out person does not get that rest, and has to keep toiling away as more deadlines pile up? And what is the point of returning to work if the job is going to remain as grueling and uncontrollable as it was when it first burned the worker out? 

Burnout that is not treated swiftly can become far more severe. Clinical psychologist and burnout expert Arno van Dam writes that when left unattended (or forcibly pushed through), mild burnout can metastasize into clinical burnout, which the International Classification of Diseases defines as feelings of energy depletion, increased mental distance, and a reduced sense of personal agency. Clinically burned-out people are not only tired, they also feel detached from other people and no longer in control of their lives, in other words.

Unfortunately, clinical burnout has quite a dismal trajectory. Multiple studies by van Dam and others have found that clinical burnout sufferers may require a year or more of rest following treatment before they can feel better, and that some of burnout’s lingering effects don’t go away easily, if at all. 

In one study conducted by Anita Eskildsen, for example, burnout sufferers continued to show memory and processing speed declines one year after burnout. Their cognitive processing skills improved slightly since seeking treatment, but the experience of having been burnt out had still left them operating significantly below their non-burned-out peers or their prior self, with no signs of bouncing back. 

It took two years for subjects in one of van Dam’s studies to return to “normal” levels of involvement and competence at work. following an incident of clinical burnout. However, even after a multi-year recovery period they still performed worse than the non-burned-out control group on a cognitive task designed to test their planning and preparation abilities. Though they no longer qualified as clinically burned out, former burnout sufferers still reported greater exhaustion, fatigue, depression, and distress than controls.

In his review of the scientific literature, van Dam reports that anywhere from 25% to 50% of clinical burnout sufferers do not make a full recovery even four years after their illness. Studies generally find that burnout sufferers make most of their mental and physical health gains in the first year after treatment, but continue to underperform on neuropsychological tests for many years afterward, compared to control subjects who were never burned out. 

People who have experienced burnout report worse memories, slower reaction times, less attentiveness, lower motivation, greater exhaustion, reduced work capability, and more negative health symptoms, long after their period of overwork has stopped. It’s as if burnout sufferers have fallen off their previous life trajectory, and cannot ever climb fully back up. 

And that’s just among the people who receive some kind of treatment for their burnout and have the opportunity to rest. I found one study that followed burned-out teachers for seven years and reported over 14% of them remained highly burnt-out the entire time. These teachers continued feeling depersonalized, emotionally drained, ineffective, dizzy, sick to their stomachs, and desperate to leave their jobs for the better part of a decade. But they kept working in spite of it (or more likely, from a lack of other options), lowering their odds of ever healing all the while. 

Van Dam observes that clinical burnout patients tend to suffer from an excess of perseverance, rather than the opposite: “Patients with clinical burnout…report that they ignored stress symptoms for several years,” he writes. “Living a stressful life was a normal condition for them. Some were not even aware of the stressfulness of their lives, until they collapsed.��

Instead of seeking help for workplace problems or reducing their workload, as most people do, clinical burnout sufferers typically push themselves through unpleasant circumstances and avoid asking for help. They’re also less likely to give up when placed under frustrating circumstances, instead throttling the gas in hopes that their problems can be fixed with extra effort. They become hyperactive, unable to rest or enjoy holidays, their bodies wired to treat work as the solution to every problem. It is only after living at this unrelenting pace for years that they tumble into severe burnout. 

Among both masked Autistics and overworked employees, the people most likely to reach catastrophic, body-breaking levels of burnout are the people most primed to ignore their own physical boundaries for as long as possible. Clinical burnout sufferers work far past the point that virtually anyone else would ask for help, take a break, or stop caring about their work.

And when viewed from this perspective, we can see burnout as the saving grace of the compulsive workaholic — and the path to liberation for the masked disabled person who has nearly killed themselves trying to pass as a diligent worker bee. 

I wrote about the latest data on burnout "recovery," and the similarities and differences between Autistic burnout and conventional clinical burnout. The full piece is free to read or have narrated to you in the Substack app at drdevonprice.substack.com

[classyrbf]

CLASSMATE GOJO PT 4! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...continuation of the classmate!gojo series which you can find here

INFO...classmate!gojo x fem!reader, choking, spit kink, sex in a (semi) public setting, almost getting caught, groping, name calling, creampie, dumbfication, riding, video recording, oral (m!receiving), fingering, rough sex, squirting, praise, degradation, just pure filth, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

series masterlist

The tension between you and Gojo have been extremely high since that moment in the hallway. Every time you think about it, your head starts pounding in your chest and you can’t help but get wet. He was so demanding and cocky, obsessed with you the way you were with him. Every time you saw him in class and on campus, your eyes always locked and no words were spoken, but it was still like you can read every single one of his thoughts.

You’ve both held off on messaging each other, anticipating the day when he would finally break and just fuck you already. You’ve both been waiting long enough, especially you. For months you’ve been obsessed with him, touching yourself to him, trying to convince yourself that your pretty pink dildo was better than the real thing. But it’s been days and days since you’ve spoken a word, it was getting harder not to just pull him into an empty lecture room and fuck him right there.

You know good and well he’s been teasing you too. Wearing those compression shirts that show off his muscles, or posting shirtless pics of him in the gym on his social media, sweat dripping down the valley of his abs, not to mention the video of him doing push ups with the sound on, the sounds every so slightly reminding you of what he sounds like when he’s jerking off to you, trying his hardest not to cum too quickly. He knows what he’s doing to you, but you can play that game right back.

You pull up to class wearing the shortest skirt possible, showing off your legs, the fabric barely covering your ass. Your shirts are tight and slightly see through, allowing damn near everyone to see what you’re wearing underneath. The most shocking part is the fact you haven’t been dress coded, but after all it is a university, they couldn’t care less. Besides the fact, gojo always steals glances at you, his eye twitching when he sees how much skin you’re showing because if they’re anything like him, they’re thinking about hiking up that sorry excuse of a skirt and fucking you to tears.

Both of you knew just how to drive each other right to brink before breaking and that’s exactly what happened. Gojo snapped, something inside of him switched. He’s rewarded himself for having such restraint, but with each passing moment he can’t the tent that forms in his pants when he thinks about you. It’s perverted, it’s sickening, it’s exciting. That was all Gojo was when it came to you, that’s all he ever felt. And you were just like him if not worse. Messaging him from a secret account because you had such a huge crush, unable to hold back your perverted thoughts and tendencies, sending him nudes just to feel closer to him without actually confessing your true feelings. It makes him smile.

One look at you and no one would expect a girl like you to do such nasty things. It was like something out of a porno, truly. The quiet and shy girl is actually a huge slut! Gojo would bet some good money if he posted that to any sight there’d be flocks of people wanting to watch. God, has gojo been blessed? He asks himself that every time he looks at you, just like he’s doing now. Watching you stand in the empty lecture room after school. You have no idea he’s here, just a few feet behind you.

He slowly opens the door, stepping inside to see you’re still busy doing whatever on your phone. You’re too distracted to hear his footsteps behind you, getting so close he could breathe right on your neck. “Hey, pretty girl,” he speaks. You jump, nearly dropping your phone when you see the man with snow white hair standing before you. “What’re you up to, hm?” He snatches your phone without second thought, an evil little smile on his face when he looks at it.

“Gojo, give it back!” You go to snatch it, but his lanky arms and quick movements just put it out of your reach. “Give it!”

“Is this a recent picture you took? Oh, wow look at this one!” He chuckles, swiping through your photos. He actively scrolling through your nudes, and even though you’ve sent him plenty, it’s different when he’s looking at them while standing inches away. Embarrassing. “And why haven’t you been sending these to me? I could’ve used these, you know?” He hands you your phone back, cornering you between the desk.

“Well, you said you were gonna make me wait,” you trail off, shoving your phone in your bag.

“Oh,” he laughs. “I did say that, didn’t I? Sorry to keep you waiting, baby. But, if you really wanted it,” he leaned closer to your ear, “you could’ve just asked nicely,” he whispered. You breath hitched, a shiver sent down your spine, goosebumps littering your skin. “So, are you gonna ask nicely?” His fingertips trailed over the bare skin of your thighs, just shy of going under your skirt.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your eyes searching his. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact your crush was asking you to ask him to fuck you. Never in a million years did you think you’d end up in this situation, yet here you are with your body pressed against his. You’re certain he could feel your heart beating against your chest right now.

“Come on, don’t make me beg.” He had a small pout on his face, a playful look in his eye. He enjoyed toying with you and you hated the fact that you enjoyed it. Your eyes kept flickering down to his lips, fighting the urge to break and kiss him right now. His fingers only went higher under your skirt, your body frozen in place when you felt him play with the lining of your panties, tugging at the fabric. You slightly jumped at the elastic snapping against your skin.

Underneath this facade, you were completely desperate, you’ve been desperate from the start, but you couldn’t let him have his way. It’s possible he can see right through you, reading every single one of your nasty thoughts, yet you were still open to taking your chances. You cleared your throat, sucking in a deep breath. “I really have to go, yeah? Studying and stuff.” You gripped your bag tighter, finding confidence to break away from his hold. Your shoulder brushed against his. Gojo cocked his head to the side, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips because who did you think you were fooling? With a swift movement, he pulled you back, your bag dropping to the floor when you felt his hand wrap around your throat and his warm lips on yours.

It took you about a millisecond to fold for him, immediately returning the kiss. He pushed you against the table, deepening the kiss, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip. The makeout was heated and messy, almost like he was impatient, hungry for you. You couldn’t even get a chance to breathe, having to pull away and catch your breath. He stared down at you, breathing heavily. Neither you spoke a word but somehow it felt like you were communicating. Just looking into his eyes, you could read him like an open book. He wasn’t going to wait for you to ask him, no, no, he was planning on fucking you either way, right here right now.

“You’ve been playing with my head for weeks, months even.” He gripped your throat tighter, his other hand ghosting up your thigh and to your panties. His fingers crossed over the cotton underwear, playing with your slit over the fabric. “You wanna get fucked so bad. Putting on this shy, innocent girl persona. Well good job cause you had me fucking fooled.” He pushes your panties to the side, his fingers dipping between your folds. “Oh,” he laughs, “you’re already wet. Thought you were just gonna leave here, go home and fuck yourself to pictures of me? Playing all the videos I sent you? All those voice notes?” He slowly plunged his fingers inside, a low hum emitting from his throat.

Your breath hitched, spreading your legs wider for him without even thinking. Your body was consumed with heat, your pussy throbbing and your mind filled with nothing but the filthiest thoughts that you’ve imagined of him. “I know you do the same too,” you spoke through your whimpers. “You’re just like me.” You smiled, a sick perverted smile. His fingers curled inside of you, slowly pumping them in out and out of your sopping cunt. Gojo stayed silent, narrowing his eyes at you. He hated how right you were, but he loved it as well. “You’re a pervert, Gojo Satoru,” you giggled. He was taken by surprise, feeling your hand rub against his raging bulge while you stared at him. “You wanna fuck me just as much as I wanna fuck you.” You bit down on your bottom lip.

“God, you’re fucking nasty.” With those words, his kisses your lips again, his fingers now moving at a faster pace than before. You moan into the kiss, feeling how his long and slender finger work against your walls, pressing against your g-spot skillfully. Your slick coated his fingers, your pussy squelching, growing wetter and wetter with each passing second. “You know…anyone could walk in right now and see you getting finger fucked. I bet that excites you even more, doesn’t it?” He whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss to your skin, your pussy clenching on his fingers.

“Y-your fingers feel so good—nnggh! Yes! Right there!” You squeal, brows furrowing in pleasure when he repeatedly works that one sweet spot. “Oh, fuck.” Your eyes roll back, your jaw dropping. Your skin tingles, and you feel like you’re high off pleasure just from this simple moment. You can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like when you finally fuck him. Just thinking about makes you want to cum on the spot.

“You got me so fucking hard,” he grunts. “Fuck!” Gojo quickly removed his fingers from your pussy. He literally couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He felt like an wild animal, a primal urge to just pin you down and fuck you stupid. All this pent up tension, all those nights he wished he was fucking you instead of his hand, he finally gets his wish. He was as patient as he could be. “Come on, into the office. I don’t need anyone interrupting.” He practically dragged you into the professors office located on side part of the classroom. Thankfully it was unlocked or else he would have to just take you right there in the lecture room.

He slammed the door shut, locking it within seconds. “Get these fucking clothes off.” He helped you lift your shirt off, tugging your skirt and panties down. While he undressed, you hurriedly took your shoes off, tossing them with the rest of your clothes before helping him as well. Your hands found his belt buckle, fumbling with it before you slipped it off and unbuckled his pants. His cock sprung up as you slowly removed his boxers. It was prettier in person. You were already mesmerized. Thick and long with a pretty pink tip that was dripping precum. Not to mention his heavy balls waiting to be drained. “Come here, baby, let me see you. Get up here.” Gojo helped you up from your knees, grabbing a handful of your ass. “Look at these pretty tits, fuck yes.” His hand groped your tits, squeezing and grabbing at them.

He pressed wet kisses to your throat, his hand roaming all over your body as his kisses moved further and further down. His tongue licked at your skin, stopping when he got to your tits. “Don’t tease, Satoru!” You whined, pushing his head further down, earning a chuckle from him. He mumbled a quick apology before taking your perky nipple in his warm mouth, the feeling of his tongue making you sigh in satisfaction.

His blue eyes kept flickering up to look at you, enjoying the way you whimpered and looked so desperate. Could you blame him for staring? His free hand traveled down to your cunt, feeling how you were now almost dripping, your poor cunt was begging to be stretched me filled. His fingers plunged in, a high pitched moan echoed through the office. His fingers went deep, your jaw falling slack at how he dragged them along your walls, pumping them in and out of you. Your body shudders in his touch, pleasure consuming your mind and body.

Gojo let go of your nipple with a ‘pop’, his lips coated in a thin sheen of saliva, a devilish smile on his face. “Come over here.” He walked you over to the small couch, sitting down on it while you stood in front of him. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He pulled you down for a kiss, messy and heated. His hand came down harsh on your ass, a small laugh erupting from both of you between kisses. Gojo was surprised when you pulled away from him, kissing down his jaw and neck, taking your time with him. Your soft hands, and your manicured nails lightly scratched at his skin, trailed down his muscular abdomen. “Now you’re teasing me, huh?” His head fell back and he could his dick jump each time you got closer.

“Shush.” You hummed, batting your eyelashes at him while you copies his movements and kisses down his chest, your tongue licking a stripe between his abs. His breath hitched, watching you with low eyes, imagining how good your throat would feel around his cock. His chuckled when your hands caressed his thighs, knowing you were giving him a taste of his own medicine. It was working pretty fucking well too because his dick was throbbing so hard it was hurting. Here you were on your knees in front of him, smiling because you’ve imagined and practiced this moment so many times before. His dick sat pretty, pre cum running down his shaft. You wrapped your hand around it, pressing a little kiss to his tip.

“Fuck. You are a tease.” His hips squirmed in the seat below him, his hand gripping the leather. His other hand rested on the back of your head, sticking your tongue out and slapping it on there, earning a low growl from him. “Oh, baby—mmm.” His eyes fluttered shut but soon popped back open when you took him in your mouth, going deeper than he expected. “Ah! Ah! Your mouth feels so good. Look at me while you suck it.” You bobbed your head up and down, while your hand simultaneously jerked his cock, your wrist moving in circular motions. “Yeah, yeah, just like that—shitttt!” He tossed his head back on the couch, his chest moving up and down rapidly with each breath he took.

You lifted your head to take a breath, spitting on his cock, using it to jerk him off. Your head moved lower, taking his balls in your mouth, sucking and licking on them. His hips stuttered at the feeling. He won’t lie, he’s never had his balls sucked before but goddamn was this a good first time to do it. Watching you, he could tell you were enjoying this. You’ve wanted this longer than he has and just that simple thing turns him on. You’re fucking crazy, but he doesn’t care. He needs it. He needs you.

You moved back to his cock again, taking him further down your throat until you gagged. Tears pricked your eyes as you came up for a breath only to go back down and test your limits. You nearly took him all the way, nose almost pressed against his pelvis before having to come back up again. You suck in a breath, saliva tricking down the corners of your mouth. Gojo honestly had no words, he just stared at you in awe. You’re messy, nasty, and everything else he desires. Both of your hands wrapped around his cock now, pumping him, wanting to milk him or every lost drop and see what his pretty face looks like when he cums. “Toru, cum for me, please. I want it,” you begged, kissing his throbbing tip again.

The nickname alone was about to make him bust all over you. “Goddamn, baby. You’re a little fucking slut aren’t you? You want me to cum? Fucking work for it,” he panted, pushing your head back down on his cock. Your throat squeezed around him, his hips bucking up in your mouth. You sucked his dick like your life depended on it and Gojo swore he could feel his soul leaving his body. Your mouth, your hands, your spit, your eyes, your sheer determination, he was so close. “Nnngh, you’re gonna make me cum. Keep going, yes, your throat feels so good,” he moaned, pushing your head down further. “Work for it, baby, fucking work—ah! Fuck! I’m cumming! Ohhh.” You watched his eyes roll back, his hips stuttering and his abs flexing before you felt his hot sticky cum hit the back of your throat.

You swallowed every drop with a smile on your face, lifting your head. His cock was glistening in your spit and you were sure the makeup your had on previously was running down your face, but it was all worth it to see him cum like that. Gojo pulled you into his lap, pulling you in for a kiss, a lazy smile on his face and a fucked out look in his eyes. “You did such a good job, baby,” He said in between kisses. “But don’t think I’m done with you.” He pushed you down on the couch, a small yelp followed by an excited giggle leaving your lips. He got up from the couch, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “Since you like to record yourself so much,” he looked towards you, “why not record something for both me and you to look back on?” He set the phone up on the desk. “Maybe even upload it, yeah? Shy girl is actually a secret slut.” He eyes you down like prey, his hand coming to wrap around your throat.

“Please, I need it. I need you to fuck me.” You blink up at him, spreading your legs for him. Gojo takes his cock, slapping it against your wet and swollen pussy, laughing at how much you react. You must really be needy for it right now. His heavy cock slaps against your neglected clit, running his tip up and down your slit, coating his cock with your slick. “Just put it in! Please! Make me cum, fuck me stupid. I need you.” You can’t take it anymore, your head is spinning and you feel dizzy. And just then, his cock pushes past your folds, and he smiles at the way your eyes light up, like switch had been flipped. “Yessss,” you squeal, eyes squeezing shut when he pushes his cock in further, the stretch felt so good.

Gojo pulled his hips back, allowing you to feel every inch of him sliding out before sliding back in just as slow, your breaths quickening. Your walls hugged him tightly, sucking him back in before he slowly pulled out again. You pouted, hands clinging to his biceps, nails digging in his skin because you couldn’t believe that this slow pace felt so good already. His hand gripped tighter on your throat, his eyes never leaving yours. “Open your mouth,” he whispered under his breath. You did so without question, sticking your tongue out before gojo let his spit drip into your mouth. “Good girl. Good fucking girl—nnngh!” He thrusted into you roughly, your body jolting upward. A small cry fell from your lips, his throbbing dick sitting inside you.

Without warning, Gojo began moving at an alarming pace, his hips snapping into yours, your nails digging into his skin harder, leaving marks. “Oh fuck!” You screamed. “Fuck! Fuck!” You were completely taken aback, his cock pumping in and out of you, fucking you like a wild animal. You cling onto him, trying to take the force of his thrusts without crying out.

“So damn wet,” he grunts, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips. He relishes in your warmth and tightness, like it was a trance, pulling him in and never letting go. His hips tilted up just enough to graze against your g-spot, your eyes rolling back as you sat there and took every ruthless inch of his cock. Unintelligible mumbles and whimpers filled his ears, his heavy body pressing against yours in a way that made you feel so full of him. Your eyes were glazed over, completely drunk on his cock without a care in the world.

You’ve never been fucked like this, not even by yourself. The greediness in his thrusts, the filthiness of his words, the feeling of his cock, it was more than you imagined. That pink dildo of yours didn’t compare to this. Not even close. “Toru…I’m so closeeee,” you sobbed, not because you weren’t enjoying but because you were enjoying it too much. How was he already going to make you cum this quick? It messed with your head, it messed with your body. The familiar pressure began building, your lewd moans echoing in the small office. “I’m…I’m cummingggg—fuck! Oh my god!” You cried out, body shivering as your pussy gushed. You juices soaking your thighs and Gojo, an amused look on his face seeing your entire body lose control. He pulled out of you, more squirt dribbling from your drooling cunt.

“That’s it, make that pussy all messy for me. Give me every last drop.” He slapped his cock over your soaked lips, teasing your poor clit. It’s felt like your body was entirely sensitive, every little touch from him was enough to drive you crazy. “Atta fucking girl.” He reached down, rubbing your clit back and forth. With jolting hips, you tried to pull away from him, but he held you down in place. “I can tell you’re already addicted to my cock. You’re drooling for it,” he hummed, lolling his tongue out and licking the drool from the corner of your lips before kissing you, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you up onto his lap, lips still entwined. His hand gripped the plump flesh of your ass, squeezing it harshly and spreading it, the tip of his cock poking at your entrance. You pulled away from him, looking over your shoulder at the camera to see it was still recording. You had completely forgotten about it, lost in your sex hazed mind. A harsh slap on your ass snapped you out of your thoughts, gojo biting down on his plump limp while his eyes scanned your body. You couldn’t take his teasing anymore, leaving you no other choice but to ride his cock. Slowly sinking down on it, swallowing up every inch, you watch as his eyes roll back, his grip on your ass tightening.

A small giggle lets out as you watch him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders while you slowly bounce up and down on it. “Your cock feels so good,” you moan, letting your ass slam all the way down before going back up. “I fucking love it.” Your hips move in a circular motions, Gojo letting out a pleasured sigh, lifting his head and looking down at where you two meet. He watches his cock disappear and reappear like it was some sort of magic trick. “You like how I ride you, Toru?” You smile down at him, caressing his face in your hand.

“Fuck yes, I do.” A broken moan leaves his throat, his brows knitting together when he feels your pussy juices leaking down his shaft and to his balls. You were the best things he’s ever fucking felt. He sucked in a breath of air, shocked when you began moving faster, riding his cock harder, your aggression showing. He smacked your ass again, helping your rock your hips back and forth the way he liked it. “Ride it, baby. It’s yours. It’s fucking yours. Use me—ahh, yes just like that!” His mouth fell open, breathy whimpers were all that were heard.

Plap, plap, plap.

That sound was like heaven to Gojo. He couldn’t help but put on a lazy smile, focusing on how concentrated you were, how good you looked with sweat dripping between the valley of your tits while they were bouncing. “Mmmmph, fuck! Ohhh, I’m gonna cum again!” You cry out, bouncing harder and harder, so greedy to feel that immense amount of pleasure. It was like a drug. “Yes, yes, yes!” You cry out, clinging onto him once more, lifting your body as it shook, squirting all over his cock again, soaking the poor couch beneath you. “Oh my god!” You sob, trembling in his arms.

“Good fucking job, baby. Mmm, take your time.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, holding you in his arms until you stop shaking. Your mind was completely blank, wanting nothing more than to feel his cock again. “Aye, aye, slow down—ah! Shit!” You’re back to riding him like nothing ever happened, slamming your hips down as you chase another orgasm. “Goddamn, you’re a little slut for this dick, huh?” He chuckles, swatting your ass again. Without hesitation, you nod your head. “Squirt all over this dick again and show me just how much you want it.”

Both of you are moaning like bitches in heat, fucking each other like no tomorrow. Neither of you are worried about anything else right now. It’s just you and him in your own little world. “Shh, shh.” Out of nowhere Gojo quickly covers your mouth and stalls your movements. A confused look adorns your face, until you hear footsteps outside in the lecture room. Oh shit. Both of you had a wide eyed, panicked look on your face. Were you that in your head that you didn’t hear the person come in? “Keep going, just go slow, baby. Be quiet.” He silently laughs, pecking your lips.

It was crazy, but you did it anyway. With hips moving on their own, you rode him as slowly as you could, both of you watching the door to the office to make sure no tried to come in. The rustling of papers could be heard outside, an annoyed groan coming from whoever was out there. “Don’t worry, just keep going,” he whispered, running his hands down your waist, allowing to move a tiny bit faster. His tip rubbed up against your g-spot, a tiny moan escaping your lips. “Shhh, shhh, come here.” He slipped his fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet. “There you go. I know it feels good, baby, but we can’t get caught.”

The noises outside grew quieter until the footsteps grew closer to the office door. You and Gojo completely stopped, hearts beating rapidly against your chest. It felt like seconds turned into minutes before the footsteps began moving away, growing quieter and quieter until the door to the lecture room creaked open and then shut. “Holy shit!” You laughed. “Fuck, we almost got caught.”

“That was terrifying,” he laughed along with you. “I’m surprised they couldn’t smell the sex,” he joked. But you were also surprised too, cause you two have been going at so rough, you were sure the smell travelled beyond the small office. He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips moving against yours when he slipped his tongue into your mouth once more. His cock throbbed inside you, a reminder of what was happening before you two were rudely interrupted. His hips buck into you, catching you off guard. He props you up slightly, angling his cock just right to hit all your sweet spots.

“Ughh, yesss! It’s feels so fucking good!” You groan, baring your teeth, jaw clenching. His cock slips in and out, his balls slapping against your ass, and your pussy squelching along with it. It was evident he was close, his thrusts more sloppy and unplanned, grunting and moaning in your ear. “Shit! Shit! Yes! You’re gonna make me squirttt—ahhh!” You scream, your body convulsing your pussy clenching around his cock while your cover both of your in your juices for a third time. But Gojo doesn’t stop, he holds you down and forces you to take it this time, no matter how much you scream and cry. “It’s too much! Oh my god! It’s still going!” You pant, tears pricking your eyes. It feels so good but hurts at the same time. Your pussy was practically like a water fountain. How was he able to make you squirt so much?

“Take it! Fucking take it! I don’t care if you keep squirting on my cock,” he grunts, pushing every inch of his dick deep into you, his hips snapping at an unbelievable pace. “Oh, oh, I’m gonna cum! Get up!” He moans, still fucking into you to keep the tempo going.

“Cum inside me. Please, it’s what I’ve always wanted.” Just those words alone sent him over the edge, his hips press flush against yours, his head thrown back as throat groans fill your ears. His grip is bruising, his cock throbbing before you feel him spill his cum inside you, hot spurts coating your walls. He completely loses himself, hips stuttering, eyes in the back of his head. A small gasp emits from you, your first time feeling what’s like to be creampied, especially by Gojo Satoru. You lean down, pressing light kisses to his throat, smiling while doing so.

“Ah! Oh my god! I’m fucking lightheaded.” He gulps, lifting his head, trying to catch his breath. He locks onto you, staring at you and taking in every ounce of your beauty. With the smell of sex in the air, and your sweaty bodies pressed into one another, Gojo knows it can’t get any better than this. “Just stay there for a minute. I swear if you move, I might cum again,” he chuckles, tossing his arm over his head, still attempting to ground himself.

You peck his lips, lying on his chest. “Well, we need to leave soon before we actually get caught,” you say, trailing your fingertips over his skin. You look over your shoulder and once again forgot about his phone recording. “Oh, yeah,” you laugh.

“What?” He opens his eyes, looking in the direction you were. “Oh,” he laughs. “Shit, I forgot I did that.” He flashes a smile. “Let me get up.” He helps you off of him, sitting you down on the couch so his cum wouldn’t drip out of you. He reaches for his phone and ends the recording before walking over and grabbing both yours and his clothes off of the floor. “Damn, baby, you made a mess.” He looks at the floor below the couch, see a puddle of your juices.

“Sorry! There’s gotta be something in here to clean it, right?” You laugh, hoping that maybe the professor would have some paper towels or something in his office. He steps over to you, slipping your panties over your ankles first before helping you to your feet. “Thank you.” You kiss his cheek.

He slips on his clothes while you slip on the rest of yours. “I don’t think he has anything in here to clean this up,” he says, looking through the drawers and cabinets. “Fuck it. Janitor will get it.” He shrugs.

“Toru! We can’t just leave that there!” You whine, pulling at his hand.

“It’s not like they’ll know who did. Look, don’t worry about it, okay?” He kisses you, pulling you close to him. “I swear,” he reassures. “Let’s just go back to my place and get cleaned up cause we definitely smell like sweat and sex.”

Both of you walk out of the office, trying to act as normal as possible. The university was still quiet, a straight getaway from this point, both of you running hand in hand out of the lecture room, giggling like two little kids. “I can’t believe we actually did that,” you say, still shocked. “But it was so exciting. Made the sex better.”

“I agree. Wondered what would’ve happened if we did get caught,” he pondered, glancing at you.

“Let’s not go that far.” You playfully push him.

“Just jokes, baby.” He kisses the top of your hand.

taglist:

@sleepykittyenergy @ravenbc @yharnam-prophet @screechingbasementprincess @avaredava @mxrxlxy @lordchula-thagrandrula @akiyhara @palestrawberrycollection @bijuu-naginata @jeansblit @jabulile @aemyuo @springismss @fmlalexis @gradmacoco @phob1cc @kousweet @saoirses-things @ineedtofeedmycat @voidofryomen @bbyrugou @suguru-nugget @monkeyjjk @zxnxy @loserrrluvvverrr

[sugarwarachan]

sex pollen troubles - ft. k. bakugou

summary: prohero!Bakugou gets hit with a sex quirk. too bad his roommate hates him—right?

wc: 1.8k

pairing: prohero!Katstuki Bakugou x roommate!reader

content warnings: MDNI, Bakogou has a roommate because his therapist tells him to, fem!reader is an investigative journalist, gratuitous use of Ace (hello gilmore girls fans) idiot Katsuki, pining Katsuki, fingerless gloves make an appearance sorry not sorry, making out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names like baby, pretty girl, princess, breeding but only if you squint

a/n: word vomited this out in less than 24 hrs

He’s praying you don’t pick up.

“Bakugou?” You sound annoyed, a little suspicious even.

He never calls you.

“Ace.” You hate that nickname, but the thought of saying your actual name in the desperate growl that is his voice right now makes his head spin. “I need - fuck - are you home right now?”

Sex quirks are a dime a dozen these days. He’s been hit with a few before, simple one that are usually pretty easy to shake. (He still hates the premature ejaculate memory, though, coming home with his boxers stiff and an image of you spread out on his bed playing like a film in his head. He hadn't been able to look you in the eyes for weeks.)

He’s never been hit with one as strong as this. The second the mist hit his nostrils he was huffing up the scent of vanilla and citrus and strong black coffee, just the way you like it, before he realized what was happening, the villain ripping down the street in the opposite direction while arousal hit him like a truck.

Bakugou's practically doubled over talking to you now, the ache in his dick throbbing in time with his fucking heartbeat.

“Yeah, I’m home.” Even annoyed you sound like heaven. “What’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

He barks out a laugh, and before he knows it, he's telling you the truth. “Got hit with a sex quirk. A big one.”

Your breath bitches slightly on the other line. He’s pretty sure his cock jumps at the sound.

“And I - " need you right fucking now - “fuck - I can’t call anyone else.”

It has to be you. He’s got women he could call, sure, anyone who might want to get into a pro hero’s pants, but it has to be you for a reason he doesn’t want to look at too closely.

You’re silent for a beat, before you say, “Send me a pin. I’ll come get you.”

He hated you at first. Always talking his ear off about every fucking thing, bringing up articles that remind you of cases you're covering—it was like living with Deku dialed up to 11.

But what he hated even worse was when you stopped talking. When you realized he wasn’t actually gonna come around and be nice to you, when you figured out, oh fuck, he’s actually just an angry prick, and left him alone.

One day he could count on constant chatter when he was back from patrol, the next, nothing at all. You even switched up your schedule so he barely saw you, a fact he didn’t tell his court-ordered therapist because he was supposed to be getting better at being around other people, not worse.

He hates remembering this now with his dick hard as steel and weeping from the tip like he’s fucking 15. The alley is secluded, thank fuck, so no one can see him shaking and groaning, forearms braced on the wall in front of him, head hanging down like a panting dog. He can barely move; every brush of his pants against his erection like a live wire to the brain.

By the time you pull up—five minutes, forty six seconds later, he counted—he’s so frayed and tense that the minute he sees your face, he shouts, “Took you fucking long enough."

Your face shutters closed the way it always does around him, and he wants to fucking die.

“Fuck, Ace, I’m sorry - it’s just, I’m fucking miserable right now - "

“Why did you call me, Katsuki?”

It’s a mistake to look you in the eye. His restraint is a razor’s edge at this point, and seeing your beautiful face is too much. You've always been pretty, but the light shining on your soft hair is convincing him he can write fucking poetry all of a sudden.

“You know why,” he grits out.

You step forward, vanilla and citrus and coffee flooding his nose.

“No, I don’t. You act like you fucking hate me half the time and ignore me the rest.” You scrape a hand across your face in frustration. “And then you call me sounding like that. Why wouldn't I be confused?"

“I want you.” It’s out of his mouth in a flash, and he knows it’s the right thing to say by the way your shoulders relax. “I’m a fucking asshole, I know it. I’m not good at feelings, baby, I'm sorry, but I want you so fucking bad it’s like I could break my teeth over it. It has to be you, Ace, fuck, I’m sorry, it can’t be anyone else - "

You shut him up your mouth, your lips locking into his as both of your noses bump against each other. He doesn’t care; he just needs you as close to him as he can get you. It’s better than anything he imagined, finally touching you, finally giving in to the attraction that’s dogged him ever since you walked into his life.

You taste like coffee and a little bit of that strawberry lip gloss he loves so much. He licks into the seam of your mouth and relishes the shiver that goes through your body.

“Like that, baby?” He breaks away, nosing at your jaw, nipping at the juncture of your throat. That makes you gasp. “You smell so fucking good here.” He jerks his hips, hisses through his teeth as his cock jumps in his pants, pulsing with need.

“Let me,” he hears you say, and you’re tugging his pants open to get your hand around him. The second your fingers wrap around him his eyes roll up in his head. He could cum just from this, he realizes.

“Of course you’d have a pretty dick,” you say with a look of annoyance, and he’s not entirely sure what to say to that besides puff up his chest. You laugh, and it’s almost fond, and goddammit he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything else -

With a growl, he pulls your hand away and backs you up against the wall, peppering kisses down your neck. The whines he’s pulling from your mouth is making everything in his life worth it. He’d fight a thousand fucking villains if it meant this, fingering the seam of your panties under your little skirt as you cry out for more.

“Wear this for me?”

“Like fucking hell I did,” you retort.

“Sure thing, princess.” He runs the pad of two fingers over the soaking wet seam of your panties. A feral grin passes over his face as your thighs tremble and press together. “This just happened to you all on your own?”

He roughly pulls your panties to the side to gather up the slick at your entrance, pushing your hips apart and settling himself between them.

“You’ve gotta come first, pretty girl.” You like when he calls you pet names; he’s been watching the way your skin breaks down out in goosebumps each time. It’s a like a drug being this close to you, making you feel this good. “The second I’m inside ya I’m gonna blow my fucking load so be good and come for me, yeah?”

The rough material of his fingerless gloves rubs against your clit as he stuffs two fingers in your pussy. Your little hole sucks him in greedily as you whine and buck against him.

“Harder, Kats, please - you won’t fucking break me - "

He adds another finger to stretch you out, keeping his palm rocking against your pubic bone with every grind. You’re fluttering around his fingers, whimpers echoing off the walls in the alley.

“That’s it, baby, there you go. Fuck, yeah, you like me stuffing this pretty pussy full?” You dig your nails into his scalp as you hold onto him for dear life, whimpers ratcheting up to moans and cut-off screams as he starts to feel your cunt clamp down hard on him.

You moan his name against his neck as you cum. “Just needed to think about me stuffing you full?” He can’t help but smirk, which quickly turns into a hissing groan when your hand finds him again and positions him right at your core.

“I could say the same for you,” you smirk, rolling your hips and coating the head of his cock in the slick of your orgasm. He chokes on his spit, bracing one forearm on the wall behind you, his free hand stilling your hips in place.

“Lift me up,” you pout.

“Didn’t know you were bossy.”

“Didn’t think you would like it,” you shoot back, rolling down onto his cock and taking an inch of him inside you. “This position’s better, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, you devil woman.” He can barely think. “Baby, I don’t - god fucking damn it - I don’t have any - "

“I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

“Same. Clean, too, I mean.” He’s rambling. He never rambles. “I’ve got my check-up stats in my phone if you’d like to see them.”

You laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard in his entire life.

“Can I kiss you?”

It takes him aback, but he’s been dying to know what you taste like since he met you, honestly.

“Yeah, pretty girl. You can kiss me.” He nips at your mouth and laughs at your pout when he pulls away. “Let me get all the way inside ya though first, huh?”

He feeds you his dick inch by inch, clenching his teeth at the way you squirm and plead for more. You’re slippery and warm, your cunt making obscene squelching noises with every rock of his hips.

With one final thrust, he’s seated up to the hilt, balls slapping against the meat of your thighs and ass.

“So fucking perfect,” he moans in your ear. “All for me - just for me, isn’t that right, Ace?”

Your head jerks up and down in affirmation.

“Say it, pretty girl. Say you’re fucking mine. Tell me how much you like my dick getting this pussy nice and tight. Bet I can get her to scream again, huh?”

He pinches your clit between two fingers. You jerk in his arms.

“Close, princess? Like it a little mean?”

He rocks his his up so he’s dragging the head of his cock across your g spot, over and over. Your eyes roll back in your head and your breathing gets shallower, shorter.

“Please please don’t fucking stop, ohmygodohmygod feels so fucking good, Kats- "

Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice and all rhythm flies out the window. He grabs the meat of your hips and fucks up into you roughly, shooting thick ropes of cum against your cervix.

The creamy sticky ring at the base of his cock when he pulls out is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He looks up at you, sees the appreciative gleam in your eye. You're turned on by that, too.

“Can we do this again when we’re home?” he asks. “Maybe after I’ve made you dinner?”

The smile you return is like the sun. “We better.”

[supernovafics]

𝐃𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 8.7k words

summary: in which you and steve randomly meet at a bar and realize that you two can help each other out with a similar problem

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol/drinking, mentions of past bad relationships (very recent breakups), smut (18+), oral (f!receiving), protected p in v sex

author’s note: i genuinely can’t believe how long this ended up being lol hope yall enjoy though!<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“We could be the greatest wingwoman and wingman for you right now if you just let us, dingus.”

Steve rolled his eyes at Robin’s words. “I already let you guys drag me to this bar, isn’t that enough?”

Robin responded with a simple, “No, it’s not” before taking another sip of her drink, while Eddie said something about how if this were a year ago, they wouldn’t have had to force Steve to this bar because he would have suggested the idea himself. 

“Monica changed you for the worse, man,” Eddie continued, and Steve only frowned at him. 

Robin gave Eddie’s arm a quick whack. “Hey, we promised no Monica slander tonight. At least not right in front of him.”

Steve gave them both the most unamused look. “You guys really had to make a deal about that? To not talk shit about my ex?”

“Okay, don’t say it like that,” Robin told him. “It would actually be super warranted if we did wanna talk shit about her. She was super pretentious and she hated all of your friends; me and Eddie, especially.”

Steve couldn’t think of a rebuttal to that on the spot, so he ended up saying nothing. And then he reminded himself that Monica had brutally dumped him two weeks ago, so why should he even want to defend her to his best friends anymore?

“There’s seriously not one girl here right now that you could maybe be interested in?” Eddie asked, and Steve was grateful that the conversation was at least slightly shifting away from Monica.

But, he didn’t even take a quick look around the bar before answering Eddie’s question with an immediate “No” and hoping that the subject would change again.

Eddie groaned and then proceeded to finish what was left of his beer, and Robin sighed before saying, “If you at least talked to a random girl here, and just maybe flirted a little bit, don’t you think you’d feel a little less sad about the breakup?”

“I’m not sad about it, though,” Was Steve’s immediate response, and it was only kind of a lie. 

It really wasn’t Monica breaking up with him that made him sad; it was more about him spending almost a year of his life with someone that he knew he probably shouldn’t have been with in the first place because of how incompatible they were. That hard truth was what made him feel sad and a little stupid. Actually, scratch that, a lot stupid. But things with her had become so comfortable and routine that it eventually felt easier staying than leaving. 

Robin simply gave him a look before shaking her head. “You’re a terrible liar. Last night I saw you watching that one National Geographic documentary that you only watch when you’re sad. Which I still find kinda weird, but you’re my best friend and I love you and all of your weird coping habits.”

“Wait, which documentary is it again?” Eddie asked, laughing a little. “The one about the whales or the one about the lions?”

“Whales,” Robin answered. “And it's like three hours long.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Steve abruptly said before Robin or Eddie could say anything else. 

He left his half-drunk beer with his friends and walked away from the high table they’d been occupying for the past hour and headed toward where the bathrooms were down a random hallway. 

“Don’t try to sneak out the back. We have your location and we will find you,” He heard Robin say from behind him. “And don’t turn it off now that I just mentioned it.”

Steve laughed as he held up his hand, giving her a quick thumbs-up in response. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

There was only so much waiting and hiding you could do, so you decided to ask the first guy that you saw exiting the bathroom. 

“Hey, are the two girls sitting at the end of the right side of the bar looking this way?” 

Surprisingly, this random guy didn’t question why you were asking him that, or why you couldn’t check that yourself, or even question why you were so obviously hiding in this slightly secluded hallway where the terrible bathrooms were. 

Instead, he stepped out of the hallway a little bit and took a peek around the corner for you, and then turned back to you after a second. “Yeah, I see two girls looking this way.”

“Shit.”

“Who are they?”

“My friends.”

The confused look he gave you was immediate. “Why are you trying to avoid your friends?”

You sighed as you leaned back against the wall behind you. “Because they’re trying to convince me that going home with a random guy tonight will help me get over my boyfriend who just broke up with me.”

The laugh he let out in response surprised you. It also made you feel equal parts offended and amused. 

“Is my devastating heartbreak funny to you?”

For the most part, you were exaggerating; your breakup with Elliott hadn’t actually been all too devastating— no outward lying or cheating, just a lot of miscommunications and bad timings— but you kind of wanted this random guy to feel at least a little bad for laughing at you. 

“Shit, no, sorry,” He said, and his cheeks reddened a bit in what you could only assume was embarrassment, and you suddenly felt kind of bad about getting so defensive. “I just laughed because my friends are trying to do the same thing for me, too.” 

“Oh, sorry,” You said, feeling slightly worse now that you knew that you two were in the same boat. “Sorry about your breakup.”

He shrugged like it was fine. “How long have you been standing here hiding from your friends?”

“Five minutes, maybe,” You answered as you pulled out your phone to quickly check the time. Seeing that it was a little after ten thirty let you know that you’d actually been standing here for closer to ten minutes, but you didn’t correct yourself. “My plan is to somehow find an opening to slip out the front door, and then I’ll send them a picture from my Uber telling them that I left.”

“Solid plan.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“Maybe a little bit,” He said, giving you a small smile, and it was then that you were realizing, or finally noticing, that this guy was cute; even in the shitty bar lighting you could tell that. 

Maybe it was because of his sweet smile, or maybe it was the denim jacket he was wearing over a plain white t-shirt that suited him really well. Or maybe it was his hair that looked as if he got out of bed and pushed a quick hand through it and then proceeded to leave his home, and you meant that in the best way possible.

Either way, this guy was really cute and so clearly your type— even though you felt like you were in no place to consider anything romantic with anyone, you could recognize his attractiveness— and you were suddenly being hit with an idea.

“Wait, you said that your friends are trying to set you up with someone here too, right?”

He let out a sigh. “Yeah, they are.”

“And I’m guessing by that sigh that you don’t wanna do that?” You asked, and when he shook his head in answer, you continued. “Okay, I think we maybe can help each other get out of here. This might sound a little insane since we literally don’t know each other at all, but let’s just pretend we really like each other in front of our friends— like, be super flirty and whatever. And then we’ll leave here together, letting them think that we’re gonna…” The thought of saying the word suddenly made you feel awkward, so you didn’t. “Do what they want us to do.”  

After taking a moment to process your sudden idea— you honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if the guy said no because it was pretty weird— he nodded. “That’s actually a really great idea.” 

“Thank you. I’m known for my great ideas, actually,” You said, smiling at him as you reached out to grab his hand and intertwine it with yours. 

If the thought of saying that you and this stranger were gonna have sex made you feel awkward, then abruptly holding his hand should’ve felt weird too, but surprisingly it didn’t. “Alright, let’s just act like we’re super into each other, I guess.” 

“I’m Steve, by the way,” He told you. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably important information to know,” You said and then proceeded to tell him your name too. 

You led the way to your friends and the small corner of the bar where they were lingering by. 

“Hey, guys, this is Steve,” You said and slapped on the happiest smile you could muster at the moment. 

“Steve,” Danielle was the first one to say something after noticing your and Steve’s interlocked hands. “What’s your last name?”

“Harrington.”

And then Amy was jumping in. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” 

“What do you do?”

“I work at the record store down the street.”

“So, you’re a music guy?”

“Not really, I guess. My friend got me a job there.” 

You decided to stop the interrogation before Steve got scared away by this back and forth questioning Danielle and Amy were doing. “Okay, okay, that’s enough of the interview. His friends are gonna think he ditched them or something.”

“You guys should come over to the table we’re at,” Steve said and then pointed in the direction of where his friends were with his free hand. “There’s enough room.”

You nodded at his words. “That’s a great idea.” 

If Danielle or Amy were aware of this act you were putting on— how you were no longer rejecting their idea of you flirting with some guy to “get over” Elliott— they didn’t call you out on it. Instead, they agreed that going to the table with Steve’s friends was a good idea. 

Quick introductions were made, and then the group settled into typical small talk. However, you and Steve deliberately fell into your own kind of “flirty conversation” and played it up for your friends, all of whom tried to pretend that they weren’t intensely watching you two, but they failed miserably at hiding their staring, which was exactly what you both wanted. 

After a few minutes of exaggerated smiles and elated laughs, Steve leaned in close to your ear. “How long do you think we’re gonna have to do this?”

You softly giggled like he just whispered the sweetest thing to you and then leaned into his ear. “Follow my lead.”

You pulled back and then shifted so that you were standing closer to him, and he quickly took the hint and wrapped his arm around you. 

“Hey,” You said, grabbing the attention of your friends and his, which was easy because they had already been half-listening to you and Steve anyway. “We’re gonna head out of here, so we’ll see you guys later.”

There was a mix of confused and surprised looks that crossed all over their faces for the briefest moment, and then Amy was the one to first say something. “Really?”

“Yeah,” You nodded. ���I want to take Steve to my place to show him something.”

“Since I’ve never seen the second Home Alone movie, we’re gonna watch that,” Steve added. Out of all of the movies he could’ve said, you weren’t sure why he was mentioning a Christmas one in September, but sure, you’d play along. 

“You’re gonna watch a movie?” Robin asked, somehow looking both skeptical and amused. 

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yup,” You agreed as you reached up to lace your fingers with his hand that was around your shoulders and used that to push yourself even closer to him. 

“Okay,” Eddie said, failing to bite back his grin. “Have fun watching a movie.”

“We will,” Steve told him and gave your hand a light squeeze. 

“I’ll text you guys later,” You said to Danielle and Amy, who were looking at you with equally surprised but happy looks. After so many years of friendship, it was pretty easy to read each other, but you hoped that they couldn’t see through what you were doing; you hoped you were faking all of this well enough.

Neither of them said anything, though, and they instead nodded and said different versions of “We’ll talk to you in the morning,” which let you know that they were just happy that you were actually following through with what they wanted you to do tonight. 

Steve pulled his arm from around you and just went to normally holding your hand, and you two said final goodbyes to your friends and then headed away from the table. You two stayed practically attached at the hip until you were out of the door. The cold hit you immediately, but it wasn’t too unbearable with your jacket on, although you still wished that you had opted for a better dress. You gave Steve a quick look as the bar door closed behind you both.   

“Nice idea with the movie thing, even though Home Alone 2 is so random,” You said with a laugh. “They all definitely think we’re about to go have sex in my apartment.”

“I’ve kinda used that movie line before,” Steve said. “It’s been a while, but Robin and Eddie still know what it means.” 

You gave him an amused smile. “Okay, so Home Alone 2 is code for ‘I’m about to go hook up with this random girl’?”

“No, I don’t use the same movie every time,” He laughed a little. “That one was just the first thing that came to my mind this time.”

You nodded as you slipped your hand from his and you reached into the pocket of your jacket to pull out your phone. You opened the Uber app and ordered a car so that you could finally go home. 

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the night?” Steve asked as you slipped your phone back in your pocket. 

“Head home and probably finish the bottle of wine that I had been drinking before my friends dragged me here, and then call my ex and leave very stupid voicemails.”

You didn’t mean to be so honest— if your friends had asked you that question, you would’ve lied and avoided any and all mentions of Elliott because you wanted to make it seem like you were dealing with the breakup just fine— but talking to Steve made you want to be truthful for some reason; maybe because you two were going through the same thing. 

“That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

“It’s not,” You agreed, but didn’t say that you wouldn’t still be following through with it. 

Things became quiet as you two stood on this sidewalk, not at all as close as you two were when you were trying to play things up in front of your friends. There was actual space between you two for the first time in the last ten minutes, and you weren’t looking at him anymore, instead, you were focused on the quiet street. The faint sounds of all the noise coming from inside the bar managed to fill the silence, and you wondered if this was the part where you two were supposed to go your separate ways. Now that you helped each other get what you both wanted, what else was there to say or do? 

You were about to mumble something along the lines of “Thanks for your help tonight,” but Steve was speaking before you could. “My ex texted me earlier.”

Weirdly enough, you actually felt a little relieved that he was keeping the conversation going. You honestly didn’t mind talking to him. There was something about this entire conversation that felt so simple and easy, even though you were talking about kind of shitty things. 

You looked at him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“My friends would say bad. And a part of me knows it’s bad too, but I don’t know,” He shrugged. “It’s kinda tempting.”

You understood what he meant completely, but you still gave him advice that you probably wouldn’t have taken for yourself. “Okay, well, if my opinion matters at all in this, which I know it probably doesn’t, you shouldn’t text her back.”

“And then, in that case, you shouldn’t drunk call your ex,” He reminded you. 

“Why did you two break up?” You asked instead of outwardly agreeing with his words. 

“She did it two weeks ago over the phone,” Steve told you. “She said that things were feeling “off” between us and maybe they always had been.”

“Ouch,” That word felt like an understatement to represent just how shitty breaking up with someone over a phone call was, but it was all you could manage to say right then. 

He gave you a quick nod, breaking your gaze for a second, and then he threw the question your way. “What about you?”

“He wanted to move to California, and I wanted to stay here,” You answered. That was the short version of it; the easy version of it. 

“Okay, that sounds pretty amicable,” Steve responded. 

You almost simply agreed with him just to let this part of the conversation end, but it didn't feel right doing that. For reasons you couldn’t fully recognize just yet, you didn’t want to lie to Steve. 

“It wasn’t,” You admitted softly. “The moving thing came up months ago, and if we were smart, we would’ve just ended things then, but we didn’t. I told him I didn’t want to move, and he said that was fine, but it definitely wasn’t fine. He started pulling away and being a dick, and we both became really shitty toward each other by the end of it until he finally broke up with me and then moved like he wanted to.”

“Okay, nevermind. That sounds like it sucked.”

“And yours seems pretty bad too,” You said. “Doing it over the phone is such a fucked move. Did you see it coming?”

“No, but also yes, which probably doesn’t even make sense,” He answered, and in your eyes, it did make sense, but you didn’t interrupt him to tell him that. “There was something that always felt “off” about us, but in the moment, it never seemed like that big of a deal. Looking back now, though, it’s so obvious that we were never gonna work, and I guess it’s kinda good that she ended it.”

“But, she texted you today,” You reminded him. 

“Yeah,” He said and then sighed. 

“I still don’t think you should say anything back to her,” You told him. “Now, after hearing that she broke up with you over the phone, she definitely doesn’t deserve a text back.”

“If you don’t call your ex tonight, I won’t text mine back,” Steve said, giving you a look that you couldn’t fully decipher, but you were still nodding at his words. 

“Deal,” You said and then held out your hand for him to shake— because it felt like the obvious thing to do, even if the “deal” you two were making was a playful one— and he did. You didn’t understand how his hand was still warm after being out in the cold for the past few minutes, but it was nice all the same. 

As if on cue, a car pulled up in front of the bar with the all too familiar Uber sticker in its windshield. You looked at it for a quick second and then at your phone to make sure it was the right car. And then after that confirmation, you looked at Steve. 

“You coming?”

The confused look he gave you was immediate. “You want me to?”

You nodded and smiled at him. “Yeah, how else are we gonna make sure we both follow through with the deal we just made?”

“Makes sense,” Steve said, nodding back with a small, amused smile on his face, and then he followed you to the car. 

You two sat on opposite ends in the backseat, and it was probably the first time all night that the silence between you two felt a little awkward.  

“Can I read the text she sent you?” You asked, halfway through the ten-minute ride. “Sorry, if that’s weird, I don’t know why I’m so curious.” 

“Not weird,” Steve told you as he tapped on his phone for a second and then handed it over to you. 

You took a brief look at the previous messages sent between them, which was a lot of simple stuff, and then you focused on the most recent one. 

I’ve been thinking about you a lot today. Maybe we can meet up soon and talk? Let me know when you’re free. 

It was hard not to roll your eyes at the message. It felt almost too painstakingly equivalent to something Elliott had said to you the day he moved out of your apartment. His one final attempt to get you to change your mind and move to California with him, as if all the damage to your relationship hadn’t already been done. 

You were about to hand Steve his phone back, but then you noticed something. 

“Steve,” You said, looking at him in the darkness of the car. “Why is there still a heart by her name?”

“I haven’t gotten around to changing it yet,” He answered, which didn’t sound like the best excuse to you because you thought about how promptly you had changed Elliott’s contact name to “Asshole” once he left the apartment for the final time. 

“Alright, let me do the honors for you,” You said as you deleted the red heart and then Monica’s name entirely and simply put “EX.” “Okay, here you go.”

You handed the phone back to him, and he looked at what you did and then laughed a little. “I don’t know why I thought you were gonna make it something a lot meaner.”

“It was tempting,” You started. “But, I don’t know her, so I don’t know what mean stuff would’ve been the most fitting.”

Steve nodded as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “What’s your ex’s name?”

“Asshole in my contacts and Elliott in real life,” You answered and Steve laughed again and then said a quick, “Got it.”

You made it to your apartment building five minutes later and it took another five minutes, due to very shitty elevators, to make it to your actual apartment.  

“Welcome to my place,” You said to Steve as you flicked on the light and then pulled off your jacket and hung it on one of the hooks by the front door, and slipped off your shoes. 

“Did you just move in?” Steve asked, following suit and doing the same with his jacket, and then toeing off his shoes by the door as well. 

The half-emptiness of your apartment didn’t really faze you anymore, but you understood how unfinished the place looked to someone who was seeing it for the first time. 

“Oh, no, I’ve been here for almost three years now. When Elliott moved out, he took a lot of things, so it looks a little weird and half-decorated now,” You quickly explained, hoping that you successfully masked the sudden awkwardness in your voice because you now felt the tiniest bit embarrassed that you brought him here. “I’m still working on getting a new TV, so for now we can just watch something on my laptop if you want.”

Before Steve could say anything in response, you grabbed your laptop from where it sat on the small coffee table in your living room and then handed it over to him. “I’ll be right back; I need to get out of this dress. But you can put on whatever you want.” 

“Okay,” You heard him say as you headed toward your bedroom. 

It didn’t hit you how sort of insane this entire situation was until you closed your bedroom door behind you, and you were left alone for the first time since you met Steve near the bar bathrooms. Now, logical thinking was kicking in, and you considered just how much of a bad idea all of this was. 

There was a guy who you barely knew in your apartment, and you had no plans on having sex with him, so this wouldn’t end up being a one-night stand kind of thing. So, what would happen instead? You two would simply talk and genuinely watch a movie, and then what?

Although you had no idea what the answer to that question was, it actually didn’t completely scare you. Because yes, this was kind of an odd set of circumstances, but you and Steve were going through the same thing, and that somehow made everything feel different. You weren’t nervous around him, and you hadn’t been all night; instead, things had felt weirdly easy, you realized. And you decided to keep leaning into that easy feeling and not overthink whatever this was or would be.  

You slipped out of your dress and put on what was probably the most comfortable pair of pajama pants you owned and a simple t-shirt. When you stepped out of your bedroom and headed back into the living room, you saw Steve sitting on the couch, and a small, slightly amused smile tugged at your lips as you noticed what was playing on your laptop, which was opened up and back on the coffee table.

“Okay, I definitely didn’t expect you to put on a nature documentary,” You said as you sat down next to him, leaving a fair amount of space between you two. “I don’t know why I thought you’d put on something super boyish. Like, Die Hard or one of the million Fast and Furious movies.”

“Oh, I was planning on putting on Die Hard after this,” He said, and you immediately took notice of the playful tilt in his voice.

“An ocean documentary and Die Hard sounds like a solid double feature,” You joked back with a smile, and Steve laughed in response and then proceeded to tell you that this documentary was specifically about whales. 

A comfortable silence began to linger as you grabbed the throw blanket that was folded on the back of the couch and spread it over your lap and then offered some of it to Steve, which he accepted— it was long enough to fit you both comfortably even though you weren’t right next to each other. And then you focused on the documentary and the Australian narrator talking about the vastness of the ocean. 

“We can watch something else if you want,” Steve abruptly said about five minutes in. His words slightly surprised you because you had actually been finding the documentary pretty interesting so far and you hadn’t done anything to show otherwise. “My friends always hate when I put this on.”

You looked away from the laptop screen and at him. “How often do you watch this?”

“Whenever I’m not feeling great,” He answered, turning a little to look at you too. “Like, sick or sad.”

“Okay, and with your breakup, I guess this has been on repeat these past two weeks?” You asked, and the nod he gave you in response made you think that he was embarrassed by that answer, and you immediately wanted to make him not feel that way. “My personal sad go-to has been putting on this one reality show where people do dumb obstacle courses to win money. There’s like twenty seasons of that show and I’m halfway through it.”

“That’s what we should actually watch after this,” Steve said, giving you a playful smile. 

“Yeah, and we can wallow in our collective sadness,” You nodded in agreement, which made him laugh. “And this will probably sound weird or just not even make sense, but I’m not even sad about me and him breaking up, because I know that it definitely needed to happen. I’m sad about basically wasting the last two years of my life with someone who didn’t end up being “the one” or whatever. Thinking about that feels so much worse than the breakup itself.”

Steve gave you a look that you couldn’t decipher at all. It was probably the first time all night that you felt slightly self-conscious under his gaze. You got the urge to look away from him and focus back on the whales on screen, but you didn’t. 

Instead, your eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sorry, it’s just, I feel the exact same way pretty much,” He told you. “I’m not really that sad that Monica broke up with me, I just feel really stupid that we were even together in the first place. She didn’t really like my friends and would always make fun of my job.”

“Didn’t you say you work at a record store? What is there to make fun of about that?” 

“She would say a lot of stuff about how ‘it’s a job that’s going nowhere,’ but then play it off like she was just joking.” 

You were unable to hold back your grimace. “Wow, that sounds terrible.”

You noticed the embarrassed look cross his face and you felt the immediate need to change it.  

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not judging,” You quickly told him. “Elliott called me a lot of mean things by the end, and I still stayed with him, so I know all about making dumb decisions in a relationship.”

Steve frowned at your words. “How mean?”

“So mean that you’re actually the first person I’ve even mentioned that to. It still feels way too embarrassing to bring it up to my friends,” You admitted, and it was then that you had to finally look away from him. “I don’t really get why it’s so easy to talk to you.”

“Probably because we’re basically strangers,” Steve said, and after considering his words for a second, you nodded. “And fuck him, by the way, for whatever mean shit he said to you. That sounds pretty terrible too.”

“That’s why I wanted to call him tonight and leave equally as mean drunk voicemails, but you talked me out of it,” You said, finally meeting Steve’s eyes again. “You’re right, though, it would’ve been stupid to do that.”

Steve shook his head. “Oh, when you said that, I thought you meant that you wanted to leave the sappy kind of drunk voicemails where you talk about wanting to get back with him or something.” 

“Oh, no way. I was just gonna list off a bunch of bad things about him,” You responded. “Like, the kinds of things that when you’re dating the person, it just seems like a little quirk or bad habit that you can overlook, but in hindsight you’re like, why did I put up with any of that, y’know?”

Steve nodded understandingly. “Can I hear the list?” 

“You sure you wanna hear me rant about my ex?” You asked him with an amused smile, and Steve laughed a little and nodded again. “Okay, he would always forget to turn off stuff before he left the apartment; the TV, lights, anything really. He never did the dishes and would always get a little annoyed when I asked him to do it. Oh, and he hated whenever I would beat him at any kind of games.” 

“That’s a very solid list.”

“Also, he,” You started and then immediately cut yourself off, realizing that maybe you should have at least somewhat of a filter. “Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

Steve gave you a look. “Wait, now you have to say it.”

“He never…” You looked away from Steve’s curious gaze and instead focused on the blanket draped over your lap. You pulled at a random loose string as you said your next words. “He never went down on me.”

“Really?” He asked, and you simply nodded because it suddenly felt too hard to form words right then. “You were together for almost two years, and he didn’t do it once?”

You nodded again and then finally found your voice. “He said he wasn’t a “fan” of it. Meanwhile, he loved when I gave him a blowjob.” 

It was pretty obvious that your filter was completely gone at this point; if it had ever even really been there in the first place when it came to Steve. 

“Wow.”

You tilted your head at him. “I can’t tell what that wow means.”

“It means that he’s an idiot and you should’ve been the one dumping him, not the other way around, and also, once again, he’s definitely an idiot.”

You laughed a little. “Woah, who knew one word could mean so much?”

“Yeah, it has a ton of connotations to it,” Steve joked, smiling at you. 

You both went back to watching the documentary on your laptop, but there was something about this part of the conversation that didn’t feel over yet. You didn’t feel like you could just go back to watching this whale documentary as if you hadn’t just admitted the most embarrassing thing about your sex life.  

“Um, what about you, though?” You asked, and Steve looked at you again, a confused furrow to his eyebrows like he didn’t fully get what you meant by the question, so you elaborated. “What was shitty about your sex life?”

Steve was quiet at first, and for a second, you thought that maybe for the first time that night, you two had reached a question that was “too much,” or worse, there had been nothing bad about his sex life with his ex, so he had no answer to give you.  

“Um, she always wanted to do the same thing,” Steve finally answered after what felt like the longest stint of silence ever, and you were completely confused by that response. 

“What do you mean?”

“She only wanted to do missionary. Nothing else,” He explained. “And I know that it’s a classic, I get that completely, and it definitely is. But sometimes you just wanna change things up, y’know?”

You nodded instead of outwardly saying anything because you didn’t want to admit that aside from the lack of oral, your sex life with Elliott had been pretty good. 

“So, almost a year of just missionary?” You asked, and Steve gave you a nod that seemed equivalent to the one you’d given him when it was you answering this kind of question. “What would you do if you could choose?”

You noticed his cheeks turning the tiniest hint of pink as he considered the question. “Oh, um, girl on top, I think. That one’s pretty good.” 

You weren’t sure why you expected him to say something a little crazier, but you didn’t tell him that. 

“Good choice,” Was what you said instead. 

There was another lull in the conversation, and maybe that was where it should’ve finally ended, but there was something about it that still didn’t feel entirely over just yet. 

“I could—”

“We could—”

Your and Steve’s suddenly spoken words stumbled over each other and made you both stop abruptly.  

“What were you gonna say?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You can go first.”

“No, no, I’m a gentleman,” Steve told you, a small smile on his face. “So, ladies first.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but there was nothing serious behind it. “I was gonna say that maybe we could… Maybe we could help each other out. Like, show one another what the other was ‘missing out on’ while they were in their relationship.” You then rushed out your next words before Steve could respond to your previous ones. “What were you gonna say?”

“I was gonna say that I could do what your ex didn’t want to do for you.”

“Just me?” You asked, and he nodded. “Well, it wouldn’t be fair if you got nothing out of this.”

Steve gave you a quick shrug. “I wasn’t really thinking about me.”

You teasingly smiled at him. “Wow, you truly are a gentleman.”

He laughed. “I told you.”

“If we did actually do this, though,” You started. “I would also wanna do your thing too.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. If you go down on me, I’ll happily ride you.” 

Finally outwardly saying the words made you laugh a little; you couldn’t help it. None of what was happening right then felt exactly weird, but it was definitely… surprising.  

“This is such an insane conversation,” Steve responded, laughing too. 

“Oh, yeah, it definitely is,” You said, looking away from him and focusing back on your laptop screen for a second. “We could just go back to watching the documentary and pretend this never happened.”

“Is that what you wanna do?”

“Not really, no,” You admitted. Logically, your answer probably should’ve been the opposite, but you honestly couldn’t imagine saying yes to his previous question and actually pretending that this conversation hadn’t happened. “Do you?”

Steve shook his head. “No.”

“Okay, so it’s settled then. Should we shake on this too?” You asked, mainly joking with your words. 

“Yes, definitely,” He said, playing along. “That’s the only way it will be real.”

You scooted a little closer to him, closing most of the space between you two on the couch, and then held out your hand. “So, deal?”

He grabbed your outstretched hand and shook it. “Deal.”

This was the second handshake shared between you two, but this one felt charged with something different than the one outside the bar. 

Steve’s hand was warm against yours, and you were also noticing how soft it was too. Your eyes stayed on his, and even though you didn’t really know him that well, if at all, you still felt as if you somehow understood what was going on in his head because it matched exactly what was happening in yours. 

With your hands still linked together, he pulled you closer, and then let go at the last second to find your cheek and slot his lips against yours. It was messy at first, a sudden clash of tongues and teeth, but it also felt really good, and it took only a second for you two to find your collective rhythm.  

Steve was a great kisser, which surprised you because first kisses with people were never this good, and they definitely never felt this right. There were always some sort of growing pains as you navigated what to do and figured out what the other wanted, but that somehow wasn’t the case for you and Steve. 

You definitely didn’t expect your first post-Elliott kiss to be damn near perfect, and you decided not to think too much about what exactly it meant that it was happening with Steve; a guy you’d barely known for two hours. 

“You’re really good at this,” You mumbled against his lips. 

“What? Kissing?” He whispered back in between each one. 

“Yeah.”

Steve pulled back to look at you, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “Thanks. You’re really good too.”

You suddenly started feeling shy under his gaze, so you quickly leaned back in to get him to stop looking at you so sweetly. His hand still holding your cheek kept you steady and further warmed your already burning skin, and you let out the softest sound against his mouth when his free hand slipped beneath your shirt and found your waist, giving the bare skin a quick squeeze. 

You wanted to move out of this awkward side-by-side position and sit in his lap, but you also wanted to get off the couch completely, so you abruptly pulled away from him and stood up. Wordlessly, your hand found Steve’s again, and you led him to your bedroom. 

The second the door was closed behind you both, Steve’s mouth eagerly found yours again, which made you smile into the kiss, as he walked you back toward the bed. The second the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed, he gently pushed you down on top of it.  

Before he could even ask or say anything, you were pulling your t-shirt off and tossing it somewhere to the side, and then doing the same with your pajama pants. The look he gave you as you now lay on your bed, half naked with only your bra and underwear on, made something stir in your stomach. 

“You okay up there?” You asked after a moment, making your voice light and playful, and also trying to push away the feelings that were starting to make a home in your stomach. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just… Fuck,” He let out a breath. “You’re really pretty.”

You had to turn your head and look away from him then, but you still couldn’t help but smile at his words as your cheek pressed into the blanket. 

This was just supposed to be another case of two people helping each other out. This wasn’t supposed to be so sweet and nice and serious, right? You weren’t sure, but you could inwardly admit that you liked hearing him call you pretty. 

You still weren’t looking, but you could feel Steve settle on top of you and lean in to press his lips to your exposed neck, making you let out a quiet moan. 

He sucked on your skin, a sensitive spot on the underside of your jaw that had you mewling for him, as his hand moved down toward your cunt. He pulled your underwear to the side and slowly pressed his middle finger into your slick folds. 

“Shit,” He mumbled against your neck. “You’re soaked.”

You let out a soft breath. “Like I said, you’re really good at this.”

He pulled away from your clit and out of your wetness completely and you let out a whine in protest, but then his fingers were hooking into the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs. Your bra was next, and you sat up a bit so that he could unhook it and toss it to the side. 

“Fuck,” Steve said, leaning back to simply just look at you for a moment. “You look so perfect for me.”

You were completely naked now, and he was still fully clothed, but you didn’t even feel shy under his lust-filled gaze because you really liked the way he was looking at you in this moment.

Before you could make any move to grab at the ends of his t-shirt to at least pull that off of him, his mouth was on you once again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips and then moving to your neck and continuing lower and lower. 

Your eyes slipped shut, and you let out the softest sounds as he slowly trailed down your stomach and went to your hips and then to your inner thighs, teasingly pressing his mouth against your warm skin at every spot. You felt his hands hook around your thighs and pull you closer to him. 

“Hey,” Steve said to grab your attention, and your eyes met his. Looking at him with his head between your legs and his mouth so close to where you needed him to be was probably the hottest thing you’d ever seen. “Tell me if you want me to do anything differently, okay?”

You nodded before softly saying, “Okay.”

Your head fell back against the bed when his tongue ran a long slow stripe up your slit. He stopped at your clit, circling the bundle of nerves before latching his lips around it and giving it a quick suck. The gasp in pleasure and surprise you let out in response was immediate. 

After one too many rejections from Elliott, you told yourself that you didn’t like oral anyway, always reminding yourself of other times with past partners when it had been rushed and sloppy. But now you knew just how much you’d been lying to yourself because this felt fucking phenomenal. Steve’s mouth felt perfect on you, and there was nothing about this moment that felt rushed or half-baked, like he was just trying to quickly get to the next thing. 

He slipped two fingers inside of you, pushing in as deep as he could go and his mouth went to your clit again. Your fingers threaded through his hair as he lapped at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Steve could tell just how much you were enjoying yourself with every tug on his hair and the contented sounds you were making above him. 

His hand still on your thigh squeezed roughly as he started to suck hard on your clit, which pushed you closer and closer to the edge. It should’ve maybe felt a little embarrassing— how quickly he was about to make you come only from his mouth and fingers— but everything just felt so fucking good that you didn’t care how fast he was making the tight knot in your stomach feel as if it was going to explode. 

“Steve, I- I’m gonna… Fuck,” You trailed off with a loud moan. Words were alluding in this moment as Steve continued his ministrations against your dripping cunt; his mouth on the most sensitive part of you and his fingers deep inside you, curling against an almost too perfect spot.  

Your own fingers pulled a little harder at his dark locks, which made him moan against your clit and the vibrations from that abruptly sent you over the edge. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” The words fell from your lips in a sort of whispered chant as your back arched sharply off the bed and you saw stars behind your eyes. 

Steve continued exactly what he was doing as you came, your moans and whimpers sounding like music to his ears. He happily took and lapped at everything you gave him, absolutely loving the taste of you on his tongue. He continued to finger you and eat you out through your orgasm until he felt you become too overstimulated. 

“Fuck,” You squeaked out when his tongue did one final teasing lick against the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Fuck, that was really good.”

Steve pulled away, and he sat up a little, smiling as he watched you come down from your high. “I’m sorry you’ve had to miss out on that for the past two years.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Thank you for the condolences.” 

Your heart rate slowly returned to normal, and you turned to Steve, who was now sitting next to you, and you took notice of the obvious tint in his jeans. 

You reached out to palm his hard length. “Girl on top is what you wanted, right?”

He let out a low groan. “Mhm, yeah, but only if you want to do that.”

“Steve,” You said so his eyes would meet yours, and then you proceeded to give him the reassurance that it seemed so clear that he needed. “I really want to do that for you.”

He looked at you so sweetly, and this time you didn’t look away, you simply just smiled back at him as you crawled into his lap. 

Your fingers immediately grabbed the ends of his t-shirt to pull it up and off of him. “Let’s make things even, yeah?”

He nodded, and you shifted back a bit so that you could work on the button of his jeans. You then lifted your hips so that he could push his jeans and boxers down his legs and off him completely. 

Your eyes became glued to his hard cock. You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but he was huge and you could feel yourself becoming wetter at the thought of him filling you up. 

“You have such a pretty cock, Steve,” You whispered as you wrapped a hand around him and brushed your thumb over his slick tip. He groaned in pleasure, and one of his hands immediately found your hip in response, squeezing the bare skin. 

A part of you wanted him to be rougher; you honestly didn’t mind the thought of finding Steve-shaped bruises on your skin in the morning. However, you didn’t tell him that because this moment wasn’t about you.  

“Does that feel good?” You asked instead, voice soft and gentle, as if you couldn’t tell the answer to your question just by all the sounds Steve was making and by the way he was twitching in your hand. 

“Perfect,” He groaned out, eyes meeting yours just for a second before he was looking down and watching as you kept slowly stroking him from base to tip. “Fucking perfect.”

You smiled and wondered if this was how he felt when the roles were reversed and you were the one who was a mess below him. 

“Shit, I need,” Steve let out a strangled breath and his head fell back against the headboard with a soft thud. “Really need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and let go of him to reach over and grab a condom from your nightstand drawer.  

Steve watched as you tore open the foil packet and slipped the condom on his cock; it was probably one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. 

“Do you want me to turn around and take it that way, or like, how do you want this?” You asked, meeting his half lidded eyes as you went back to stroking his cock. After what he’d just done for you, you wanted this to be perfect for him. 

“No, I wanna see you,” He said, free hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. 

You could feel your skin warm under his touch; somehow, that felt like the most intimate thing he’d done to you so far tonight. You nodded at his words instead of saying anything because you were pretty certain your words would’ve failed you anyway. 

You lifted your hips so that you could line him up with your slick entrance and then your eyes met his as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, completely taking his cock inside of you. 

Your and Steve’s collective moans filled the quiet air, and you were the one to break eye contact with him because your eyes were pinching shut. 

Both of his hands shot to your hips to keep you from moving, which was good because you needed a moment to adjust to the feeling of being so full of him.  

“Shit, I’m gonna fucking explode if you move right now,” Steve mumbled, looking down at how well you were taking him. 

“That’s okay,” You told him softly. Your hands rested on his shoulders for a quick moment, and then they tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He let out a chuckle and met your gaze. “I want this to last more than two seconds.” One of his hands came up to find your breast. “And I also want you to come with me.”

You hummed at the feeling of his fingers squeezing your already hard nipple. “Still such a gentleman.”

Steve laughed again, and that sound turned into a low groan when you lifted your hips ever so slightly and then sank back down onto him. 

“God, you feel so good,” He rambled out. “Taking me so fucking well.”

His words sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. “‘M so full.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked teasingly, and you simply nodded, words failing you the moment he pushed up into you. 

Whatever control you had was lost. You were technically riding him, but he was doing most of the work, and it seemed as if that was exactly what he wanted. He had a near-bruising grip on your hips as he guided your movements and hit all of the right places with each thrust. 

Your face became buried in his neck when it all felt like too much. “Fuck, I’m so close.” 

Your words were whispered against his soft skin, and you could feel his nod in response. “Yeah, me too.”

He slipped a hand between your bodies so that he could find your clit and you sucked in a breath when his thumb started circling it.

“I wanna see you,” He groaned when he felt you clench around his cock, and at first all you could do was hum against his skin in response. “I wanna see you come for me.”

You pulled back and met his gaze, hands finding his bare shoulders to keep you steady. It was harder to do than you expected because of how much you wanted to let your eyes slip shut and simply just take everything Steve was giving you. 

“Hi,” You softly said to him instead of closing your eyes or letting your head fall back in pleasure due to his teasing strokes against your clit. 

“Hi,” He gave you a smile that made your stomach flutter and his hand on your hip pulled you harder against his cock. “You gonna come for me?”

You could only moan in response and give him a meek nod, forcing your eyes to stay on his. The knot in your stomach was tightening and tightening, almost ready to completely unravel. 

“Go ahead,” He said as he thrusted up into you. “Let go.”

“Ah,” You dug your nails into his shoulders the second your orgasm hit you. He looked at you so fondly, like he truly cared about making you feel good, and that only made you come harder, walls fluttering around his cock. 

You once again buried your face in the crook of his neck, sucking the skin and leaving red marks that would be there later. You landed on what you would later realize was an especially sensitive spot on his neck because the second your tongue grazed over it, Steve was letting out a loud moan and spilling into the condom. 

“Fuck,” He muttered as he came and his hands squeezed your hips to keep you firmly planted on his cock. 

You pulled away from his neck to watch him come apart beneath you. It was probably the prettiest thing you'd ever seen— his blown-out pupils, his mouth slightly parted in a moan, and a few locks of his messy hair falling against his forehead. 

Your and his movements slowed as you both came down from your highs. With his hands still on you, he shifted things so that you two were lying sideways on the bed. His softening cock slipped out of you in the process and you couldn’t help but quietly whine at the feeling. 

You two became a tangle of limbs and warm bodies, and your arms circled around his neck to push yourself even closer to him. 

“Was that good for you?” You asked, soft words hitting right against his ear. “You did like all of the work when it should’ve been the opposite.” 

His fingers began mindlessly stroking the bare skin of your back. “No, that was really good.” 

“Mm,” You hummed in response. “Okay, but it does slightly feel like I ended up getting a better outcome to the deal than you.” 

Steve let out a laugh at your playful words as he pulled away from you, and it took a lot of willpower to not protest his actions and keep him close to you. He pointed at a door, silently asking if that was where the bathroom was, and you nodded in response and he headed in.

You got up from your bed and started picking up the clothes that had been haphazardly thrown around the room. You slipped on your t-shirt and underwear, and when Steve emerged from the bathroom, you handed him his shirt and boxers.

It almost felt a little comical remembering that when you first let Steve into your apartment, you inwardly told yourself that you weren’t gonna have sex with him, and this wouldn’t turn into a one-night stand type of situation. 

And now here you two were. 

However, weirdly enough, the thought of this moment following the typical one-night stand rules— Steve leaving right now and you two never seeing each other again— didn’t sit right with you. 

“Have you really not seen Home Alone 2 before?” You asked Steve as he finished slipping on his t-shirt. The talk of that movie had been such a minor moment in the conversation at the bar earlier, but still, you remembered him mentioning it. 

“No, I haven’t,” He answered. 

“Me neither, actually,” You told him. Christmas movies had never really been your favorites. “Do you maybe wanna watch it now?”

You knew what your words meant— that you didn’t want him to leave yet, that you wanted him to stay a little longer— and he understood that too. 

He gave you a small smile and nodded. “Okay. And this is probably the best time to also admit that I’ve never seen the first one either.”

You let out a laugh as you headed into your living room, where your laptop was still playing the documentary from earlier, and Steve followed right behind you. “Okay, double feature it is, then.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts<333

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

masterlist | part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this), part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Ground Riot agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

[yjhzies]

“Favourite.” — Choi Seungcheol

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff . one-shot . cute

⋆ pairings : dad!seungcheol x f!reader ⋆ warning : none! (let me know if there is ^^) ⋆ wc : 0.5k [✉️] · What could be worse than not being his own little babygirl's favourite? According to Seungcheol.

⋆ - note : yes I'm back after like one month<3.... BUT THIS IS THE FIRST DAD FIC IVE WRITTEN ^^ hope you enjoy it!

"Why? don't you like daddy?"

"No, no!"

You heard your shared bedroom filled with the sounds of your husband and daughter having a lighthearted argument. You slightly open the door and peek inside.

"What's going on?" As you ask, Seungcheol turns to face you with a pouty and sulky expression on his face.

He sat on the floor, holding your daughter in his lap while she played with her father's hair.

"Baby..." Seungcheol, your husband and the father of the little girl in his arms, pouted. You couldn't really make out who was the little kid here. The man, or the actual child?

You chuckle as you approach them and take a seat on the floor next to them. "What's wrong?"

The little girl, who was too busy messing with his hair, could not care less about what was going on around her. He sighed and looked at the her. "Sweetheart, who do you think is better? me or mommy?"

"Mommy!" The little girl chirped, finally turning to face you. With a giggle, she pushed herself free from Cheol's grasp and climbed onto your lap.

"Awh, you think I'm better?" You coo, and your daughter nods as she hugs you. Meanwhile, the man next to you was frowning.

"Not fair..." he mumbled, and turned to face both of you.

"But I let you to play with my hair, sweetheart," Seungcheol said, taking his daughter's tiny hand in his. His grip was so gentle, as if he was holding a light feather. And it melted your heart slowly.

"But I like the cookies mommy makes!" With a frown on her face, the little girl spoke. Seungcheol scooted closer to you, and looked at her with pleading eyes. But he couldn't help the way his pout faded into a faint smile at the sight of his daughter adorable frown. "I can also learn to bake cookies for you, better ones!"

You scoff playfully, "Dad can't bake better cookies than me, alright?"

Seungcheol huffed, wrapping his arm around your waist and snuggling on your side, his cheek squished against your shoulders.

"Now I got both of my girls against me," he sighed, shaking his head as he pouted.

"Too bad~" Your daughter cooed playfully, and Cheol gasped.

"Look, our daughter has learned to bully me now..."

You were enjoying the playful banter. You were enjoying Seungcheol's willingness to give up anything if it meant his daughter would choose him. You loved how soft he was for you and especially his daughter.

"Awh, look sweetheart, you made dad upset." You say, and the little girl, confused, glances between you and Cheol. She took her time processing what was going on in her tiny brain before reaching out to Seungcheol, who was burying his face in your shoulder.

"Sorry, I'm sorry..." She pouted and crawled into her father's lap, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck and hugging him.

Seungcheol didn't know whether to scream from the cuteness aggression, or just cry. But he hugged her back. His grip firm but gentle. The little girl patted his back, and he smiled at you.

"I see, I'm no longer favourite. Neither you or your dad." You joke, smiling at the sight of your husband and daughter. Seungcheol moves closer to you, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

"No, I have my two favourite girls. You and this little girl." He smiled, kissing the top of your head.

[batlovebites]

Thinking about how the beasts would deal with a mortal partner's mortality catching up to them. Here's some quick thoughts on that.

Content Warning: death (via old age or sickness) and murder (because these guys do not handle it well.)

Shadow Milk seems like the one who deals with the idea of his partner's mortality the best, up until his partner is on death's door- if its sickness, he'll stop at nothing to find a way to cure it. If its age, though...

I think he'd try to find a way to make his partner immortal, too. But when that fails, I think he'd immortalize them as a puppet. Its not the real them, no, but its them from before age started to take them from him. Its them in whatever the 'best' period of their life was.

After they pass he uses it to cope but he has to control the simulacrum's actions so it actually just makes him feel worse because its obviously not them. It looks like what they looked like at one point, it acts how he remembers them acting, but how he remembers them isn't the same as how they actually were. But he doesn't stop because he'd rather try to convince himself of the lie they're still around than live with the truth that they're gone.

The illusion/puppet he makes progressively becomes less and less convincing as his memories are altered and exaggerated with time and repetition. In their absence, Shadow Milk starts to glorify them in his memory, completely disregarding any of their flaws or negative aspects that made them an actual full person; Which then makes the puppet act progressively less and less how they actually did.

Eventually probably disregards the simulacrum as its no longer even slightly convincing. But sometimes, when he thinks about them again and his heart starts aching, he conjures it up again to try to live the lie that they're still here again, just for a little bit longer. It always falls apart again, but there's brief moments where he can almost convince himself, so he keeps doing it.

Burning Spice is. Complicated! Would also want to make his partner immortal probably, but if that's proven to be impossible... I think he 'mercy' kills them, before age can affect them too much. When their hands start shaking, their memory begins to slip, their body slowly turning to dust beneath them, so slow they can hardly tell its happening- but Burning Spice has seen time claim a hundred thousand lives before, and can see it happening to them all too clearly.

Burning Spice doesn't want to let time take his partner from him, so he does it himself. Having control over their demise makes him feel better about it, if only slightly. Doesn't let them know its going to happen, because he wants their last memory of him to be pleasant. Just embraces them- and then promptly snaps their neck. Quick. Painless. Over before they could ever even know it happened.

He does view it as an actual mercy in a way, but its mostly a matter of him needing to feel like he was in control of when and how they died as opposed to them being taken from him. Change and destruction is his domain, he does not like it when those things are happening beyond his control, so he takes control of the situation himself.

Burning Spice is also quick to redirect any other emotion into anger because that's easier to manage, so the stages of grief he goes through are all just filtered directly into Anger and used as fuel to destroy more things. No one else would even be able to tell he's mourning at all, but deep down, he is, even though he doesn't want to. He's seen this happen over and over again, it shouldn't affect him anymore. He's angry at himself for letting it affect him. For letting himself grow attached to something- someone- he knew would be nothing but ash beneath his feet within a century in the first place. And yet...

Mystic Flour would perhaps put some effort in looking into how to make her partner immortal, just so that they could see everything else be reduced to flour with her before they both also were reduced to nothing. But she's not too torn up about it if unable to.

She starts to treat her aging partner as if they were already dead at a certain point, which certainly doesn't feel great for them. Comforting them about their inevitable and rapidly approaching fate is not a very nice thing to hear when they are currently still alive, probably have at least a few years of life left in them, and would probably like to enjoy those last few years rather than just think about their approaching death the whole time.

If their old age comes with any particularly high amounts of pain or memory loss, she's likely to speed up the process as a 'mercy'; Inflicting them with the Pale Ailment, which kills them within the day.

The whole day she holds and comforts them until they are reduced to flour, telling them soon they will feel nothing- no joy, yes, but also no pain. That there's nothing to fear. She sits there for a little longer after they're gone, still speaking comfort. Then she gets up and leaves; She feels nothing about it. Nothing at all.

Yet... a part of her, buried deep under layers of apathy, does wish they had lasted longer. Been at her side to see the rest of the world be reduced to flour first. Oh well.

Also, while I can't give proper thoughts until she's released, I think Eternal Sugar would probably Sleeping-Beauty her partner. Lock them in an eternal rest where they're basically dead, but their body does not age or rot further, and they're technically still breathing, so its like they're still there with her! (<- Coping extremely hard.)

[velvetwyrme]

bringing back the question for 2025: who in the autobots would fuck a car and/or have an sti

hi i thought too long and hard about this. then i made a silly comic about it which quickly got derailed into another silly bit. and then it kept getting longer and more terrible

i don't know whether you're the same person as the original anon or not but im gonna freakin cry either way. is this my legacy...

on one hand this ask gave me lots of motivation for some reason, so thank you for that, but on the other hand it motivated me to draw a 6 page comic about robot STIs.

i put too much effort into this lmao. for my actual conclusions AND some extra notes about the comic click the read more 👍

Ratchet: No and no. Has HAD STIs before. When he was younger. True across continuities except... in TFA he would have an STI. I can see it.

Ironhide: Yes carfucking, but I feel like the carfuckin was also a one time thing specifically. No STI. To quote my notes: "Frag no, Chromia or Ratch woukd kill him". Typo included.

Jazz: Yes carfucking, no STI because if he got one he'd be on top of treatment. Originally there was a bit in the comic with Jazz and Prowl arguing about which is worse: fuckin a car or havin a STI but it got cut because its already like 6 pages

Prowl: No carfucking and yes STI. He thinks carfucking is Really Weird. Wait. Purely off of vibes because I still haven't watched ES (someday...) but ES!Prowl would fuck a car.

Optimus: Who else do you think gave Megatron the STI? (/j /j... unless?) Carfucking and STI status varies wildly across continuities imo. G1? Yes and yes. IDW... depends on what point in time. I feel like its a yes to both but not at the same time. TFA would not fuck a car but he definitely has an STI. TFP! and ES! OP is a mystery to me, you guys can tell me if you have strong opinions on them. Hm. Armada OP would fuck a car.

Sideswipe: originally it WAS going to be him in the comic but as I mentioned, it got derailed. He'd absolutely give a car an STI.

Wheeljack/Trailbreaker/Hot Rod: Yeah, probably both. Maybe not at the same time though. Hot Rod was only so low on Prowls list because hes Literally Offworld but who knows what hes capable of.

Yes to carfucking, no STI: Lets see... Bumblebee, Cliffjumper (despite Prowl and Ironhide's assumption in the comic, THIS is my actual opinion lmao), I think Mirage would as well, but he'd vehemently deny it. Also *leans in close to the mic* Elita-1 would fuck a car. But she'd do it and it'd be like. Cool.

No to carfucking, yes STI: *long pause as i look into the middle distance* mmm...Smokescreen. I don't know much about TFP!Smokescreen but he can get lumped in there too. Sunstreaker as well, but more because he says he didn't fuck a car but he could be lying and you genuinely can't tell if he is. Also Brawn for some reason.

As for other characters elsewhere... Rodimus is a strong contender for giving a car an STI. So is Whirl, but I feel like he's slightly less likely to have an STI, yknow? Only slightly.

Other notable ones I think would have both but NOT at the same time: Swerve, Skids, Drift (specifically because of Rodimus because even if they don't fuck they seem like the type of friends who share drinks), I think First Aid fits in here too, and is the only medic who would have an STI that I can think of off the top of my head. Oh also Armada!Jetfire.

I also think that the Aerialbots are all contenders for this category too. Some more than others but it wouldn't matter because they all end up with an STI and it's miserable.

ALSO...

The alternate punchline to the comic, had it been set on the Lost Light, is... a meeting (in which the general consensus is that Rodimus fucked the car that mysteriously appeared on the Lost Light, AND he gave it an STI)

Then, Nightbeat bursts in with Brainstorm in tow, and he reveals that it was in fact Brainstorm's fault- NOT because he fucked the car (he's far more interested in er... lab equipment, lets say) BUT he made a gun that fucks cars, and accidentally gave the GUN a STI

ALSO SIDEBURN FROM TF:RID (2001). he would ABSOLUTELY fuck a car and give it an STI. He canonically loves red sportscars and you KNOW that mans got an STI.

[mirathescientist]

Hii I was wondering if you could do an collage au armin arlert oneshot, imagine or Drabble (totally up to you) where armin is a very popular soccer player at the college and since he’s so popular that causes him not have as much time for his gf so she catches an attitude and ignores him and he fixes it ifykyk. I was thinking more of like a dominant or switch armin for this yk?

pairings: soccer!player Armin x black reader

warnings: smut 18+, a lil angsty, orgasm denial, car sex

a/n: i love this request, armin is just so ૮꒰ྀི˶˃ ⌓ ˂˶꒱ྀིა

Ms. Attitude

“I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll make it up later. I love you, bye” The monotone beep of the phone soon followed his hurried voice informing you he ended the call before you could even breathe.

“Yep, I love you too” You mumbled. Glossy eyes scanning the hair and makeup you spent hours on.

This was the second time Armin failed to show up for your date.

Soccer season was picking up and with Armin being the captain you understood you'd no longer be able to spend as much time due to practice, but the frequent outings with his team members were becoming infuriating.

Was it that hard for him to plan around your date nights?

With a deep breath, you soaked a cotton pad in makeup remover. Too exhausted to even take pictures before the excess liquid on the pad mixed with your stray tears. It was rare for you to cry over a guy, even rarer to cry over Armin, but the disappointment was turning into frustration that was too overbearing to contain.

What made things worse is that you felt it wasn't fair to Armin you were having these feelings.

You knew what you were entering into when you said yes to being his girlfriend. He told you his goals from the start; become captain, graduate with a 4.0, play professionally, and ultimately make it to the World Cup.

Of course, you knew achieving all he wanted would take time, and you wholeheartedly supported him.

To maintain a healthy relationship you two had a system. Once a week, you would set aside time for a date. It didn't need to be elaborate or fancy; the simple goal was for you to spend time alone. Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Something Armin didn’t take into account with the new season was the influx of freshmen on the team. This meant lots of bonding time with the team and less time with you.

°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was a week before you saw Armin. Granted it wasn't on purpose and you just happened to catch a glimpse of him from across the crowded room, but you saw him nonetheless.

The events on how you approached him are a little cloudy, your actions encouraged by the shots you took and your anger. The only true remembrance was Sasha’s attempt to make you stay and the snickers from certain teammates who could predict what was about to happen.

“What the actual fuck, Armin.” You huffed

“Baby? What’s wrong?” His smile disappearing at the pout settled onto your face

You were baffled, was he actually serious?

“What’s wrong is that I haven't seen you in three weeks all because of your little bonding outings. Which this does not seem like bonding” A mixture of frustration and hurt fueling your emotions as you motioned to the party

“I know how this looks, baby but I swear we just got caught up after practice, sit with us I promise to make it up to you- Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Nothing pissed Armin off more than when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Yes! You've said the same thing every week Armin, you're like a fucking broken record and it's actually pissing me off”

“I'm pissing you off?” The indifferent tone of his voice and minuscule smirk on his face should have told you to stop and think but you were just too upset to think.

“Isn't that what I just said” Your iris slightly disappearing as you rolled your eyes once again.

He’d been waiting for it.

Many people knew Armin to be the passionate sweetheart he was. It was rare to see him upset. That emotion reserved for whenever his team got a foul and occasionally whenever you gave him attitude.

Before you could even register what he was doing he grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the party

That little eye roll ended up with you in the backseat of his car, legs on his shoulder as he drilled into you.

“Minniee, pleaseee” You whined, tears threatening to spill from your eyes at the pleasure building in your lower stomach

“You wanted my attention right? So stop fucking complaining and hold it like I said” His hips snapping forward as he buried himself deep inside you with every thrust.

You were certain stars were blurring your vision. He was just stretching you out so well, the girth and the angle he was at leaving no spot along your walls untouched with how deep he was.

Just looking and hearing the whines that slipped passed your lips made him want to fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.

Just looking at you had him on the brink of a second orgasm.

You just looked so pretty to him. Bouncing breasts no longer confined by the tight shirt you wore, hardened nipples glossy from his previous sucking. Don't even get him started with your teary eyes and glossy lips.

What really got him though was the way your puffy cunt surrounded him. Folds so warm and wet with your slick and his cum that your walls failed to contain.

Armin however didn’t reward bad behavior, especially yours. Maybe he’d let you cum if you whined enough, but who knows. For now, he’d continue to use you for his own pleasure as he pounded into you.

“What's wrong princess? Isn't this what you wanted? Caught an attitude just to get fucked like a slut” He hissed, blonde strands sticking to his forehead as he increased his pace.

“I’m sorry, Minnie, please. I just missed you” You spoke through your broken moans and cries

Leaning down he encaptured your lips, his pace slowing as the guilt seeped into him, oh how he wanted nothing but to go back and spend that time with you.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make time for us, I mean it this time” His voice coming out in a whisper as he kissed along your neck

“Y-yeah? “ Speech broken by the newfound pleasure as he applied pressure to your clit

“Mhm, as long as you stop with that fucking attitude” Within that second the soft and caring Armin was gone and now replaced with the Armin whose only goal was to make you feel pleasure

You were so close, every rock of his hips hitting your spot so perfectly you were seeing stars and begging to cum but he kept denying you over and over. His responses consisting of “Be my good girl and hold it” or “You want it so badly don’t you?” a condescending pout resting on his pink lips every time

It was only when he grabbed your ankles and pushed your legs up against your chest that he allowed you to cum, pace becoming sloppy as he watched you cream around him, basking in the way every contraction of your cunt added to the milky ring around his base.

The feeling of you clenching around him, the sight of your closed eyes and slightly agape mouth as you came, it was too much for him to handle as spurts of his milky cum forced its way into your stuffed cunt.

“That's my girl” He mumbled. Smirking at the cum spilling from your hole the moment he pulled out

It was only when you felt his hands spreading your legs apart and his tongue plunging into you that you opened your eyes.

“Armin” You shrieked

“Mmm, relax, baby. I've got three weeks' worth of orgasms to get from you.”

[anantaru]

relationship stories — genshin edition

including. lyney, alhaitham

w. none, established relationship, slightly suggestive

— lyney

though he doesn't outwardly say it, lyney was honestly used to being the center of attention and enjoyed it quite much— so, without much explaining to do, when your sweet, tender ministrations gradually begin to shift into different directions, which weren't including him—he malfunctions.

at first, he attempts his subtle tricks, because why wouldn't they work, correct? for example snapping his fingers and making a flower appear, tossing a card in your lap before it vanishes or last but not least— his special trick, he dramatically sighs and pretends to be seriously saddened by something, bothered even, although nothing works.

so, as every single mentally stable person would;

he escalates.

the next thing you knew, lyney's draped over your body like a dying man— breathes out deeply, "ah well, how cruel… to be forgotten like this…" a heavy sigh drifts into the air, vowen with the unbearable weight of existence itself, he likes to act out.

the man feigns a broken heart, "what cruel fate, what pitiful misfortune," he utters, "to be subjected to such neglect!" a he sinks further into you, arms circled around your pretty waist as though the very act of being ignored has withered his spirit beyond repair.

ah, but no— surely, this was not mere oversight— lyney claims, this was abandonment, a calculated dismissal from your person, to pester him, to act out your little brattiness— a tragedy so profound it actuall turned him on. quite a lot.

you roll your eyes at him as he peeks to see if you’re looking and noticing his flustered, pink cheeks and slacked jaw.

fuck, you still ignore him? no no, it cannot be.

perhaps lyney needs to steal whatever you’ve been focused on and replace it with himself.

— alhaitham

disagreeing with the scribe was a dangerous game only a few were willing to participate in, since, well, alhaitham doesn’t argue to win— it's honestly worse than that;

he argues to exhaust you to the point where you actually want to smack the living hell out of his face.

one fateful afternoon, in a moment of idle concern, you offhandedly remarked that prolonged reading in dim lighting could put unnecessary strain on his pretty eyes.

truthfully, the comment was simple, harmless— or so you thought.

big mistake. yup. worse even.

without hesitation, he snaps his book shut, the sound cutting sharp edges into the quiet room as he leaned into you— so close, in fact, that the space between you seized to exist, his warm breathing tickling against your lips.

his gaze, sharp and unyielding, locked onto yours as he murmured, no, whispered angel-alike;

"there’s no conclusive evidence supporting that claim, you know that, right?" the words were less of a rebuttal and more of a challenge, daring you to argue, to push back, to do something, perhaps even show him some of your feisty, little side that he so openly adored.

best case scenario, to let this battle of logic and proximity spiral into something far more dangerous— or perhaps far more, well, passionate? intoxicating?

you stared as he pressed forward, his words unraveling step by step. yet, there was no hesitation, no mercy— only the relentless tide of his reasoning, his prideful knowledge, immediately washing over you as if to erode even the smallest fragment of your resolve.

"it's a myth perpetuated by outdated medical assumptions, in fact, let’s examine the research together so you'll—"

oh fuck no, you tried to leave, you really tried— but he followed, "scared to be wrong now? hey— where are you going?"

well, lets say about twenty minutes later you gave up and contemplated locking himself out of your home.

in return, alhaitham just smirked at you, parading his pearly whites in front of your face as he reopened his book without a single care in this world, muttering;

"yeah, thought so."

-

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ahgasegotarmy116]

It's Hard to Believe | Jungkook One Shot

Summary: Getting pregnant with your best friend's baby definetly wasn't a part of the plan... Pairing: f!Reader x Jungkook (fwb, f2l) Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: A tiny bit of explicit and suggestive language but nothing crazy a/n: This is something I started writing at like midnight and it's kinda shit but I thought I might as well post it since I haven't posted in a while (Like five days short of a month wtf?!?!? How has it been that long?!?!) (I just barely checked rn lmao my bad 🥲) p.s. I kinda wanna do a full on series on a concept like this but it'll be different and less fluffy but that won't be happening for a long ass time but yeah lol Requested by a lovely anon 💜

"How am I supposed to tell him?" I ask my friend Sam for the millionth time since I found out. "Y/n just tell him. You guys have been friends for how long?" she asks and it's like I'm having deja vu from both of our responses. "Like ten years" I mumble and pull my sweatshirt sleeves down over my hands in an effort to stop my nervous fiddling but it only makes it worse. 

"Right and you guys have been messing around with each other for over a year now, maybe even more...I don't wanna know" she says while holding her hand up in a way to assure me that she doesn't need the details. "Just tell him. If he's as great of a guy as you keep on telling me he is then I promise everything will be okay" she says and places a hand on my shoulder before she gets up off my couch. 

"Where are you going?" I ask while she shrugs on her jacket. "Didn't you say he's supposed to be here around five?" she asks and I nod my head, checking the clock and seeing that it's already 4:30. 

"Yeah...are you sure you don't wanna stay and say hi?" I ask and she glares at me. "Let me know what his response is to that bun in the oven and then we'll talk. I wanna figure out if he's an asshole or not before I decide to waste anytime on him" she says while lacing up her shoes. 

"Promise me you'll tell him tonight?" she asks and lifts up her hood, getting ready to shield herself from the pouring rain outside. I nod my head reluctantly, that being way more progress than I've made for the past few weeks since I found out. "I promise" I utter under my breath and she smiles, pulling me in for a bone crushing hug. 

"Text me if you need me" she says, worried for what might happen but hoping for the best. "I will...thanks" I whisper and she nods her head before walking out of my door and turning slightly and waving to offer me one last farewell.

I close the door after I see her get into her car and lean my back up against it, steadying myself for a second and taking deep breaths, trying to stop my racing heartbeat before pushing off of it and tidying up before Jungkook gets here to distract myself. 

Sam has been the only one I've been able to count on and honestly the only person I can trust since I haven't told anyone else. She was the one I called when I missed my period and she's the one who brought me a pregnancy test...and then when out and bought me ten more because I couldn't actually grasp the concept that I was pregnant...am pregnant.

Jungkook and I have always been careful and taken all the necessary steps to keep this from happening but I guess we got careless this time. 

Through out this whole arrangement we've made it very clear to each other that we're not sleeping with anyone else but neither of us are looking for any sort of commitment either so that's why this has gone on for so long. 

Like it or not though we're going to be committed to each other in one way or another no matter what because I'm keeping this baby. No matter what he says I'm keeping them. 

Jungkook is my best friend, the one person who has been there for me through everything. He's seen me at all of my highest highs and especially at my lowest lows and no matter what he's never made me feel shitty about it. I know he's not the kind of guy that'll turn on you because of something like this but I can't help but still feel terrified. 

This wasn't supposed to happen but even if this child wasn't made with love from his side...it was made with love from mine. 

I don't know how long it's been since I fell in love with him but I know I shouldn't have said yes to this whole fuck buddy ordeal. I just couldn't stand the thought of him being with someone else so when he offered up the idea I said yes.

I figured that if this was a way to prevent him from getting his heart broken by all those sorry excuses of girlfriends he's had in the past then I guess I'll be okay with breaking mine.

He's been acting different lately though. He's been a lot touchier, asking to come over more often, going out of his way to help me with things, offering to feed me all the time and all of it is making me feel like he already knows. 

Does he know? Have I started showing already? I haven't really noticed a difference in my body yet but he looks at me naked a lot more often than I pay attention to myself naked so I mean I guess he could've noticed right? 

Only one way to find out though...

A half an hour later I hear him take out his keys and unlock my door and soon I'm greeted with a smile that tugs at my heartstrings. 

"Hi baby" he says, using that pet name he's become very fond of since this whole ordeal started. The sound of it after finding out I'm pregnant with his baby has made me a little uncomfortable though since I haven't told him yet. 

Don't get me wrong I love it when he calls me that but I can't help but think that if this goes south that he won't ever call me that again. 

Maybe the hormones have started to scramble my brain already because those uncomfortable feelings are quickly thrown away when I take in the sight of him after he shrugs off his rain coat. A simple black baggy hoodie and jeans engulf his form and the comfy sight just makes me want to curl up in bed with him and forget about everything and everyone.

Just him and I, it's always been him and I. I just don't know if this little one is going to change things. 

I place a hand on my stomach for a second as a way to gain some strength from my itty bitty baby before finally working up the courage to greet him.

"Hi" I greet him softly, walking over to where he's stopped to take off his shoes and when he looks back up at me he smiles again and kisses me. I sigh into it, savoring it for just a little bit longer and when it finally breaks he looks down at me with concern now written all over his face. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sensing that something's off right away from the just the small change in the way I kissed him. I hesitate for a second then simply hold out my hand for him to take and he does, following behind me as I lead him over to my couch. 

Getting this over with sooner rather than later is my best option right now so there's no reason to delay. 

He needs to know, he deserves to know.

We sit there in silence, longer than he would like us to since I can tell how tense his body has gotten in a matter of minutes. "Y/n you're scaring me" he whispers, not wanting to pressure me but relaying his feelings. 

I take a couple more deep breaths before finally starting. "I need you to listen to me and I need you to please not speak until I'm finished" I say while looking down at my lap, not being able to meet his eyes. 

He murmurs a soft 'okay' and waits for me to continue, taking one of my hands and placing it in his lap. He needs some form of physical contact to keep him grounded since he's not too sure what to expect and I let him, knowing I need some reassurance too. 

Even if I don't know what his reaction is gonna be, in this moment I need it more than ever.

"I guess there's really no right way to go about saying this because this wasn't supposed to happen so I'm just gonna come out and say it..." I start off and he squeezes my hand, encouraging me to keep going. 

"I missed my period...over a month ago...and I haven't had it since then" I say and finally look up at him where he has an unsure expression. It's not one that's mad or disappointed with what I've said thus far which is a good thing but more like he's trying hard to hold himself back so he can keep that promise. 

His hold on my hand hasn't loosened, in fact it's gotten even tighter and that gives me hope that we'll work this out so I take another deep breath before continuing. 

"I tried to kid myself into thinking that it was late but when another week passed by I got nervous. I asked Sam to get me a test and it came out positive. I didn't believe it and thought it was a false positive and so to ease my mind she went a bought ten more from a bunch of different brands and...all of them came out positive" I say and he still looks at me with that same expression, waiting for me to give him the okay to speak and so I do. 

"How long have you known?" are the first words out of his mouth and although they're not negative they aren't necessarily positive either. "About a month now" I say and he nods his head, taking another second or two to formulate what he's gonna say next. 

"I'll support you no matter what you decide" he says and I let out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding in. "I wanna keep it" I say and he nods his head and smiles softly at first and then as the seconds go by it gets wider and wider making my heart beat faster. 

"Am I allowed to get excited now?" he whispers and I can't help but chuckle as tears start to prickle my eyes and give him a nod. "You're excited?" I say, my whole being slowly overcome with emotion. 

"How could I not be?" he scoffs playfully but that answer has me confused. "But Jungkook we're not together. I mean we're not in a relationship, we're just friends" I explain and there's a playful glint in his eyes after I say that that's making me even more nervous.

"You wanna know what I thought you were gonna tell me?" he offers up, slightly changing topics but I look at him in a way to urge him to continue. "I thought you were gonna break up with me" he says and I smile, "Jungkook we're not together. How could I break up with you?" I chuckle in disbelief. 

"Correction, I thought you were gonna break up with me before I even got the chance to ask you to be my girlfriend" he says with a grin and my jaw drops, the dots all connecting as to why he's been acting so different lately. "You were gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?" I utter quietly as if we were in a crowed room and I had a secret for just the two of us.

"I had actually planned on asking you tonight" he explains, walking over to where he had placed his backpack on the floor, taking out a bouquet of slightly squished flowers. "Sorry they're all beat up. I forgot and rode my bike over here so I didn't really have any other option but to put them in there" he says almost as if he was nervous, rubbing the back of his neck and it's then that I notice how pink his ears have gotten. 

He is nervous

I take them from him and smile, waiting for him to say it but he simply stands there and admires me and I can't help but laugh. "What so funny? I told you what happened to them" he utters through pouty lips which only makes me laugh more. "No, no it's not the flowers it's just that...don't you have something to say?" I ask, calming down my chuckles and when he looks at me with the same confused expression I have to try my hardest to keep the laughter at bay. 

"Do you have something you would like to ask me Jungkook" I rephrase it and after a second his lips go from a pout to the shape of an 'O' as he's figured it out. "Oh um, yeah, right. Well I um" he starts off, rubbing the back of his neck again while stuttering and trying to find the words and after struggling for a second I decide to poke fun at him again. 

"Jungkook I am literally carrying your child and you're too afraid to ask me to be your girlfriend?" I laugh, giving him a slight reality check which he scoffs at before responding. 

"I was trying to remember what I had rehearsed to say to you but now that you're being a little brat I guess you'll never get to know all the nice things I was gonna say" he retorts, his voice suddenly taking on a darker tone that sends a shiver through my body and he smirks when he sees my reaction to it. 

He cups my face and rubs his thumb along my bottom lip, making them part and he leans in as if he was going to kiss me but stops just shy of my lips. "Will you be my girlfriend?" he whispers, nudging his nose against mine and making me smile. 

"I'll have to think about that" I play coy with him which he chuckles at. "You know if you weren't pregnant right now I would have thrown you over my lap for that smart mouth" he warns and I smile before leaning in and kissing him for just a second before pulling back. 

"Yes I'll be your girlfriend" I say and nudge my nose against his as well and before I can register it my back is on the couch and his lips are pressed against mine, the kiss not rushed but full of so many words that have yet to be said and he gives in, not being able to hold it in anymore.

"I love you" he says, pulling back and looking down at me to see my expression which is completely dumbfounded to say the least. "You what?" I ask and he chuckles, "Is it really that hard to believe?" he points out and I guess now that I think about it it really isn't.

"I guess we've both been in love with each other for a while now huh?" I smile and his eyes light up at my round about confession. "Say it" he says, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. I hadn't planned on actually saying those three words to him even though I've felt them for so long but I don't want to hold them back anymore. 

"I love you" I whisper and he smiles, "Say it again" he repeats, clearly not believing it just yet. "I love you Jungkook" I say and the little switch up with attaching his name to the end darkens his gaze. "I guess there's no chance in me getting you pregnant a second time right now huh?" he asks, sliding his hand up my thigh and I giggle. 

"No I think that's pretty much impossible but the odds are never zero" I say and he rolls his eyes. "I'm trying to tell you that I wanna hit it raw" he states the obvious while rolling his eyes. "I know I know...and the answer is yes Daddy" I tease, testing to see how that word affects him now that he knows.

He tongues his cheek at that making me bite my lip, knowing that's gonna be even more of a trigger word for him from now on. "Daddy huh? Well I guess that title is a little more fitting now isn't it?" 

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[classyrbf]

classmate!gojo pt 4 preview!

The tension between you and Gojo have been extremely high since that moment in the hallway. Every time you think about it, your head starts pounding in your chest and you can’t help but get wet. He was so demanding and cocky, obsessed with you the way you were with him. Every time you saw him in class and on campus, your eyes always locked and no words were spoken, but it was still like you can read every single one of his thoughts.

You’ve both held off on messaging each other, anticipating the day when he would finally break and just fuck you already. You’ve both been waiting long enough, especially you. For months you’ve been obsessed with him, touching yourself to him, trying to convince yourself that your pretty pink dildo was better than the real thing. But it’s been days and days since you’ve spoken a word, it was getting harder not to just pull him into an empty lecture room and fuck him right there.

You know good and well he’s been teasing you too. Wearing those compression shirts that show off his muscles, or posting shirtless pics of him in the gym on his social media, sweat dripping down the valley of his abs, not to mention the video of him doing push ups with the sound on, the sounds every so slightly reminding you of what he sounds like when he’s jerking off to you, trying his hardest not to cum too quickly. He knows what he’s doing to you, but you can play that game right back.

You pull up to class wearing the shortest skirt possible, showing off your legs, the fabric barely covering your ass. Your shirts are tight and slightly see through, allowing damn near everyone to see what you’re wearing underneath. The most shocking part is the fact you haven’t been dress coded, but after all it is a university, they couldn’t care less. Besides the fact, gojo always steals glances at you, his eye twitching when he sees how much skin you’re showing because if they’re anything like him, they’re thinking about hiking up that sorry excuse of a skirt and fucking you to tears.

Both of you knew just how to drive each other right to brink before breaking and that’s exactly what happened. Gojo snapped, something inside of him switched. He’s rewarded himself for having such restraint, but with each passing moment he can’t the tent that forms in his pants when he thinks about you. It’s perverted, it’s sickening, it’s exciting. That was all Gojo was when it came to you, that’s all he ever felt. And you were just like him if not worse. Messaging him from a secret account because you had such a huge crush, unable to hold back your perverted thoughts and tendencies, sending him nudes just to feel closer to him without actually confessing your true feelings. It makes him smile.

One look at you and no one would expect a girl like you to do such nasty things. It was like something out of a porno, truly. The quiet and shy girl is actually a huge slut! Gojo would bet some good money if he posted that to any sight there’d be flocks of people wanting to watch. God, has gojo been blessed? He asks himself that every time he looks at you, just like he’s doing now. Watching you stand in the empty lecture room after school. You have no idea he’s here, just a few feet behind you.

He slowly opens the door, stepping inside to see you’re still busy doing whatever on your phone. You’re too distracted to hear his footsteps behind you, getting so close he could breathe right on your neck. “Hey, pretty girl,” he speaks. You jump, nearly dropping your phone when you see the man with snow white hair standing before you. “What’re you up to, hm?” He snatches your phone without second thought, an evil little smile on his face when he looks at it.

“Gojo, give it back!” You go to snatch it, but his lanky arms and quick movements just put it out of your reach. “Give it!”

“Is this a recent picture you took? Oh, wow look at this one!” He chuckles, swiping through your photos. He actively scrolling through your nudes, and even though you’ve sent him plenty, it’s different when he’s looking at them while standing inches away. Embarrassing. “And why haven’t you been sending these to me? I could’ve used these, you know?” He hands you your phone back, cornering you between the desk.

here’s a preview for all my pookies!!! I swear I’m working on it. It’s just gonna take time cause I’m adding stuff, deleting stuff, just tryna finish it while I have work on top of that 😓😓

[girlsworldillusion]

Your polished hatred flatters me

Slytherin!Aemond - Fem!Reader

HARRY POTTER AU ⚡️🐍

arranged marriage x enemies to lovers

Summary: If there was anything worse than being forced into an arranged marriage with someone you didn't even know, it was that that someone would become your greatest enemy.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 12k

Dividers: @allbutthreads

Author's Note: This story is entirely based on the Harry Potter franchise and its spin-offs, but I may also have added a thing or two of my own.

There are some topics that may be sensitive, such as: blood purity, verbal marriage contracts made at an early age, and young children practicing curses on each other - but overall, this is just a spicy and fun story.

Enjoy!

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

“Merlin!” You jump as a huge, translucent green bubble bursts from within your cauldron, the scalding spray nearly reaching your eyes and blinding you in the process.

From across the potions station, Jace sends you a wide-eyed look, his silky, dark curls now frizzy and unruly around his flushed face.

With a frustrated sigh and restless fingers you push the straggly strands of hair behind your ears; the humid, smoky environment making your own hair puff up almost comically, your cheeks pink and skin sticky from all the exposure to the heat and steam.

"That doesn't make any sense, I did exactly what the recipe said-" You mumble, wrinkling your nose at the foul smell of mold and dirty socks that rises in disgusting spirals from your brewing potion, where the swampy goo bubbles almost angrily. "There must be something wrong with this book."

"Umm, is the smoke supposed to be that color?" Your fellow Gryffindor, always oblivious to subtleties, asks, the two of you blinking like idiots at the charcoal-colored smokescreen that at that exact moment leaps out of the cauldron with a loud 'poof' that could not be considered anything less than theatrical. You both explode into a indiscreet coughing fit, the thick, abrupt appearance of the black smoke bomb leaving your faces slightly streaked with soot.

Even though you already know the answer, you still look sadly at the open book on the potions table when you finally manage to stop coughing, holding on to a single remaining fragment of hope that a miracle has happened so that your work won't be considered completely useless in the end.

"Actually, it says here that it should be silver."

Luck isn't something you usually have in abundance, for the record.

"Maybe Snape won't notice. Merlin knows he's had that huge hooked nose stuck in the same book since the class started. Something is clearly keeping him distracted today, much to the general relief and protection of Gryffindor's points. Maybe it's your lucky day after all." The boy smiles brightly at you, all flushed and soot-stained, trying to sound positive despite the chaotic results unfolding right before his eyes.

Of course, since his survival depends solely on breaking other people's expectations and frustrations, Professor Snape decides that this is the perfect time to abandon his reading and wander around the potions stations. You have about two seconds to send Jace a sharp glare before the man in question is making a dramatic turn towards you - no doubt guided by the admittedly quite detectable cloud of smoke exhaling right in front of you.

Jace pales a few shades before ducking his head, fumbling awkwardly with the wooden spoon before dipping it into the bubbling (and, to your shameless envy, much closer to the correct colour) mixture in his cauldron, pretending very poorly to find his own potion extremely interesting.

Arms crossed behind him and head held proudly high, Professor Snape floats across the floor like an ominous kelpie in his long black robes billowing - only breaking his scenic gliding when he’s hovering right next to you.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry at the unwelcome presence, staring at the bubbling disaster inside your cauldron as lace your fingers together in front of you.

"Tell me, Miss Fawley," he begins in his dull, gravelly voice, making you sway on your feet in nervous apprehension, "what is the Draught of Peace potion for?"

You splutter before answering.

"The Draught of Peace potion is a calming potion, Professor. Commonly used to alleviate anxiety and agitation."

If he is pleased with your answer, he doesn't show it at all, still shadowing your body with his sour aura.

"What are the main ingredients in this potion?"

"Huh, moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills and powdered unicorn horn, Professor." You are quicker to answer this time, noticing out of the corner of your eye the proud smile that Jace hides very poorly as he continues to unnecessarily mix his own potion as a form of disguise.

"Hmm. Now tell me, Miss Fawley..." Somehow your correct answers only seem to make the man more and more dissatisfied. "What color should the potion be once it's ready?"

"Turquoise blue, sir." You mutter with an embarrassed sigh, knowing full well where he was leading with this.

"And what's inside the cauldron appears to be turquoise blue to you, Miss Fawley?"

You feel your cheeks darken, looking sheepishly at the steaming, greenish mess inside your cauldron, murky and thick like the swamp waters in the deepest part of the Forbidden Forest - a large bubble rising to the festering surface to burst with a 'pop' that only adds another whiff of stench to the surroundings.

"No, sir."

"No, indeed."

He immediately emphasizes, sending you a sharp, cold look before lowering his gaze to the bubbling mixture with an exorbitant amount of disgust on his face as wrinkles his nose.

"I must say I'm impressed, in a way. It takes some talent to ruin a potion so spectacularly." His frown deepens as he sees the mossy goo threaten to spill out of the sides of the cauldron, moving almost like a living thing at this point.

"Maybe with ten points less for your house you'll find some inspiration to try to use this supposed talent and do it right next time."

He doesn't wait for your answer, abruptly turning his body to leave, as if you've exhausted his patience for the day, the movement making his black cloak flutter exaggeratedly as he walks away.

At the potions station next door, a pair of Hufflepuffs do a very poor job of hiding their giggles at what had just happened, which only makes your cheeks burn more intensely in embarrassment and your mood sour to critical levels.

As if to cement his position as the most happily absorbed person in the school, Jace decides to open his mouth.

"Isn't it hilarious how a potion that should, in theory, relieve anxiety and agitation has caused so much stress?" He breathes in amusement, biting his lip to contain a more exaggerated burst of laughter, as if he had told the biggest joke of all. The amusement, however, abruptly fades the moment he lifts his head to find your narrow, sharp eyes staring at him. "Uh, I mean - actually - forget what I said, you know, it's not hilarious at all..." he pauses between the endless babbling to take a breath. "Godric, is this lesson ever going to end?"

With a roll of your eyes, you turn away from him, glaring at the other potions stations with a resentful scowl as you slump onto the stool next to the table, propping your elbow on the wooden surface with a defeated thud, chin resting in your palm.

A few more students whisper and snigger behind their fingers as they glance sideways at you. You glare back at them with your best expression of silent outrage, daring them to say something to your face.

Honestly, so what if you’re not a natural at Potions? So what if your Draught of Peace didn’t turn out exactly as planned? It was an extremely complex potion, even for seventh years — and anyone with eyes could tell that half the class was struggling with the same thing you were. So why was it that you were the only one getting all this special treatment?

Be average at one thing and count on the rest of the school to ignore all the other things you excel at. Talk about unfair.

A silvery spiral of hissing smoke swirls across your line of vision, drawing your grumpy attention to the potions station on the other side of the classroom.

Before you know who it belongs to, you make sure to take about three seconds to part your lips and admire with a certain amount of distinct envy the clearly flawless result of the potion. At least until your eyes lock with his gaze from behind the cauldron and your expression wilts like a trampled flower. As if on cue, the very lighting in the room seems to change, casting an almost ethereal glow over the figure standing beyond the silver veil.

And if having visual proof that Aemond Targaryen was doing astronomically better than you at something wasn’t bad enough, it was even more despairing to realize that he was already looking at you.

He wasn't making any fuss about it, something that couldn't be said for the other students in the room. In fact, some might not even notice any change in his usual stoic and arrogant attitude. But to you, it was clear. He was there, with the sleeves of his white dress shirt carefully rolled up to his elbows as he stirred the spoon in his potion, staring intently at you from behind that veil of silvery shine, with an almost imperceptible playful tug on the left side of his lips, the only visible eye shining with silent provocation.

He saw everything.

The blush runs down your neck like a bucket of scalding water, but you quickly try to cover up your disgrace with an icy glare and a proud turn of your nose, meeting his gaze with a defiance that you, theoretically, would have no morals to uphold in this particular case. But Merlin curse you before you let this platinum weasel humiliate you in any way.

Not anymore.

Your reaction unfortunately only makes him more confident in his passive aggressive teasing, which almost elicits a heated snarl from your lips. And for a moment of guilty pleasure, you slyly entertain the idea of ​​throwing an accio at his hideously green tie and pulling his face, along with that cold smirk, into the perfectly bubbling cauldron below.

The thought does a good job of dispelling some of the sourness in your mood, and you manage to keep yourself mostly under control, even when he raises an eyebrow and looks appraisingly at the chaos of smoke and stench unfolding just behind your body.

Giving due credit to your hunch that Aemond is, in fact, more annoying and insufferable than any living Cornish pixies, you sigh impatiently, shifting your body in front of your potion as if you could hide it from his judgmental gaze - which, of course, is a futile effort, since the toxic and very evident smoke is already spreading throughout the classroom.

It’s impossible not to find it terribly unfair how you appear to have barely survived a catastrophic encounter with a forest troll while he remains as aristocratic and composed as the Slytherin Prince everyone fawningly claims he is. It’s truly an inconvenience that someone as despicable as him can look so good without even trying — even with his long hair slightly disheveled around his face and shoulders, his porcelain-smooth skin flushed with sweat. If anything, these unusual details only add a touch of disorder to his otherwise immaculate beauty that makes him all the more captivating to the eye.

Good heavens, if someone’s going to be as much of a jerk as he is, at least have the decency to not be so easy on the eyes.

Which is only proven when you look away for a second and catch a few girls sighing and smiling shyly in his direction, the steam and humidity making their own hair look as bristly as rats’ nests on their heads.

You suppose you should feel grateful to any higher creature that your fiancé is someone so attractive. But it turns out you don’t.

Yes. Aemond Targaryen would be your future husband. And yes, that is the bane of your existence.

As one of the families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, your parents decided your love story long ago, making a magical contract with Viserys Targaryen around the time you were about six years old and believed that marriage was when a boy and a girl held hands and walked together in the park. Even before that, you had been raised and molded to be the perfect bride; immaculate and uncultivated time and again with elegant manners and a perfectly controlled temper to propagate the impeccable reputation of your family as an endless legacy.

The only relief you had came from the very selfish pleasure in repeatedly frustrating your parents' expectations with your naturally hot-tempered and bold personality.

But that was all the rebellion you could achieve. Unfortunately, the right to choose your own destiny did not belong to you. It never did.

The arrangement between you was a deal neither of you could escape, a mutual benefit that both families would never give up, a difficult means to a grand end: your family would have the immense honor of being linked to the ancient and very influential name of the Targaryens and they, in return, would finally have the golden key to bring their influence into the Ministry, since your family had always been involved in politics - a fact that only solidified when your father was elected the new Minister of Magic.

Aemond, your arranged fiancé, was a pure-blood Targaryen, the crown of wizarding royalty, along with the Velaryons and the Blacks. By all accounts, it should have been a source of immense honor and joy to be the glue that would bind your family to his in such a fortunate arrangement. And your fiancé was a good match, all in all: handsome, charming, and obscenely wealthy.

But he was also cold, indifferent, and even mean at times.

And, of course, he hated you.

Aemond had always been so cruel, so harsh with his words on the few, isolated occasions when any verbal interaction had occurred. You knew he was as unhappy as you were about the marriage arrangement, but you had at least made some effort to be polite about the inevitable future that hung over your heads. You had known from the beginning that this was not a romantic arrangement and probably never would be. There was no need for a good prior acquaintance. In fact, the two of you had never met in person until both entered Hogwarts at the age of eleven. But your childish and innocent heart nurtured the hope that the two of you could at least get along and perhaps cultivate some sort of friendship over the years.

He, contrary to any hope you might have had, decided that he would make your life an even bigger hell than it already was since your first meeting in the Great Hall, where he mocked your friendly smile and called you a weird bucktooth in front of the entire school. You could have mocked him back then, laughed at the eye patch he wore on the left side of his face, the grotesque and poorly healed scar on his cheek and forehead from some sort of advanced spell cast against him. But even at that age you knew about limits, unlike the insufferable boy.

Later that night, you learned from Jace that that garish scar was caused by his brother, Lucerys Velaryon, another future Gryffindor who became your friend two years later. A common wand dueling challenge that went horribly wrong for Aemond and created another rift in their already volatile relationship. The advanced curse proved unbreakable, even for the most skilled healers, resulting in the permanent loss of his left eye and a scar that is nearly impossible to heal.

It was surprising enough that this Lucerys, even without having been enrolled at Hogwarts yet, already knew how to use this type of curse. And even more surprising was to discover that the Targaryen and Velaryon children had the habit of challenging each other to wand duels at such a young age, as if it were something normal. It scared you, but it only solidified for you the long-standing reputation of both families as highly talented and fearsome wizards.

That was the first time you felt sad for Aemond Targaryen, ruminating on the mental picture of how difficult his childhood could have been. But you quickly covered the softened feeling with the hurt memory of what he made you go through in front of all those people that very day.

Even after that burning humiliation, however, you made an effort to approach him cautiously at times, but the almost hateful coldness with which he looked at you since that first meet did not change much over time. And yes, maybe you were an inconvenience in general. A part of his life that he couldn’t shake off and it frustrated him. But he was exactly like that to you too and that didn’t make you act like had a shoe up your ass.

Eventually, and fueled by the sheer outrage of being so blatantly blocked and ridiculed for no logical reason, since you were as much a slave to this contract as he was, you decided that Aemond Targaryen could go fuck himself for what concerns you.

And so, a heated rivalry was born.

True, over time, that overt hatred and the obvious grimaces of revulsion on his boyish features gave way to a softer kind of icy indifference on his face; now decidedly more masculine and grown-up. He learned to be more discreet about his feelings for you (the lack thereof, to be more precise), with more elegant and aristocratic manners - but you never let your guard down around him again.

And you hated how much you thought about him sometimes, especially after the sudden growth spurt he’d gone through, spending hours late into the night remembering the sharp curve of his jaw or how piercing his gaze was when focused.

Aemond wasn’t thinking about you, not in the same way you thought about him. He probably only thought about you when he wanted to practice an attack, imagining it was your face on the training dummy as he threw diffindo after diffindo at the poor thing.

Merlin knew you did that sometimes too, always ending your private training with a tired but satisfied smile after imagining him taking all those spells to the chest instead of the ridiculous mental replay of your fingers sliding along the dagger-sharp line of his jaw as you kissed him breathlessly.

Heavens, you despised him so much.

Determined not to let this man get any more reaction out of you, you hold his gaze for just a few seconds longer - long enough to let out an elegant puff of air through your nose and a tedious flutter of your eyelashes before turning your head away from him.

Bracing your mind (and stopping yourself from casting a hex on the man instead) you focus your magic and all your attention on the cauldron, putting a definitive end to the steaming mess inside it with a whispered charm only in your mind.

"Wow! You're getting better at nonverbal and wandless spells every day, that's incredible!" A curly-haired Jace, electrified around his face, gasps in front of you, genuinely impressed by your feat, even though he himself (as well as your annoyingly talented future husband) already mastered nonverbal and wandless spells before you even learned how to master them decently verbally and with a wand. You feel your face heat up at the compliment anyway, pleased that someone admires the colossal effort you’ve been putting into perfecting your technique.

Although students learn some nonverbal spells from sixth year onwards, wandless spells weren’t officially taught at the school, and you had to raid the restricted section of the library once or twice to find the very few books that contained some information and ways to master the technique. And it was a challenging and exhausting technique, to say the least.

“Come on, be useful and tell me how you made your potion instead of just standing there fawning over me.” You wave your hand at him indifferently, as if it were no big deal, even though a smug smile is twitching your lips.

Jace smiles back at you, bright and looking even prouder than you, picking up his own notes to begin explaining.

-----

“Dear fiancée,” a voice hums behind you as you reach for the book high on the shelf, the word fiancée rolling off his tongue with such melodramatic emphasis that it almost makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head in response. Merlin bless your exquisite upbringing for keeping you calm when it really matters.

“Oh, it’s you.” You don’t even try to hide the disdain in your tone, as any good lady would, casually pulling the book out as you turn to him. He wouldn’t buy your lies anyway. It’s well known how shrewd and perceptive the damn man can be, after all.

“It seems so. Disappointed?” Aemond asks, a sharp, subtle smile gracing his lips, looking far too pleased for someone whose presence is so blatantly unwelcome. He knows perfectly well that yes, you’re disappointed.

It’s late now, and besides the two of you now, there are only a small handful of Ravenclaw students on the other side of the library — even Madam Irma Pince is more lethargic from the day’s fatigue, sitting near her desk as she reviews some papers. You definitely don’t have the patience to deal with Aemond.

“Never. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask with a sweet smile that does nothing to hide your displeasure at seeing him. After the fiasco of your performance in Potions Class, you had the privilege of not hearing from him for a few days. But of course, your luck wouldn’t last forever. “It’s not often that you grace me with your presence.” He’s approaching you slowly, arms crossed behind him, all his glorious, imposing self, and you make the mistake of taking a nervous step back to a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Damn. What did he want now?

“What?” He asks simply, completely calm, and something flickers behind his gaze at the words. “Can’t I check on my fiancée without it looking suspicious?”

“I see,” you say as you take another step back, your heart skipping a beat when you feel the bookshelf at your back. His proximity makes your breathing quicken slightly, but you swallow and hold his gaze. “Well, I’m perfectly fine, as you can see. So if that’s all it is…”

“Not really. You see, I don’t want to be described as a negligent partner.”

The sheer audacity of his statement makes you drop your carefully crafted facade, a wry laugh falling from your lips.

“Oh of course, because you’re always so attentive, aren’t you?” you ask teasingly, the sour smile still stretching your mouth. “The polite way you can barely stand me is especially endearing, I might add.”

"I suppose so,” he retorts unaffectedly, enjoying pushing your buttons — though he’s letting the tension that always builds when you’re around each other get the better of him. “We’re engaged, after all. And that’s my duty, as a son. Your duty as a daughter.”

“Oh, but it’s a heavy duty indeed,” you say as raise your nose in affront, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach as you notice the glaring height difference between the two of you. “But someone who makes such a point of bragging about the elegance and good manners with which he was raised should do better at carrying that burden, don’t you agree? He should be able to at least fake it without much effort.” The last words were more of a hiss than anything else, and he chuckled in response.

“Oh, yes,” he mused casually as closed the distance between you. “The upbringing part really grates on your nerves, doesn’t it? Or is it the similarity to the practices of the Dark Arts thing now? Forgive me, my dear, but I’ve lost count of all the things you openly despise about me.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something dreadful and expectant at the same time, anxiety and anticipation at the prospect of a point of confusion. What did he mean, anyway? Trust Aemond, of course, to resort to riddles and fog when it comes to open conversation.

“Consider marrying you one more thing I despise,” you say quietly. There’s an endless supply of comments to throw at him. It’s incredibly easy to conjure up reasons to dislike this man. But it’s made all the more real by the way he makes you feel, all burning and needy for something that will never truly be yours.

Aemond has the audacity to look almost offended when you say this, his expression falling dangerously close to somber.

What the hell is wrong with him?

His usual stoicism and cold demeanor make any display of emotion beyond that a rare occurrence. And you feel unequipped to understand the complexity of what’s going on.

“I’m afraid that, despise or not, this needs to be done,” he says, as icy as ever, even with his expression dark as it is. “And wouldn’t you say it’s past time we started this pretense?” His question is unsettling on so many levels that even as he rests his forearm on the shelf above your head and leans his face close to yours, all you can do is blink up at him.

He couldn’t possibly be implying what you think, right? But when he smiles condescendingly at your alarmed expression and uses his other hand to grip your waist, you know he is.

“T-there’s no need at all,” you say quickly, dazed by the feel of his long fingers on you, his face leaning close to yours. “This is just a duty we can learn to deal with in the future.”

He hums thoughtfully at your answer, that dangerous shadow still in his one good eye, the silky silver curtain of his hair brushing the side of your face. You subtly inhale his scent; green apples, leather and heat, something refreshing and warming at the same time.

“Should I be worried about you fulfilling such duties with someone else?”

Your eyes narrow at him, the fingers tightening the book in response.

“What do you mean?” Your voice is equal parts curious and a warning.

“What is Cregan Stark to you?”

At the mention of the other man, your stomach sinks a little. It doesn’t take much investigation to understand why he’s suddenly interested in this.

“Cregan? He’s…a good friend.” You struggle to answer, though you feel like you should just leave him alone here in this secluded hallway of the library, avoid the uncomfortable topic of this conversation.

“Just a good friend?” He asks, his cold, hard gaze locked with yours, his grip on your waist tightening.

“What?”

It was clear that Aemond was carefully considering his next words, expression thoughtful as he crafting his answer to you.

“The portraits gossip.”

Yes, you knew.

A few days ago, after a Gryffindor Quidditch victory, the common room was filled with students celebrating. It was the biggest party you had attended in a long time. There was drinking, music, shouting, kissing, and even a few students crowding into a corner for a rather indiscreet sex session.

It was a such mess.

It didn’t take long for your own drinking to take effect, making you more uninhibited and reckless than usual. Cregan, the captain of the team, whose interest in you had always been obvious to everyone, even with your well known arrangement with Aemond, was there when you felt the vibration of alcohol in your veins - that fire that tells you that you are capable of doing anything and, before you could think better of it, you were already making out with him in a small alcove in the common room.

Despite the alcohol, Cregan guided you with passion and desire, biting your neck and lips as he told you how much had waited for this. You didn't love him, nor did you even have any romantic feelings for him. But those words along with the needy touches inevitably made you think of your future husband, the one who so vehemently hated you. And that was the last straw. Before the night was over, you had Cregan Stark buried deep in your pussy until then untouched by any man. It hurt at first, but you don't even think he realized that you were a virgin, as drunk as you both were, reciting hoarse words of praise in your ear while holding you as if he never wanted to let you go.

The next morning, in addition to a splitting headache, you were weighed down by the crushing weight of regret. Not only had you given your first time to someone you had no real feelings for, but you had also deceived a good man in the process. It had been the hardest conversation of your life, and seeing the disappointment on Cregan’s handsome, hopeful face had devastated you so much that you had to take the day off to lock yourself in dormitory and cry with guilt.

And to make matters worse, when you finally emerged into the world, you learned that the entire school already knew about your one-night stand with Cregan Stark. Apparently Muldoon Cragg’s portrait, one of the former Gryffindor Headmasters, wasted no time in leaving his post and gossiping about seeing the House Captain and the renowned Miss Fawley clinging like roots of the same tree in the hallways, stripping each other of their clothes as they ran to the man's dormitory.

Now, see, although you would have preferred to keep such matters private, your shame was not because they had discovered that you had had sex. Your only regret was that, in your moment of emotional weakness and hatred for having Aemond Targaryen as your fiancé, you had hurt someone as incredible as Cregan.

Merlin knows how common it was for students to be having sex at your age, even those who already had an established marital commitment, as you have with Aemond.

In the wizarding world, it was common to be promised to another person from a young age within the great pure-blood families and Hogwarts had some cases like these. Despite the verbal magical contract made between the heads of the families, the bond between the couple itself would only be made official after graduation, when a magical vow between them would be made and their magics linked to each other forever - the magic of the vow preventing them from being with anyone other than their spouse.

But until that day came, it wasn't uncommon for a mutual understanding to be established between the young couple, freeing both of them to 'enjoy' their single moments while they could. There was usually no hard feelings or big fuss about it, especially since, most of the time, there were no real feelings on either side. Therefore, there was also no jealousy.

Aemond himself, according to the gossip of some students, was no exception to this rule.

And that's why you stare at him, open-mouthed, trying hard not to interpret anything the wrong way. Because, heavens, he couldn't possibly be thinking of judging you, could he?

"I didn't anything wrong," you begin cautiously, but Aemond frustrates you with an ironic snort. "But whatever happened, it doesn't concern you, Targaryen."

He laughs humorlessly, his thumb stroking your waist slowly, his face hovering above yours as you both practically breathe the same air.

“For what it’s worth, this concerns me more than anyone else, princess.” Though he remains calm and casual, there’s a sharp bite in his voice, in his gaze. “After all, it’s my reputation that’s being tarnished by your promiscuous behavior.”

You stare at him in bewilderment, unable to believe his audacity. The blood begins to boil in your veins, heating your cheeks and neck with both anger and shame at his words, the magic in your veins reacting to emotional turmoil.

“Promiscuous behavior? Oh, how dare you?” You practically hiss at him, clutching the book between your fingers so tightly that the cover creaks. “That’s rich coming from someone with your notoriety.”

You’re furious, and he’s so close and your breath mingles with his, the smug bastard, his gaze glowing with the same fire you feel…

“It’s just whispers in the hallways.” He exhales with a disinterested shrug, invading your personal space as if he had any right to do so, so close that you can smell the leather eye patch he wears.

"What the hell do you mean it's just whispers in the halls? A few days ago Alys Rivers was singing loud and clear to the entire castle about the sexual exploits you two did after Quidditch practice, don't act like I'm an idiot or something!"

"And what's the proof that this actually happened?" He asks you so casually that for a good minute you just stare at him with your mouth open, not having an immediate answer to his indifferent question. "It's just rumors, princess. In the end, it's going to be her word against mine."

"More like the word of half the female population of the castle against yours, you hypocrite." You growl when you recover, looking at him as if you could set him on fire with just that. Your nonverbal magic isn't all that great yet, but maybe...

"And there's still no proof. Other than words, none of them have any evidence that I was actually there. I've made sure of that." Aside from the burning gaze on yours, Aemond shows little emotion in his argument, crumpling your uniform shirt to caress your belly with his open palm, as if this weren't at all shocking. "But you, you let yourself be caught. You let them have proof of your filthy deeds with that mutt Stark. I must say, your standards are critical low, sweetheart."

The comment, delivered so easily, leaves you breathless. You try to ignore the pangs of anxious curiosity that run through you at his touching your body in favor of the unnerving accusations he’s making. He remains impassive in the face of your volcanic attitude, waiting patiently above you.

“Merlin, you’re so annoying! Understand that you have no right to berate me! And don’t you dare talk about my standards, you don’t know me, you asshole!” You growl in exasperation, squirming under his strong grip, finally trying to escape the strategic hold. But Aemond must have some sort of Whomping Willow ancestry, because the man simply won’t back down.

“I wonder how you could have allowed a dim witted troll like Stark to put those filthy hands on your body.” Contrary to the absurd weight behind his statement, he seems almost possessive as he speaks, insane as the concept was, restraining your efforts by gripping your wrists between the fingers of one hand, using the other to push you against the tall bookshelf by the shoulder. The two of you, caught up in this confrontation as you are, barely hear the loud thud of the book falling to the floor as it slips from your fingers.

Ignoring the unnerving restraint and the open insult to Cregan, this time you actually laugh at his words, amused by their stupid and uncalled-for implication.

"And should I allow you to put your hands on me, Targaryen? Tell me how exactly that would be better?"

He breathes close, staring at you with steely eye and tight lips, the knuckles on your shoulder sliding to caress the throbbing pulse at the side of your neck in an almost unconscious gesture. Something turbulent bubbles in that single visible eye, the peculiar purple color that is inherent to Targaryens appearing darker than usual as he maps every inch of your face. When he finally speaks, you already feel like your heart might leap out of your chest, such is the tension between the two of you.

“You may hate me, beautiful, but I am still your fiancé,” he murmurs with measured slowness, the menacing timbre of his voice making you shiver with the suspicious prelude of what is to come. “Soon we'll be married and united forever and then I'll have you as many times as it takes.” As if to prove his point, he slowly pushes your joined hands to the bookshelf above your head, pressing his body against yours until you feel every heated, hard inch of him. “I will fill you every day and every night until it sink into that pretty head that you're mine. I should have started doing that already."

There's a slight huskiness to his voice and heat pulses through your core and the back of your neck at the explicit picture he's painting with his words. Your cheeks burn and your eyes flutter wide at the boldness of him, the sheer audacity of saying something so lewd to you when he's barely taken time to have any kind of interaction with you before tonight.

And yet, it takes a grueling mental battle to try, and lose, not to imagine him doing exactly what he's saying — taking your body night after night, filling your pussy with his seed until you're leaking from it.

And then you hear Madam Pince's delicate footsteps approaching.

"Kids, it's time to go, we're closing for the night."

And as if waking from some strange dream, you blink rapidly, giving Aemond a rude shove — and this time, mercifully, he complies.

Madam Pince rounds the corner of bookshelf you’re both in at the same time he takes a few steps back, though he still stubbornly holds your gaze.

When you refuse to maintain eye contact any longer, chest rising and falling faster than you’d like, you can feel the fingers trembling as push a strand of hair behind your ear.

You barely hear what Madam Pince says, staggering toward the library exit with hurried steps, bumping into a few students who are taking the same route as you.

“Hey, watch out!” one of them yells when you basically push him as try to climb the stairs, but you, in an uncharacteristic display of rudeness, don’t even register the complaint. All you can think about is how embarrassed and small you feel right now; how you allowed Aemond to put you in a situation where you looked so weak, so exposed.

All those years of hardening your feelings and expectations for that horrible creature and he puts it all in check in one night.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot..." You mumble over and over, walking through corridors and pillars without having the slightest idea of ​​where you're trying to go. "Such an idiot." Who? You, him, both of you - it doesn't matter.

You hate him. So much. The smug, arrogant way he does literally everything; from his penchant for brilliance in absolutely every class, to the discreet smiles he displays when he's showing off in the air during Quidditch matches - even the way he breathes.

You hate him.

And you especially hate how hot he's doing these things.

Amidst the hurried footsteps, you hear another one approaching quickly; quieter, feline - and you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

"Leave me alone, Targaryen! I've already exhausted my patience quota for you tonight." You huff, practically running down the hallway now.

He remains silent and you almost think he's going to do exactly as you asked, until a scream leaves your lips as feel your elbow suddenly being grabbed by a strong hand, pulling you inside one of the hallway doors.

"What your fucking problem?! Let me go!" Your voice is sharp as you try to pull away from his grip.

"You." He answers sullenly, pushing your back against the door with a heavy thud, slapping both hands on it, one on either side of your face, to prevent you from escaping. You stare at him in surprise, both of you breathing quickly. "You're my fucking problem. You and your annoying, inconvenient stubbornness."

"I told you to stop talking like you know anything about me." You hiss at him, resentment and emotional turmoil guiding your actions until you stand on your tiptoes and almost touch the nose to his as you speak. "You. Don't. Know. Me."

"Yes, I do." He amends instantly and you fall silent only at the unsettling dose of confidence in his voice. "I know you wake up earlier than the other girls in the dorm so you have time to stroll along the shores of the Black Lake while it's still completely empty - because it gives you a feeling of calm and prepares you to face the rest of the day. I know you like dancing in the rain, despite McGonagall’s constant disapproval. I know you love Care of Magical Creatures, even though it’s an elective class, and you’re considering a future career in that department, despite your family’s vehement political expectations.”

You swallow hard, releasing the pressure on your feet to sag back down against the floor and the door with a surprised gasp, but Aemond is quick to lean closer to you, chasing proximity like a Niffler chasing shiny things.

“I know, and you know that you’re an absolute disaster at Potions, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. You're addicted to chocolate frogs, but you're also strangely sensitive to them, so you always wait for the charm end and they stop jumping before eat them - which, of course, makes no sense, since the part where they jump on belly is the most fun." He sighs a laugh and steps even closer, practically trapping you in the doorway with his own body.

And, Merlin help you, he's so close.

His breath, warm and pleasantly sweet, as if he'd recently eaten licorice wands, blows across your face with each ragged breath. His pale, smooth skin is highlighted by a single moonbeam from the opposite stone wall, which also bathes the icy blond of his hair in a mythical way that makes the silky strands shine like silver threads running down his broad shoulders. His eye, a deep, appraising purple, don't leave your eyes for even a second. His scent, citrusy and masculine, invades your senses until all you can feel is him. Only him.

Not even now having a clear, detailed look at that barely healed scar for the first time, could you describe him in any other way than charming. Ethereal, like a creature from a fairy tale or beautiful songs.

“I know you like the pumpkin pie they serve for breakfast, but you think Pixie Puffs are an overrated cereal, whatever that means. And even if no one else noticed, I know you were the one who cast that Tarantallegra on Martyn Reyne just as he was about to turn Oscar Tully into a pulp during the last Quidditch match. And with a wandless charm, to boot. The man was tap-dancing uncontrollably in the Slytherin common room for a whole day after that, princess. It was infuriating to watch.”

“Aemond -” You’ve never heard him speak so much - not to anyone and certainly not to you. You can’t help but sigh, chest heaving at both the words and the resigned weight of admiration in them. And the shock of hearing the name, his name, leave your lips for the first time in your life makes you blush to the roots of hair. But Aemond only feels emboldened by this, his gaze darkening and a muscle jumping in his jaw before he continues.

“I know you’ve despised this marriage contract since you were six and was forced into it, but you still want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you now.” He hovers over you, reaching down with his open hand on the door to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes; long, cold fingers brushing the delicate curve of your ear.

You choke out a surprised sound and feel your eyes widen, caught off guard exactly like a student caught wandering around the castle after bedtime by some prefect. Aemond’s eyebrows rise, his own gaze burning in silent challenge as he waits for your answer. You open your mouth, but no matter how much you want to, and know you should be denying his outrageous insinuations, no words escape your suddenly dry throat.

“I dare you to deny it,” he murmurs in a voice like heated molasses when you still don’t say anything, leaning his face down to brush his lips against your ear. “Come on baby. If you dare, do it."

And then, in a lapse of judgment and sanity (and instinctively reacting to a challenge he has issued), you do.

There are no glares or scathing retorts to the question raised. There is just you acting impulsively.

You are jumping in Aemond immediately, tugging his green tie down to urge him into a bruising kiss. For a moment he smiles hatefully smugly against your mouth, but before you can regret what you have done and pull away, he pushes you back against the door with more force, slamming you into the aged wood as if to fuse you to it.

You release his tie in favor of desperately grabbing a handful of his shirt, the fingers of other hand digging into the soft flesh of his neck to bring him deeper into your lips. As he ravages your mouth with fervent desire, the world around you seems to deflate and disappear in the shadows, leaving only the electrifying connection between the two of you. Every brush of his lips against yours sets a firestorm of sensation, each touch crawling through your soul with an insatiable hunger for more.

There are no gentle, tender, or exploratory kisses; he kisses you assertively, surely, with ownership. As if he’s imagined doing this for a lifetime. He sinks both hands into the sides of your face, tilting your head back as runs his tongue over your lips, asking for entrance, and you welcome him.

And, unsurprisingly, kissing Aemond is like every other interaction you’ve ever had with him. Heated, intense, filled with tension. He sucks on your tongue and licks it right after, his teeth even brushing lightly yours sometimes - not in an awkward, painful way; but in a way that conveys his hunger for it, his possessiveness.

As you’d imagined, he tastes like the crystallized sugar of licorice wands; a perfectly balanced contrast to his citrusy scent of green apples and crackling wood from a fireplace. It’s an addictive balance that makes you shiver and grip him tighter between your fingers.

He pulls back a little to nibble on your bottom lip, teasing it between his teeth before sucking it in too. Then he fits his lips fully against yours once more, swallowing the wet, heated sound that leaves your throat.

It’s like you’re floating and sinking at the same time, feeling his hands leave your face to pull you closer by the hips, the kisses becoming more and more heated.

With a low, frustrated growl, he suddenly releases you, but not for long. Gripping your hips tighter, he lifts you up, and with a small yelp of surprise, your legs instinctively wrap around him. He cranes his head to continue the kiss as he spins you toward a table in the corner of the room, slipping between your legs as soon as he sits you down.

His mouth moves to your neck, heated and wet, sucking the sensitive flesh to leave marks you would be resenting if you were in your full mental capacity. But as it is, your eyes only flutter in response as you half watch the dust particles shimmer in the air in that small crack of moonlight, small involuntary sighs falling from your lips. His hand slides down your spine to belly, rising to tease the rise of your breast and the delicate slope of neck, the rings spread on his cold fingers poking the skin as he presses your throat lightly and you shiver.

Teeth rise to graze languidly against your ear and lips burn against your skin. How could he be so intense and yet remain so calm?

"Let me show you how it should be. Do it better for you than he did, leave you truly satisfied." He whispers like a lewd secret and even you're though sitting you feel the knees trembling, your heart fluttering at the speed of the delicate wings of a golden snitch.

"And who said he couldn't satisfy me?" You bluff breathlessly, barely able to admit the truth to yourself - much less to him. Not because Cregan didn't actually make it good for you. He did, you suppose. Caring for your pleasure as best he could. But any sense of satisfaction was drowned out by the weight of guilt and the unsettling feeling that it just didn't feel right...not with him.

"Oh, my treasure. With the raw way I crave you, I find it very unlikely that anyone could be as eager to please you as I am - much less a common mutt like Cregan Stark." The rough timbre of his voice vibrates through you and the air grows tense, your skin crawling at the feel of his other hand sliding down your thigh. "Just say yes and I'll prove it to you."

You don't answer him, not with words. But you think your round, needy eyes might have told him something, because he leans in until his mouth is a hair’s breadth from yours, staring at you as if he’s very pleased with what sees. He closes the distance to lick your mouth slowly and, after moving to put enough space between your bodies, uses the hand on your waist to pull you to the edge of the table.

The hand on your thigh moves to slide under your skirt until it plays with the side of the waistband of your panties. You suck in a ragged breath, nervously bracing both hands on the table as you bite your lip.

Those fingers, long and cold, curl into the elastic at your crotch, bunching the fabric to make it brush against your clit once, twice, three times, before you fix him with a drunken, narrowed gaze — a signal to stop teasing, and he chuckles close to your lips.

He takes the hint, though, and dips his thumb into your entrance. The violation of just one digit is surprising and not enough at the same time, and you writhe to make that point clear as you throw your head back, gasping a sound of pleasure. He takes his time, pressing his thumb in and out at the slowest pace imaginable, his signet ring tickling your entrance with each thrust. You moan a little louder and can feel, even without seeing, the infuriating smile of triumph he wears in response.

“You look like want something, hmm?” he drawls, molding his lips to the soft curve of your throat. Your hand releases its death grip on the table to push at his shoulders, even though the thrust is too weak to be taken seriously. When he chuckles in amusement at your action, you lift the head to look at him, noticing how swollen his lips are from kissing you so damn much.

“Come on, ask nicely for what you need from me, beautiful.” He whispers and instead of giving what you want so much, moves his thumb inside you with movements so light that only serve to increase the flame of desire, but never quench it.

But two can play that game, you realize, pursing your lips and huffing elegantly before looking across the room.

Aemond clucks his tongue in disapproval.

“Everything has to be a fight with you, doesn’t it?” His thumb drifts lazily away from your folds, leaving you feeling unbearably empty. You whimper at the loss, but he doesn’t give you a chance to protest. Aemond grips your chin, forcing you to tilt your head toward him again. Looking so close, you’re forced to face the fact of how small you are compared to his tall, defined frame, the width of his shoulders casting shadows over your smaller body. Your chin slips from his grip and instead he takes your hand in his to guide it down between your legs - a confident, strong grip that leaves no room for resistance.

“Feel this,” his words are harsh as he stares down at you, that single eye flashing in wicked amusement as your body twitches in response. Your mouth falls open in a sharp gasp of surprise as he doesn’t hesitate to guide your own finger and his inside your pussy, not bothering to do it slowly, “Feel how wet you are for me, princess.”

Your finger, delicate and smaller, dips in alongside his longer, wider one, going as deep as it will go — and to your growing humiliation, there actually is a wet mess helping; your trembling, tight walls drooling around the intrusion.

“T-that doesn’t mean…” You sob, widening and contracting around both fingers, “nothing.”

“That means everything, baby.” He smiles in an unnervingly knowing way, fucking your walls with slow, deep strokes, curling your fingers so you feel the difference between them perfectly.

“We shouldn’t — not here of all places. Merlin, d-don’t you have an ounce of decency in your being?” you continue, whimpering pathetically, writhing on the table: "Someone could hear us...a prefect could-"

"You'll have to be very quiet then." He interrupts you casually, although he's panting softly against your lips.

"Heavens, you're so annoying! A-at least cast a silencing charm, idiot!"

"And where's the fun in that? What about the danger, the adrenaline rush of avoiding being caught?" He pretends to ponder, sadistically pleased with your desperate arguments. "Take it as another challenge, princess. Especially after how spectacularly you failed the last one." He hums teasingly and you would growl back at him if you weren't too busy riding your fingers. "Can you be quiet?" He says in that soft, teasing way of his. Like he knows perfectly well that you can't. 

And he's right. 

You have to stifle a moan into his neck as he lifts his thumb to swirl your clit, both fingers working you slowly.

“For all your horrible biting, princess, you are a lovely creature when properly tamed.” His voice is a sigh of awe and hunger, like a worshipper before some masterpiece. You blush several shades, burying your face further into his neck to hide your shame.

“Y-you are even crazier than I imagined, Targaryen. You're sorely mistaken if think you have tam—oh!”

He curls your fingers up suddenly and you gasp, legs twitching and tightening around his waist with undignified desperation. You're beginning to see through blurry lenses, your other hand tangling in his hair for something to anchor yourself to, pulling him closer and closer as the pressure builds with each wet rub against your clit—

And then he’s pulling his fingers out, lifting your joined hands to his mouth, smiling at you as he sucks the both fingers into his mouth like they’re a sweet treat he’s been waiting all day to taste. 

Merlin, what must it be like to know you’re the hottest man in the world?

The irritation at having your near orgasm interrupted is overshadowed by the sinful sight ahead of you, your parted lips and lazy gaze.

You catch a glimpse of his pink tongue licking between your upraised fingers and your legs tighten around him, unconsciously trying to ease the sensual pressure between them.

“You’re the most insufferable creature I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting in my life and I-” You start grumpily but breathlessly, stopping slowly when he slides his fingers from his mouth to straighten himself in front of you, tugging at the button on his pants. You sit up straighter on the table, wide eyes fixed on the broad hand undoing his pants. Veiny hand. Long pale fingers adorned with gold and silver rings, the Targaryen insignia gleaming from the signet ring on his thumb.

“A-and I hate you so much. Ardently." You sigh mechanically and vaguely, noting with heated embarrassment a wet spot on the crotch of his pants.

“Me too, princess…” he hums smugly, taking his sweet time to unzip his pants and pull them down slightly, along with his boxer briefs, just enough to free his straining cock. “Ardently.”

Your shoulders slump and your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight of his aching, weeping cock. It’s long — much longer than you expected, anyway — and thick. Pre-cum drips from the flushed tip and his cock bobs under your shy scrutiny.

"I-I," you try, humiliatingly lacking the sarcastic words to ridicule him at this moment, and Aemond - bathed in masculine pride and arrogance - drags his palm over the moisture pooling on the head of his cock and spreads it along the veiny shaft. "Fuck, don't you dare say anything now."

He doesn't need to, though - just his smirk tells you enough - and almost a little too spitefully, you grab the tails of his dress shirt, tugging at the fabric until the sound of ripping is heard, the poor buttons rudely ripped from its places to fall bouncing on the stone floor.

Moonlight bathes the soft, marble skin of his throat, chest and abdomen, an endless, sinful expanse of lean, defined muscle covered in a few paler scars - some larger and more evident than others.

The dazzling scene before you pauses for a second as you focus on them, the almost worrying amount.

Where did he get them? How? In duels? Or some kind of archaic and horrific method of punishment?

He doesn’t let you dwell on it too much, though, striding confidently towards you until your attention returns to where it belongs; and while Cregan was all about thick muscles and an intimidating body, Aemond towered over all the other students with his majestic height and lean muscles, with broad shoulders and an elegantly tapered waist. He truly looked the epitome of pure-blood royalty — not that you’d let him know that.

With silver hair falling disheveledly over his shoulders, the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the flaps open on either side of his chest and abdomen, and green tie hanging loosely around his neck, he looked undone in the best possible way. And of course, that air of hungry elegance surrounding him, like a man who knows he’s about to get what he wants.

Aemond, still holding his cock between his fingers, rubs against the wetness between your legs for a few seconds, then uses his thumb to spread your entrance, your panties barely pushed aside. You squeeze around nothing, and he practically sighs in awe at the sight.

“Such a pretty little hole, sweetheart.”

You blush at the vulgarity, holding onto the tail of his shirt for dear life, the other hand latching onto the back of his neck.

With the hand that’s not between your bodies, and much more calmly than you’ve done previously, he unbuttons your dress shirt. He’s skilled at it, much to your silent annoyance — taking each button out of its place with easy precision. And all the while, he doesn’t stop gently thrusting himself between your legs.

And, Merlin, you’re so wet — literally dripping between your legs — so sore, and fuck, you want him so, so bad. But Aemond just rubs the tip of his cock against your clit as he holds your entrance open with his thumb, his gaze intent on the skin that reveals itself when the flaps of your shirt finally part.

“Aemond,” you whimper and he hums questioningly at you, but doesn’t move to do anything other than grind himself against you more, stroking the lacy details of your bra with a cold, hungry gaze.

You make a disgruntled noise and move your hips against him, trying desperately to get him inside you. 

“Ah-ah,” your teeth sink into your bottom lip as he completely covers one of your breasts with his palm in a greedy grip. “Come on, stop teasing me, you idiot insensitive…”

He blithely ignores you, kneading your breast like a cat with a ball of yarn, thrusting at your clit with shallow strokes that only make you hotter and needier, his thumb sliding in to breach the barrier of your entrance once more, just to the first knuckle. You let your upper body fall dramatically backwards, barely supporting yourself on forearms, your head rolling from side to side as you groan in frustration.

“Aemond, fuck. This is the worst time for you to be the most annoying person to ever walk this planet. Don’t make me beg.” 

You can hear the laughter in his voice as he responds. 

“Really?” His tone is proud and playful, as if he doesn’t already have his cock against your clit and a thumb inside you. 

You look up to meet his gaze, and the wry smile that tugs at the corner of his lips infuriates you to no end, because suddenly you realize that this is exactly what he wants.

You swallow your growing pride, temporarily deciding to forgo it in favor of satisfying the erupting volcano that resides in your lower belly. Aemond knows exactly which buttons to push with you, and no matter what you do here, there is no winning. Either you give him the satisfaction of hearing what he wants or the satisfaction of continuing to argue. He lives happily for both. It’s a question of knowing which wars are worth fighting and what the benefits of each are.

“Please, Aemond,” you finally whisper, letting your eyes grow rounder and waterier, giving him your best innocent, needy look, legs spreading wider as you rest your body fully on the table. It’s just your luck that with that movement the moonlight falls entirely on you, on the hair spread across the surface of the dark wood, the redness on your cheeks and heaving chest. “Please, just take me. I-I need this.”

It’s worth giving up your pride just for the wild, unsuspecting look Aemond gives you, lips parted in a husky growl that runs through your body like the most intimate magic.

Almost immediately he withdraws his thumb and lines himself up with your entrance and you cry out in surprise when his palms land on your waist, pulling your ass up to better meet his hips, your smaller hands darting to grip his wrists. He presses his tip into you at an excruciatingly slow pace, his gaze burning into yours with the unstoppable violence of a fiendfyre.

The discomfort of the welcome intrusion burning deliciously when he finally pushes in and — oh. You feel so stretched, and he hasn’t even started. Your lips part in a breathless half-scream, brows furrowing. He pushes a little further and you tense, a glorious, painful kind of pressure searing every nerve. You don’t remember it being like this with Cregan — but maybe that was just another consequence of how drunk you both were that night.

“Is — is it all in?” You ask weakly after what feels like an eternity, your nails destroying his wrists as you struggle for something to hold on to.

“Almost there, baby.” Aemond gasps, stroking your hips as he slowly but steadily drills into you. “You’re doing so good for me.” His lips meet yours in a sloppy, wet kiss that leaves you both breathless and your lips bruised. His own exhales start to end with a moan, and you writhe beneath him. It’s an unfamiliar pleasure to you, the kind where you weren’t sure if it was too much or too little, and Aemond hadn’t even started moving yet.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He groans into your mouth, grinding himself into you a little more, a half-maniacal and proud grin stretching his lips. “That mutt Stark didn’t do a very good job here, did he?”

“S-shut up!” You snarl, skin burning with embarrassment and anger at his words. “Don’t talk about him like that!”

“Shhh, I’m just kidding.” He smiles and kisses the tip of your nose soothingly, though he doesn’t seem the least bit remorseful.

“You’re doing so well, baby, taking me so fucking well,” he whispers, the words stirring in your stomach and making you forget the irritation immediately, clenching even tighter around him. He stifles a growl, dipping his fingers back between your legs, lightly stroking your swollen clit to ease the sting, and one inch at a time, he finally slides inside until he bottoms out inside you.

Meanwhile, you’re tottering on the fine line between too much and not enough. Aemond is long and solid and thick inside you, and the heat is beyond satisfying. You lie there, breathing rapidly, face flushed and eyelashes fluttering, brows furrowed and mouth open and panting. Nails digging into his wrists, legs shaking as they rise to wrap tightly around his waist.

“Please…” Is all you need to say before he’s making his move, his own face stained with lust and blush. He pulls out halfway before sinking back in, groaning hoarsely at the sensation. You’re already making inelegant gagging noises from deep inside, louder and more embarrassing than you could have imagined yourself capable of.

“Feels good, baby?” he pants, pulling out his cock before slamming it back into you as you sob, the pull of him inside you hitting every nerve and setting them on fire. “My cock feels good to you, love?”

“So good!” You moan more than speak, rocking your hips against his as best you can.

“Hmmm…better than him?”

“Aemond—”

“Answer me.”

You bite your lip, knowing there’s no way you should encourage him to do this kind of behavior. But between the overwhelming sensations he makes you feel and the intense gaze he’s giving you, all that have left is the truth.

“Y-yes. Merlin, yes. So much better...”

“Fuck, princess,” Aemond grunts, changing the angle and grinning wildly when it makes you moan louder. He targets that particular spot, watching the way you arch a little higher with each thrust. The sounds of your skin slapping together make you flush even more, though you barely hear it over Aemond’s ragged breathing and your own moans.

“Aemond—oh,” you gasp desperately, throwing your head back. “I-it feels so good,” you drawl, clawing at his wrists. “Please, please, I can’t take it.”

Then he’s reaching down, fingers twisting the front of your bra, pulling it down so his tongue slowly sweeps over one nipple, enveloping it in the warm, wet blanket of his mouth. The hand between your legs gains momentum and his thumb rolls over your clit as he latches onto your nipple and sucks. A high-pitched scream barely escapes your lips before his hand covers your mouth, continuing his merciless assault.

His hand cups the lower half of your face completely and that only makes your eyes roll back, the weight of his body on yours, his wet mouth on your breast, the restraint of your sounds, his deep thrusts, his thumb on your clit...

Your fingers sink into the silvery roots of his hair in a sharp tug, and the pain makes him gasp against your chest, and you chant his name mindlessly behind his broad palm. Static sizzles through your body, your orgasm building at an insane pace, and you meet him thrust for thrust.

When he looks up, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple, he stares at you so intently it makes you shiver, his thumb in your folds quickening. You run your own trembling thumb along his drooling bottom lip and watch him suck it into his wet, swollen mouth. You linger, touching the sharp tips of his canines, sliding across the softness of his tongue and gums before pulling your hand away. Aemond chases your thumb a little as he leans forward, but stops when you grab the leather strap of his eye patch.

The palm over your lips slowly pulls away, and you breathe in sharply, but don’t flinch. Holding his intense, drunken gaze, you push the thing away from his face, letting it fall to the floor with a thud neither of you cares about.

“Don’t stop, please — I’m so close,” you moan, pushing a few icy-white strands away from his face, wanting to see all of him as you shatters below. Aemond, with one missing eye and a cursed scar; that’s how you first saw him in the Great Hall, and that’s how you want to see him now, too.

If he’s shocked by your actions, he doesn’t show it. He’s still staring at you with a lazy expression, sweat starting to break out on his slightly flushed skin, his thrusts becoming more unbalanced, the rhythm faltering a little.

"Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fill you so fucking much, my wife—” he groans suddenly, the husky sound of his voice completely destroyed, and then he’s down to lock your mouths in a searing kiss, thrusting so hard into your pussy that the table creaks and slides a few inches across the floor.

But it’s the weight of that statement, his wife, spoken so brokenly and stunned, that finally makes you lose control, and your climax hits you.

“Cumming, cumming,” you cry into the tiny gap between your mouths as his rhythm quickens. His name leaves your lips again — muffled and choked — and your back arches off the table. You can feel his cock throb as the walls of your pussy clench and pulse around him with your orgasm.

And then he’s spilling himself into you, heated cum filling you as he still kisses you deeply, mouth wet and insistent. He makes a few rough, breathless noises into your mouth as he comes and you suck his tongue into your mouth, the climax rippling and lingering deliciously through you.

He relaxes the arm that was between your legs as you both lie there panting, coming down from your intense orgasms. Shifting his body slightly to support himself on forearms, he runs lazy, gentle kisses down your neck.

You stay like that for a while, his weight pressing down on you. Silence, except for the sound of each other’s breathing. You haven’t really allowed yourself to process the fact that he’s here; that Aemond, your future husband and sworn enemy, has cornered you tonight and confessed to wanting you despite strong evidence to the contrary. After years of not having a trace of him, he’s here, in the most intimate way possible. You tilt your head to the side to look at him again, to commit his features to memory in case he disappears from you once more.

Feeling your gaze, he does the same, humming contentedly; one calm, soft lavender eye, almost hidden beneath a thick layer of long lashes, the vibrant blue relic in the other eye, brows furrowed in contemplation for a brief moment. His fingers brush against your still flushed cheek, as if mapping out a secret that exists only for him. It doesn’t escape you that he makes no move to leave the wet heat between your legs — his member, still hard somehow, nestled comfortably within your silken walls.

“I’d really rather we didn’t wait until the wedding to do this again.”

His words, almost hesitant at their core, fill you with a kind of cautious anxiety, some foolish, ancient hope, long forgotten and locked away, surfacing once more. Your face burns with heat as you do your best to keep a expression neutral and collected, choosing the usual path when it comes to the two of you:

“If you wanted some kind of serious commitment you should have just said so, Targaryen. I wouldn’t mock your feelings.” You smile softly, blinking teasingly despite your trembling nerves. “Not much.”

He scoffs and roll his eye, though it’s obvious to both of you that you’re not necessarily saying no.

“I was thinking of it more for your own benefit, insufferable girl,” he grumbles sullenly. “You clearly didn’t have a good first experience and I just think it would be really tragic if you had to wait months to experience something so heavenly good as what I just offered you.”

You huff and press your face into his neck, failing miserably to suppress a laugh.

He’s so full of shit.

“I thought you hated me, anyway.”

“And I did.” He hums nonchalantly, making you part your lips in offense. He smiles at your shocked expression, tilting his face to brush his nose against yours.

“I hated you before I even met you, and I hated you even more the first time we met in the Great Hall and I realized there was absolutely nothing to hate about you. I hated that you were so captivating. I still hate that, I think.”

Your cheeks burn at the depth of his words and you look up at the ceiling, pursing your bottom lip in a sullen pout to cover the fluttering in your stomach.

“You made me feel insecure about my teeth for years after that day, you know?”

He huffs out a short laugh at the memory, cupping your jaw to guide your face to his again.

"Well, they were a little out of proportion..." He taps his thumb gently across the top of your lips until it pokes at your two front teeth, a strangely fond glint in his gaze and a small, amused smile. "Right here."

With a slight, offended swat and blushing even more, you struggle to pull his hand away.

"Of course they were out of proportion, you big insensitive! I was only eleven, still in the growth phase."

"That sounds like an excuse to me. I was eleven too and I wasn't like that."

He sounds smug now, and you hate that he's right. Even at the young age when, inevitably, almost everyone was gangly and awkward in one way or another, Aemond was still an irritatingly beautiful child - even brutally scarred with the loss of his eye and the scar. With pale, delicate features and chubby but perfectly proportioned cheeks, he looked like a spoiled little prince at the time.

He still looks like a spoiled prince now.

“No more pretending,” he confesses reluctantly after a while of poorly hidden laughter, as if it hurts him to be so honest about his feelings. “I’m not sure I can keep denying how much I crave for this. For you.” 

A quiet surprise spreads across your features at the admission and you reach out to him, intertwining your fingers. You hadn’t realized that everything had been so…mutual — the forced hatred and provocations, for sure, but not the feelings either. 

“Mmm,” you hum softly after a while, hope flickering through you brighter as Aemond’s steady gaze lingers on yours, your bodies still intimately joined over this table in an abandoned classroom. “I suppose it’s probably time we faced head on this despicable fate that awaits us.” 

Aemond’s answering smile is rare and absolutely breathtaking.

--

[absdollievu]

Off the Rink

hockey!abby x EMT!reader

The first time you meet Abby Anderson, she slams into the boards so hard the whole rink flinches.

You’re halfway through your shift, watching the game from the medic station with one boot untied and a granola bar half-eaten in your lap. The sound pulls you to your feet—clean hit, but the way she hit the ice wasn’t great.

You’re already moving before the ref finishes whistling.

Abby’s sitting upright when you get there, helmet askew, one glove missing. She’s waving off her teammates and muttering that she’s fine. Typical.

You kneel beside her. “You don’t look fine.”

She looks over. Blue eyes, sharp jaw, blood on her knuckles. She’s bigger up close. Solid. Calm.

“I’ve had worse,” she says, like it’s supposed to reassure you.

“Cool. I’ll just leave, then,” you reply, already checking her wrist. “Or do you want to do my job?”

That gets a faint smirk. “Didn’t know sarcasm was part of the first aid protocol.”

You glance up at her, deadpan. “It is when someone keeps pretending they’re made of concrete.”

She lets you work, quiet for a beat. Her pulse is steady under your fingers.

“Wrist’s not broken,” you say. “But you’ll feel it tomorrow.”

“Great.”

You pause, give her a look. “Ice it when you get home.”

“I was gonna do that anyway.”

“Mmhmm.” You mumble, taking what she said with a little bit of salt.

She stands, flexes her hand like she’s testing it. You offer an ice pack. She hesitates, then takes it.

“Thanks,” she says.

You nod. “Try not to give me a reason to run out here next time.”

She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t look away either. “No promises.”

⸻

A week later, she shows up after practice, holding a bag of frozen peas against her shoulder.

“You again,” you say.

She shrugs. “Took a bad hit. Thought I’d get ahead of it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So now you care about recovery?”

“I figured you’d complain less if I didn’t wait till it was worse.”

You tilt your head. “That was almost considerate.”

She sits down without waiting for permission. You grab the ibuprofen out of habit.

“You don’t have to keep showing up, you know,” you say.

“Yeah. I could just tough it out.” She pauses. “But then I wouldn’t get to hear you talk shit every time I get injured.”

You glance at her. She’s relaxed, elbows on her knees, eyes fixed on the floor like she didn’t just say something that landed oddly close to flirting.

You hand her the pills. “Try not to make this a regular thing.”

“No promises,” she says again.

⸻

Another night, after the rink clears out, she finds you in the medic room, stacking towels.

“I was heading out,” you say, not looking up.

“I know. Just figured I’d say hi.”

You turn. She’s dressed down—hoodie, joggers, hair damp from a quick rinse. Something quieter about her tonight.

You lean against the table. “No injury?”

“Nope.”

You nod once. “Alright.”

She stays in the doorway, one hand on the frame. “You always stay this late?”

“Someone’s gotta clean up.”

She watches you for a second. “You ever actually watch the games?”

You look up. “Yeah.”

She lifts her chin slightly. “Then you know I’m not bad.”

“I never said you were.”

“Just clumsy.” You add.

You allow yourself a small smile. “Just reckless.”

There’s a pause.

She shifts like she’s about to say something else, then doesn’t.

“Alright,” she says, backing up. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And you do. Again. And again. Sometimes with bruises. Sometimes not. But always a little closer than the last time.

⸻

The rink is quiet by the time you’re locking up the supply cabinet. Most of the team cleared out twenty minutes ago, and you assumed Abby was long gone with them.

You hear the door open behind you.

“You always clean everything yourself?” she asks, voice casual.

You glance back. “You always sneak up on people like that?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just walks in and leans against the wall, arms crossed. Her hoodie sleeves are pushed up to the elbow, revealing a darkening bruise near her bicep. You frown, already reaching for your kit.

“Seriously?” you ask. “When were you gonna tell me about that?”

“It’s fine,” she says, but this time her voice is quieter. Less like she’s brushing you off. “Didn’t notice it ‘til I sat down.”

You give her a look but keep your mouth shut. She sits on the table without asking. You move in close and start checking the swelling. Neither of you speaks for a while. It’s quiet. Comfortable, almost.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“You always this careful with players?”

“Just the ones who lie about being fine.”

That earns a small huff from her. A ghost of a smile.

You wrap the compression band gently, hands brushing her skin. She watches you—really watches. Not the kind of glance you toss casually. The kind that lingers, like she’s trying to memorize your face.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you say after a minute.

She tilts her head. “Doing what?”

“Finding excuses to come back here.”

You finish wrapping her arm but don’t move away. She doesn’t either.

“I like talking to you,” she says, plain and simple.

There’s no smirk this time. No posturing. Just honesty, low and direct.

You nod, unsure what to do with it. “Okay.”

She holds your gaze. “You?”

You hesitate. Then: “Yeah. I like talking to you too.”

Something shifts again. You don’t know what, but the room feels different now. Charged, in that quiet, undeniable way.

She slides off the table, still close. Her voice drops just slightly.

“You work next game?”

“Always.”

She nods. “Good.”

She lingers at the door before leaving.

You catch yourself smiling after she’s gone.

⸻

[supernovalcholism]

Academic rivals Viktor and reader who do not like each other at all but have a strong sexual tension that neither of them wants to admit. Plzzz🙏😭

Absolutely babei love this idea sm heres a small portion cus I'm drunk and if yall hype it up I'll make a part 2

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Unspoken Rivalry

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ɢɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ: ɴᴜɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ, ʜᴏꜱᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ????. ɪᴅᴋ

The library buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Viktor sat at his usual table, hunched over a stack of notes and textbooks. He was the definition of composed—sharp cheekbones, immaculate posture, and an air of self-assured arrogance that grated on your nerves.

And, unfortunately, he was the only other person in your advanced theory seminar who matched your academic prowess.

You strode into the library, your eyes narrowing the moment you spotted him. He glanced up briefly, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of annoyance before he returned to his work.

"Didn’t know the library allowed distractions," he said smoothly, his voice laced with faux politeness.

"Funny. I was just about to say the same thing," you shot back, taking the seat directly across from him with more force than necessary.

This was your dynamic—constant barbs, veiled insults, and an unspoken competition for every academic accolade. You couldn’t stand him, with his perfect grades and that maddening smirk he wore whenever he outperformed you.

But what was worse? The way your stomach flipped every time he leaned closer to point out a flaw in your argument or the electric heat that sparked whenever his hand accidentally brushed yours during group discussions.

The tension crackled between you now, thick and undeniable. You opened your laptop, pointedly ignoring him. Except you couldn’t. Not when the subtle scent of his cologne drifted across the table or when he leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly, exposing just a sliver of toned skin beneath his sweater.

"You know," Viktor said after a moment, his voice quieter, "if you spent less time glaring at me, you might actually win the next debate."

"Bold words coming from someone who barely edged me out last time," you snapped.

His smirk widened. "Barely? I seem to recall the professor using the word resounding."

You clenched your jaw, hating how much you wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face—and hating even more how your mind wandered to other ways to shut him up.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was charged. Your eyes met his again, and for a brief second, something flickered in his gaze—something raw, intense, and far too dangerous to acknowledge.1all

You broke the eye contact first, heat rising to your cheeks. Viktor didn’t look away, though.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You’re starting to look at me like you don’t hate me."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you snapped, hastily gathering your things.

You stormed out of the library, your heart pounding. Behind you, Viktor chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t go back to the library for the rest of the week. Not because you were avoiding him—of course not—but because the thought of seeing Viktor again made your chest feel too tight, your thoughts spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on your side.

The next seminar session started with the professor announcing a new assignment. “A research paper, due in two weeks. To make things more interesting, I’ll be assigning partners.”

You stiffened in your seat.

“Viktor and—”

No. Please, no.

"–you—"

Your stomach plummeted. Across the room, Viktor glanced over at you, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He gave a little wave, clearly reveling in your discomfort.

After class, you cornered him in the hallway.

“We need to set boundaries,” you said sharply.

“Boundaries?” Viktor tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Is that what we’re calling the tension between us now?”

You bristled. “There is no tension.”

“Hmm. If you say so.” He leaned against the wall, entirely too close. “But I hope you don’t mind working late. I find I’m most productive at night.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came. His gaze was locked on yours, his expression a mix of challenge and something else—something darker, something that made heat rise to your face.

“Fine,” you snapped, stepping back before you could betray yourself further. “Tonight. My place. Seven."

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Hype it up soon and I'll drop a pt2 for yall XPP

- enya

edit [12/12/24] heres the 2nd part!!